Yes, but write what you love!!!
My story has turned into a bit of a ghost story...themes of haunting but with a side of ambiguity - thank you Henry James.
I couldn't help it. I'm a sucker for a good ghost story and since I'm so haunted by the themes of this story it only seems natural that I move in this direction.
I'm looking for a picture of James to post.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Friday, November 7, 2008
Harold be thy Name...
Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
[For thine is the kingdom,
and the power, and the glory,
for ever and ever.
Amen.]
Gospel of Matthew... sort of
My family sat in the pew behind my grandfather at Saint Mary's Church. Our families have "owned" these pews since the church was built. It stands over looking the Cove and is surrounded by an ever growing list of my ancestors.
(I have a copy of the building permit and will post it soon)
Nanny sat with the choir and wore a long burgundy gown over her Sunday best. Grampie sat alone Sunday mornings except during the holidays. He was the first man I ever saw cry. It was the first Christmas after his son-in-law died and as he sat next to his grieving daughter I could feel the pain of not being able to do anything radiate off him. As the Lord's Prayer was read I watched undisturbed tears run down his face and realized that sometimes there is nothing you can do but bear witness.
We stood to sing Hark the Herald Angels Sing (Words by Charles Wesley - 1855 to Music by Felix Mendelssohn - 1707-1788) and I made a note to ask my mother, "if God's name is Harold, why do we call him God?"
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
[For thine is the kingdom,
and the power, and the glory,
for ever and ever.
Amen.]
Gospel of Matthew... sort of
My family sat in the pew behind my grandfather at Saint Mary's Church. Our families have "owned" these pews since the church was built. It stands over looking the Cove and is surrounded by an ever growing list of my ancestors.
(I have a copy of the building permit and will post it soon)
Nanny sat with the choir and wore a long burgundy gown over her Sunday best. Grampie sat alone Sunday mornings except during the holidays. He was the first man I ever saw cry. It was the first Christmas after his son-in-law died and as he sat next to his grieving daughter I could feel the pain of not being able to do anything radiate off him. As the Lord's Prayer was read I watched undisturbed tears run down his face and realized that sometimes there is nothing you can do but bear witness.
We stood to sing Hark the Herald Angels Sing (Words by Charles Wesley - 1855 to Music by Felix Mendelssohn - 1707-1788) and I made a note to ask my mother, "if God's name is Harold, why do we call him God?"
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The End
"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." - T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
With respect to my last post, I'm thrilled to have found this quote. This little gem of guidance!!!
The end and the beginning of "my" story is of course the death of my grandmother. I wasn't there when my grandmother passed away, but I felt her let go. I think of her every time I see a red breasted robin. I read somewhere of a superstition in Quebec that says the first person to see a robin in the spring will have good luck... Dr. William H Drummond wrote a poem about it called "The First Robin". I'll look it up for you.
With respect to my last post, I'm thrilled to have found this quote. This little gem of guidance!!!
The end and the beginning of "my" story is of course the death of my grandmother. I wasn't there when my grandmother passed away, but I felt her let go. I think of her every time I see a red breasted robin. I read somewhere of a superstition in Quebec that says the first person to see a robin in the spring will have good luck... Dr. William H Drummond wrote a poem about it called "The First Robin". I'll look it up for you.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
On NOT starting at the beginning
"Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." Ernest Hemingway
I hate stories, especially autobiographies that start at the beginning. I don't trust them. They always seem over worked like the writer spent too much time trying to understand the "early years" in order to accept a future that has yet to be realized.
With that in mind, I have struggled for years to write the first sentence of James' story. Where does it begin? For any of us? My interest in James' began with my grandmother. Her story was the key I needed to have all my internal dialogue make sense. I've spent years writing little stories about it and now I'm putting it all together and re-writing that first sentence to bring it all together... do you think it will sound overworked?
I hate stories, especially autobiographies that start at the beginning. I don't trust them. They always seem over worked like the writer spent too much time trying to understand the "early years" in order to accept a future that has yet to be realized.
With that in mind, I have struggled for years to write the first sentence of James' story. Where does it begin? For any of us? My interest in James' began with my grandmother. Her story was the key I needed to have all my internal dialogue make sense. I've spent years writing little stories about it and now I'm putting it all together and re-writing that first sentence to bring it all together... do you think it will sound overworked?
Sunday, September 14, 2008
"You Can't Go Home Again"
Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
"Lycidas" by John Milton
(163-164)
The idea of "home" never came up in my story until I started this blog. Now I see that it's everywhere and probably the most important theme. Both Thomas and James did go home again. Thomas Wolfe was laid to rest in Riverside Cemetery in Asheville, NC and James Snow in Saint Mary's grave yard in Harrigan Cove, NS.
I found a kindred spirit in Thomas Wolfe. You Can't Go Home Again was published in 1940, after his death and after Look Homeward, Angel created both sides of the notoriety coin for him. The first lesson of writing is to write about what you know... then change all the names! I'm sure Thomas knew with the publication of Look Homeward, Angel some would be upset with his characterizations. But I'm sure, like me, he was shocked at the details people chose to focus their discontent on.
I recently had the chance to walk through the childhood home of Thomas Wolfe and touch a time that has inspired me to write. I'm thrilled I've given life back to people who've been resting long enough, and I'm excited that my ramblings could get a rise out of people known for going with the flow.
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
"Lycidas" by John Milton
(163-164)
The idea of "home" never came up in my story until I started this blog. Now I see that it's everywhere and probably the most important theme. Both Thomas and James did go home again. Thomas Wolfe was laid to rest in Riverside Cemetery in Asheville, NC and James Snow in Saint Mary's grave yard in Harrigan Cove, NS.
I found a kindred spirit in Thomas Wolfe. You Can't Go Home Again was published in 1940, after his death and after Look Homeward, Angel created both sides of the notoriety coin for him. The first lesson of writing is to write about what you know... then change all the names! I'm sure Thomas knew with the publication of Look Homeward, Angel some would be upset with his characterizations. But I'm sure, like me, he was shocked at the details people chose to focus their discontent on.
I recently had the chance to walk through the childhood home of Thomas Wolfe and touch a time that has inspired me to write. I'm thrilled I've given life back to people who've been resting long enough, and I'm excited that my ramblings could get a rise out of people known for going with the flow.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
A Home by Any Other Name
"That is how things are. It is in itself splendid that we were able to live out our lives in harmony for so long." - Simone de Beauvoir 'Adieux'
It never occurred to me when I was growing up that I was odd because I dreamed of leaving home. Anyone wanting to further their education had to. The big city of Halifax beckoned with it's top notch Universities and Colleges and our communities needed to replenish it's workforce. What made me different is that I never wanted to be the new blood. I can't say I never saw the responsibility I had to my first home. I was valedictorian, I volunteered, and gave goal setting presentations to junior high students. I guess it's just that my soul knew I needed a different perspective.
Halifax is an amazing playground for someone wanting to the see the world. It's a port town, so the world comes to you. During the time James lived in Halifax a war was ranging in Europe, women were fighting for the vote and trains and steamers were taking passengers in and out of town. When I first started writing his story I became obsessed with how someone decides to leave home. Did he and Sarah talk about it in hushed tones before sleep? Was he like me, always looking for the next adventure? Did he have dreams beyond that of providing for his family?
James journey out of Harrigan Cove was a choice not to work his father's fishing boat but to mine. Mines were big business. Port Dufferin had a nickle mine and it appears James worked there before moving to the coal mines in Westville. It was in Westville that he met Sarah. Between 1914 and 1916 they moved to Halifax. James started working at the Ship Yards when it opened in 1918. He was an electrician when he died so at some point he would have received education, probably within those two years. The next move was to New York City. Another port town and a gateway for many immigrants. What were their dreams for the land of the free and home of the brave?
It does give me a sense of pride to be here. I didn't make the move to accomplish their goals... this is all about me... but it does make me feel a little closer to them somehow.
It never occurred to me when I was growing up that I was odd because I dreamed of leaving home. Anyone wanting to further their education had to. The big city of Halifax beckoned with it's top notch Universities and Colleges and our communities needed to replenish it's workforce. What made me different is that I never wanted to be the new blood. I can't say I never saw the responsibility I had to my first home. I was valedictorian, I volunteered, and gave goal setting presentations to junior high students. I guess it's just that my soul knew I needed a different perspective.
Halifax is an amazing playground for someone wanting to the see the world. It's a port town, so the world comes to you. During the time James lived in Halifax a war was ranging in Europe, women were fighting for the vote and trains and steamers were taking passengers in and out of town. When I first started writing his story I became obsessed with how someone decides to leave home. Did he and Sarah talk about it in hushed tones before sleep? Was he like me, always looking for the next adventure? Did he have dreams beyond that of providing for his family?
James journey out of Harrigan Cove was a choice not to work his father's fishing boat but to mine. Mines were big business. Port Dufferin had a nickle mine and it appears James worked there before moving to the coal mines in Westville. It was in Westville that he met Sarah. Between 1914 and 1916 they moved to Halifax. James started working at the Ship Yards when it opened in 1918. He was an electrician when he died so at some point he would have received education, probably within those two years. The next move was to New York City. Another port town and a gateway for many immigrants. What were their dreams for the land of the free and home of the brave?
It does give me a sense of pride to be here. I didn't make the move to accomplish their goals... this is all about me... but it does make me feel a little closer to them somehow.
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