Voices present and past

Who lives in your neighborhood? There are signposts in at least two languages in California. And you can find many more.

I remember being fascinated when I learned that Mexico had communities founded by German immigrants in the 1800s, and that San Francisco has a Russian cemetery dating from the same period. People have been leaving bits and pieces of themselves and their cultures all over the world for a very long time.

Every once in awhile a nudge like this sign will remind me that as a writer I need to remember the richness of culture that surrounds us. Sometimes you have to dig a little for it as in the article I linked below. It's so good.

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Author Susan Straight and photographer/author Doug McCulloh (Disclaimer: They are friends of mine) are doing a series of essays with images on KCET's SoCalFocus blog. This one about a cemetery, dusty and half-forgotten in the midst of industrial buildings, is a keeper. While Susan digs into the Native American and European roots of this place known as Agua Mansa, Doug captures just the right light to portray the fading, bittersweet past.

Thanks to them, I want to reach out and place a hand on the headstones and say, "You're not forgotten. We'll remember the roots, the bones, that are all our ancestors."

Check it out:

http://www.kcet.org/updaily/socal_focus/commentary/notes-of-a-native-daughter/agua-mansa---gentle-waters-californio-roots.html

Adoration of The Fox Inheritance

I’ve read fiction with pretty decent mysteries, characters and adventures that somehow left me feeling like I ate ice cream for dinner and hadn’t satisfied my hunger. I think what’s missing is substance, something thought-provoking enough to stick long after the book is closed on its final page. But substance is what I get in addition to a great page-turning read from Mary E. Pearson’s THE FOX INHERITANCE, the thrilling and fulfilling sequel to THE ADORATION OF JENNA FOX.
These two books raise questions about the ethics of keeping humans alive with non-human parts. How much “human” is needed to be human? Is just a mind and its memory enough? How far is it ethical to go in saving someone?
In the first book, Jenna is brought back from the brink of death but at the cost of great confusion for her. Something is being kept from her, and as she slowly unravels the mystery, her horror grows. The second book jumps ahead 260 years to a future where, Locke, the protagonist, is constantly faced with uncertainty about what he is and why his old friend, Jenna, abandoned him.
Both characters face a crisis of identity, a questioning of values and an awakening.
I hate spoilers so I don’t want to give away much about these two storylines if you haven’t read the books. Please read them if you like fantasy/sci-fi/dystopian or even if you just like stories with emotional payoff. There’s a lot of that here.
In past interviews, Pearson has said Jenna’s story grew from thoughts that raced through her mind as she faced one of her daughter’s cancer treatment. She began to wonder about what medical advances would come in the future and how far a parent would go to save their child.
In the first book, Pearson shows us that superglue between parent to child that can make some people step over ethical lines into unknown territory. In the second book, she shows how greed can turn those breached boundaries into something really ugly.
I was fascinated by the world-building, the ethical conundrum and the powerful emotional growth of the characters. Five stars from me.
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And don't forget that it's Banned Book Week and time to support authors who come under attack for tackling controversial topics.

Castles of the mind

Walking along the beach, as I do, I came across this man and his mighty-fine sandcastle. He didn't mind me taking pictures.

I asked, "How long have you been building this?"

"Since noon," he replied.

It was about 6 p.m. by that time.

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I considered those four hours and the more he would put in before the sun swallowed up the daylight and sent him home.

"Don't you mind that it will be gone by morning?" I asked.

"By midnight," he said, laughing and without ceasing the sculpting.

"Do you take pictures?" I asked, still curious. "Enter sandcastle contests?"

He shook his head. He did this for fun, for challenge, for joy. Nothing more.

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That got me thinking. Perhaps the most pure creations are not to please audiences or achieve prizes but are simple outpourings of joy and wonder. It's a free-ing notion, don't you think?

And one more thing: I love those upsweeping castle walls he made. I'm going to draw the castle in my fairy tale, bring it to life on a sketchbook page. What fun I shall have!

The places I would go

In celebration of Talli Roland's newest book launch, WATCHING WILLOW WATTS, she's asked bloggers 'If I could be anyone, I'd be...'. A number of people chose J.K. Rowling for good reason, but I'm going venture a bit back in time and say Diana Wynne Jones for her extraordinary children's books. The list of her titles is longer than a snuggly house scarf and every bit as yummy as a chocolate frog.

I'd love to have lived inside her expansive imagination, to have her wit and skills at laying out compelling stories with twists and depth of content. And, oh, her sense of humor, how much fun that would be. But silly and wacky as her stories can be, they're dead-on serious, as well.

Her tales are never preachy but there's no doubt that even in her magical worlds there are consequences for bullying, intolerance, bigotry or other nasty behavior. Her characters are ordinary kids shoved into extraordinary circumstances, which they figure out how to handle. Sometimes even small acts of bravery are heroic and important is a message that comes through.

When she died of cancer in March at age 76, The Guardian wrote: "Her intelligent and beautifully written fantasies are of seminal importance for their bridging of the gap between "traditional" children's fantasy, as written by CS Lewis or E Nesbit, and the more politically and socially aware children's literature of the modern period, where authors such as Jacqueline Wilson or Melvyn Burgess explicitly confront problems of divorce, drugs and delinquency. "

She started writing as a child, and as a college student at St. Anne's at Oxford, she soaked up lectures from J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S . Lewis. How I'd love to time travel and drop in on one of those sessions.

If you haven't read her, treat yourself. Here's a partial list of her more than 40 titles: HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE, DARK LORD OF DERKHOLM, YEAR OF THE GRIFFIN, FIRE AND HEMLOCK, THE HOMEWARD BOUNDERS, HEXWOOD, POWER OF THREE, THE CHRONICLES OF CHRESTOMANCI, THE DALEMARK QUARTET, ARCHER'S GOON.
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Um, I have to add that if I were to pick a fictional character I'd like to be it would be Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Just sayin'.

The magic touch

Magic. What is it anyway? Is it a miracle, a wonder, to be had with the snap of fingers, the flick of a wand? Is it alchemy, a transforming power, or an elemental or mathematical equation we’ve yet to discover? Could it be metaphysical, mythological?
Sometimes I read books with magical happenings that leave me dissatisfied with the world-building and explanation of how the magic works. Other times, I romp with the author through a made-up land that feels real and plausible.
This notion of suspending disbelief is said to originate with Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1817 with the publication of biographical sketches of his literary life. He wrote, rather wordily,: “In this idea originated the plan of the ‘Lyrical Ballads’; in which it was agreed, that my endeavours should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic, yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.”
In other words, get real.
How to do that? The characters must be as real as your annoying little sister or last boyfriend. Lovable but flawed, and that doesn’t mean they bite their fingernails or trip over their feet all the time. It’s the deeper psychological and emotional stuff that makes the reader say, ‘I know that. I’ve seen it. I can relate.’ Then if the characters sprout wings, the reader already has them grounded in reality.
My reason for musing on this is Lev Grossman’s THE MAGICIANS and THE MAGICIAN KING. These books are brilliant if you like smart-ass humor mixed with tragedy, which clearly I do. They pay homage to great fantasy stories of the past but with something of an attitude--a lot of wit and smarts. The characters are pretty much genius-level teens, who grow into young adulthood in the books.
Quentin is a math whiz and nerd who is fixated on a childhood fantasy series set in a land called Fillory, but once Quentin jumps down the rabbit hole he finds monsters come along with magic.
I don’t like to give spoilers, so I’m only going to say that Quentin’s character arc from the start of Book One to the end of Book Two is stunning. He isn’t just an angst-ridden teen who magically becomes a superhero. Rather, he remains annoyingly self-absorbed and flawed but increasingly stronger as though he’s been tempered by fire. Like a true hero, he makes huge sacrifices, but he’s no angel, just a human with a healthy conscience that he has to learn to use.
Quentin’s teen-age crush, Julia--whose only interest in him in book one seems to be to find out how she can get into the school of magic he attends but which rejected her—becomes equally weighted storywise in book two, which alternates between their POVs.
Julia, who already suffers emotional disorders, becomes obsessed with learning how to do magic. She discovers an underground of self-taught magicians where she rises to the top but not without paying terrible dues. As Grossman writes: Her magic had sharp, jagged edges on it that had never been filed down.
When Quentin and Julia intersect in book two worlds hang in the balance. Magic has brought them giddy pleasures and unfathomable loss and pain, but magic itself may go out of the world because of things they’ve done.
I like to give snippets to show writing style and since I love the attitude and voice I’ll give these.
If you’ve ever tried to listen to someone else’s description of their dream, here’s something from Julia’s POV: They pushed on into astrology and ocean magic and even oneiromancy—dream magic. Turns out you can cast some truly amazing shit in your dreams. But after you wake up it all seems kind of pointless, and nobody really wants to hear about it.
Here’s a great scene description from Quentin’s POV: The tide was out, and the sea was not so much calm as limp. Every few minutes it worked up enough energy for a wave that rose up half a foot and then flopped onto the strand with a startling smack, as if to remind everyone that it was still there.
Again, Quentin: He could have used someone stable to hang on to right now, but as it happened, through no particular fault of her own, Julia was not a person one could hang on to. She needed one of those warning decals that they put on airplane parts: NO STEP.
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Sharpen your tools (or claws)

I heard good buzz about Blake Snyder’s SAVE THE CAT! The Last Book on Screenwriting You’ll Ever Need. I write novels, but a lot can be learned about compelling storytelling from movies. So I ordered Snyder’s book from my county library share system and found I’d ordered the follow-up book by accident.
SAVE THE CAT! Goes to the Movies is packed with insights useful to any writer. Snyder identifies story types and gives examples of movies that fit these structures: Monster in the House, Golden Fleece, Out of the Bottle, Dude with a Problem, Rites of Passage, Buddy Love, Whydunit, Fool Triumphant, Institutionalized and Superhero.
Some of the films he gives as examples will make you nod your head and murmur, “Of course.” Others may surprise you.
I think the message here is not so much there are only a certain number of plotlines that exist in the world, but that a story needs a rock-solid structure first and then can vary the rest of the details. Otherwise, writers run the risk of being wishy-washy, not able to pinpoint in their pitch and, later, to readers what their story really is about.

If you have trouble identifying into which of the categories your story fits, Snyder lists elements that should be there. For instance, under Rites of Passage, it is the hero who must change, not the world around him.

Under Monster in the House, there must be a “sin,” some transgression that let the monster in. Buddy Love requires an incomplete hero who needs another to be whole.
There are lots of valuable tips. But I think I’ll leave you with a game. See if you can figure out what common links there are in the example movies that Snyder gives for each story type. (You can find the answers by reading the book. I’m so mean. Although if some of you try to guess in the comment section, I’ll tell you if you solved it, because I’m not all that mean.)

Monster in the House: Alien; Fatal Attraction; Scream; The Ring; Saw.

Golden Fleece: The Bad News Bears; Planes, Trains and Automobiles; Saving Private Ryan; Ocean’s Eleven; Maria Full of Grace.

Out of the Bottle: Freaky Friday; Cocoon; The Nutty Professor; What Women Want; Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Dude With a Problem: Three Days of the Condor; Die Hard; Sleeping With the Enemy; Deep Impact; Open Water.

Rites of Passage: 10; Kramer vs. Kramer; Ordinary People; 28 Days; Napoleon Dynamite.

Buddy Love: The Black Stallion; Lethal Weapon; When Harry Met Sally; Titanic; Brokeback Mountain.

Whydunit: All the President’s Men; Blade Runner; Fargo; Mystic River; Brick.

Fool Triumphant: Being There, Tootsie; Forrest Gump; Legally Blond; The 40-Year-Old Virgin.

Institutionalized: M*A*S*H; Do the Right Thing; Office Space: Training Day; Crash.

Superhero: Raging Bull; The Lion King; The Matrix; Gladiator; Spider-Man 2.

Nature's helping hand

the ocean turns from

snow ice to vanilla cream

with the rising sun

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My heart melted a little when I forced myself out for this early morning walk and saw the colors of sun on water and dolphins leaping in the surf.

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Someone really screwed me and my daughter over yesterday. It is something that damages us financially and emotionally, since it was a betrayal. Usually, I don't post about such things, but I do if I can find a way to work with them on a creative level.

This is one thing that nature, photography, haiku and other forms of writing do for me. They help me balance the anger and grief over something like this. Do you have ways of dealing with setbacks, particularly those you have no control over?

Reflections

I'm reflecting on three incredible days I spent at WriteOnCon without leaving my home office. I can't say enough about the people who organize this free online conference or about the scores of editors, agents and authors who volunteer to share their tips, encouragement and critiques.

The photo of reflection I took this week while walking along a flat and freshly wet section of beach. The sand looked like it was enamel and it reflected the sky. Otherworldly.

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Here are some random tidbits I was wowed with at WriteOnCon.

Are you having trouble coming up with a title? Editor Martha Mihalick says she looks for ideas in Shakespeare, the Bible and poetry. How cool is that tip? *runs to bookshelf*

Author Lisa Schroeder says you need to have a good reason for whatever beginning you chose for your novel. It should be a moment of significance, and you need to ask yourself why you chose that particular moment.

Agent Joanna Volpe really put the heart into what makes middle grade novels special.

Brilliant is a word that often seems to attach itself to author Sarah Rees Brennan. And it's easy to see why if you follow her livejournal blog or read her books. Her hilarious personality comes through in a chat that also delivers plenty of tips. I will never forget the mind puppets.

Picture book authors Tiffany Strelitz Haber and Corey Rosen Schwartz went many extra miles to give personalized rewrites of stanzas to the people who left examples on their post. It was amazing to see what they can do with rhyme, meter and content

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I was pretty much wowed by all the panel chats and agent critiques. You can go through the August archives to find everything, but the easiest way for you to cherrypick what to read is to go to the Full Schedule and link from there. The calls for questions or submissions for critiques are obviously closed now that the event is over, but the posts and transcripts of live events can be accessed any time. Do yourself a favor, for both pleasure and personal growth, read. That's another beauty about this conference--it's there whenever you can spare a moment.

A Pharaoh in the Sand and other tales

I saw this Pharaoh in the sand and thought what a great story title that would be. I've got storytelling on my mind after spending dawn to dark at WriteOnCon today (except for that walk along on the beach, I was crazy-glued to my computer screen).

If you're not at WriteOnCon, you're missing out on this free, online conference. The good news is you can read all the chat transcripts, watch the videos and read posts any time. But it's fun to attend the live events.

Here are some highlights (stuff I loved) from the first day. These are just paraphrased tidbits. You'll get much more out of reading the related posts or transcripts:

A chat with agent Suzie Townsend. She receives about 350 queries every week, so you can imagine how important it is to make yours stand out. Don't tell her, she says, that you heard she likes strong female characters, show her that character in the way you write the query. If she's not engaged by the character, she'll stop reading. She's very open in this chat about how she works with clients--the relationship, the revisions.

A chat with agent Sara Megibow, which covered in depth how she thinks writers should develop platforms.

The best description of magical realism ever by author Nova Ren Suma.

A video of author Sara Zarr discussing pacing. This was so packed with useful tidbits, I took notes. Here's one: By page 30, all the story seeds should be planted--the central conflict and important characters introduced.

Picture book query critiques from author Emma Walton Hamilton. She read and commented on about 50 query letters!

Q&A with agent Jessica Sinsheimer who went many extra miles in answering tons of questions, including mine, which made me all kinds of smiley.

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This barely begins to describe what these people, and many other authors, agents and editors are offering. Truly an amazing event, which continues Wednesday and Thursday. Go taste of its goodness. You know you want to.

Prompting Fate (a contest)

Contest time at The Merry Sisters of Fate. Randomly-chosen winners are trying for a signed advance reader’s copy of THE SCORPIO RACES by Maggie Stiefvater, a signed advance reader’s copy of THE SPACE BETWEEN by Brenna Yovanoff or a signed hardback of BLOOD MAGIC by Tessa Gratton. The authors are the sisters of fate, if you didn’t know.
The picture prompt for this contest is “The Turret Stairs” by Frederic Burton, and here’s my entry, a flash fiction:

He has no choice. Those are his words, not mine. I feel them like a shard of glass, a needle of ice through my heart.

This is the last time—I have no doubt of this—he will press his body to mine, the final touch of soft lips, hot breath upon my neck.

I cannot look at him.

“I am the kingdom,” he says, as though I need convincing. “What I desire, what I prefer, must always be for the good of all.”

Am I not part of all? But I do not speak those words or any other.

My hand rests on stone, cold as a tomb, centuries of terror held captive in these walls. I must climb into the darkness alone while he will step into the light of ten thousand candles and as many dawns.

“It was your hair, they say, that made them so sure.” He loops the end of my braid around his finger—a red-copper ring. A moan escapes him. He pulls his dagger free and cuts the lock, holding it first to his nose and then tucking it within his shirt. “I will mourn you always.”

I face him finally. “You will mourn, and you will suffer every moment of my eternal imprisonment. I would rather they’d sewn a hundred river stones in my hem or made me run in iron boots fresh from the fire than the end you chose. For you did have a choice, you see.”

“I could not sentence you to such a death!”

“But you have, my love, you have.”

misty thoughts

flannel sky, pewter

sea, soft and silent as stilt

walkers and our ghosts

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flapping red flags

break up the gray stillness

scatter my thoughts

a little contemplation, no more

wind rivers flow,

ripples in shifting sand--

no other trace

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day melts to evening,

the ocean leaves behind some

roots upon the shore

Moving images

I haven't sorted out Blogger's strange reaction to my move yet, but if I can post some pictures this morning, hey, I'm gonna.

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My new office window with the only piece of stained glass I ever made. Took a class, cut my fingers, decided this would be it for me and stained glass. But I like it. And it's the first thing I put in my new living space.

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The view, looking down, from my second-story office (and connected room). This white picket fence and garden have been almost a landmark on the urban beach street where my late in-laws lived for decades.

Venice Beach has these wonderful small-town streets in a residential area a block from the ocean, where houses face pedestrian walks. Cars travel and park in the alleys behind the houses.

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This is the state of the walls of my room when they had to be scraped of old, peeling paint (probably lead-based, eew) before we could paint them with new, zero-VOC paint. I love that my room doesn't smell of paint fumes and that I know I'm not breathing toxins.

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My room, painted, and before I moved in a ton o' stuff.

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From a beach walk. Yay.

I'm still hoping that my blog won't vanish as I complete the email transactions. But, for the moment, here I am. I miss y'all.

well, um, not so much

I'd hoped to have this blog all set by now. But, no. For some unfathomable reason Blogger makes changing the primary email on a blog a nightmare. I thought I'd figured it out, read the Help forum posts, set up my secondary blog authors for backup, etc. Then my daughter, who's pretty computer savvy, and I tackled the project.
Since we read that you will lose all your photos from Picasa if you transfer the blog administrator email, we set up a Gmail account and transferred all the photos first. Then we meticulously followed the many steps indicated, using different computers and browsers as instructed.
In the end, I have this blog, which confusedly has two contributors--me here and me on the old version. This new one didn't bring my profile or reader list of 317 blogs I follow, but it's on the old one. I had to write a new profile for this one.
I have no idea what's going on and am frustrated beyond anything I can really explain. I don't think I've ever run across anything this convoluted in my life.
Anyway, just trying to change an email because I moved has ended up costing days of my time, and I still don't know if this blog will go poof when I turn my back.
As I promised before I will find you all if I have to start over. Right now, I think I'll go watch a movie and chill.

Hello, out there

I have finally finished the physical move but am still buried in boxes and other time sucks, so this is mostly filler (Buffy fans know what I'm talking about). Today I will change the email connected to this blog, carefully following Blogger's instructions and hoping I don't find my blog missing afterward. I've seen scary comments in Help forum about this process. If I disappear, my dear friends, I will find you again!
If all goes well, I should be back to posting regularly within a week. I hope, hope, hope.

Sherman Alexie is my hero

This man is one of my heroes. I became of aware of Sherman Alexie many years ago when, as a reporter, I covered an event where he spoke to students of a BIA school. He was so authentic, and his words carried weight even when delivered in humor (which he excels at, by the way).

When some people put "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian" on banned lists, I was shocked. The book is so compelling, so witty, so important that I couldn't understand any prejudice blinding someone to its value. But then I am often shocked by what people wish to ban.

This semi-autobiographical YA novel never shirks from the horrors of living in poverty and abuse but tells the story with the resilient spirit and humor that Alexie brings to his work. For many hurt kids, on and off reservations, the book is a life raft, a beacon of hope showing a path to a better future.

A friend sent me a link to an article Alexie wrote for The Wall Street Journal that is a must-read for anybody, especially writers. Alexie says books were the most loving and trustworthy things in his life as a child. He read everything from classics to horror and found out that reading about monstrous things could teach him how to battle real monsters in his life.

This quote stuns me: "I write in blood because I remember what it feels like to bleed."

Please, please, read the whole article. You owe it to yourself and your readers.

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P.S. I continue to post sporadically whilst in process of moving and turning my entire life upside down. *grins and groans*

I never want to live without stories

Despite the difficulties in my life right now, I keep on reading and want to share a few good books with you. I've put these reviews on Goodreads where I go by Patricia J. O'Brien.

And I've added a great quote about reading and writing at the bottom of this post. Makes me want to shout, YES!

I'd never want to live without stories and storytellers. I can't imagine a life without imagination and wonder and contemplation and adventure and knowledge and the deliciousness of what if.
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BLOOD RED ROAD by Moira Young

Oh. My. I started reading this advance copy weeks ago and put it aside because I had trouble adjusting to the narrative style. I'm so glad I picked it up again and soon found myself completely at ease with the language. I wouldn't want this marvelous story written any other way. I haven't seen a female protagonist this flawed and tough and compelling since Katniss.
It's dystopian in a Mad Max kind of world, and the narrator, Saba, doesn't read or write. Words come out as they sound, and there aren't quotation marks. Still, it's not hard once you get into the cadence. Here's a sample:
Yer young, she says, an strong. A natural-born fighter from the look of it. I knew it right off. You'll be perfect.
Perfect fer what? I says.
She straightens up. Looks at me with her small dark eyes, cold as stones.
Perfect, she says, fer cage fightin.
The little hairs on my arms stand on end. I shiver.
That's right girlie, she says. You better be afeared. Cage fightin's mean. Nasty. An it's big business in Hopetown. You'll do well fer us.
I ain't doing nuthin fer you, I says.
You ain't gotta choice, she says.
You cain't make me do nuthin, I says.
Oh you'll do ezzackly what I tell you, she says

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THE LIAR SOCIETY by Lisa & Laura Roecker

Sassy, fun and mysterious. For anyone who's read Lisa and Laura Roecker's blog you know they can be hilarious. Their debut YA has a taste of Veronica Mars to it with a smart, gutsy protagonist, Kate, who won't let herself be intimidated in her quest to find out why her best friend died in a suspicious fire. A list of suspects grows as she discovers that many students and faculty of her private school hide secrets.
Kate is urged on by emails from her dead friend, which make the reader wonder if the story is paranormal or if Kate is being led on by someone. I hate spoilers so I'm not going to sketch out the plot, but I liked the way Laura and Lisa kept adding new suspects and clues. Kate's sidekicks--a nerdy neighbor with a crush on her and a hot bad boy, who may or may not be a suspect--are nicely drawn and, eventually, endearing.

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THE MAGICIANS by Lev Grossman

I've heard some people call The Magicians a Harry Potter for adults, but that doesn't begin to describe this coming-of-age tale, written in a great voice of a nineteen-year-old guy who finds out he's got a talent for magic. Lev Grossman spins a fine fantasy but does it with literary style and a complex company of characters who are smart, sly and flawed. Quentin and his friends at a secret school of magic have extraordinary power, but they're teenagers, complete with insecurities, hormones, jealousy and rash decisions. When they step in it, some really bad things happen. My heart broke near the end of the book, but the actual end returns to a satisfying bit of hope and humor and a measured appreciation of the world and its mysteries.
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I stumbled across this great quote by Michelle Obama when she talked to some school girls in England. Full article.
"So I would encourage you all to read, read, read. Just keep reading. And writing is another skill. It's practice. It's practice. The more you write, the better you get. Drafts--our kids are learning the first draft means nothing. You're going to do seven, 10 drafts. That's writing, it's not failure, it's not the teacher not liking you because it's all marked up in red. When you get to be a good writer, you mark your own stuff in red, and you rewrite, and you rewrite, and you rewrite. That's what writing is."

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I've got my red pen (actually purple) and I'm going to revise two chapters of my dark fairy tale today. How about you?

Voices lifted to the night sky

By the waters


the waters of Babylon

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We lay down and wept

and wept for thee Zion

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We remember thee remember

thee remember thee Zion

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Two family friends, sisters Montserrat and Maximilian, led a small group in singing "Babylon" at sunset. We were a dozen or so family/friends remaining at my father-in-law's house in Venice Beach and we'd walked out to do one of his favorite things--watch the sunset. (It was a gray sunset, not this one that I'd shot another day. I wasn't taking pictures during the wake.)

We learned the three verses and sang in rounds. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect way to end an incredible day. My heart swelled and soared. I think from the expressions around me that the singing did the same for everyone else. Thank you so much, ladies, for pulling us into that circle.

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The lyrics are based on a Psalm. Besides use by Jewish and Christian religious groups, many composers and poets have borrowed from or referenced these powerful words. Among them, Giuseppe Verdi, Stephen Schwartz, Don McLean, T.S. Eliot, Stephen Vincent Benet, Paulo Coelho.

That long link to culture would have pleased Ken. He and his wife, Fern, surrounded themselves with friends who were writers, artists and musicians.

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In the house, we put dozens of his photographic prints around and a slide show of his pictures. At least fifty people came, bearing love.
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I'm still in an emotional--highly-charged but also very drained--state. I'm going to be making a move back to Venice and trying not to lose the momentum on my dark fairy tale, which is two-thirds complete. So my blogging may be sporadic during the next couple of months. I will visit you all when I can. As always, I thank you so much for visiting me. Peace.

Farewell to a man who changed my life

Walking on Venice beach, I saw lots of snowy egrets in the last few days. I'm used to seeing them along lakes and wetlands but not so much where waves meet sand. This shot reflects they way I feel right now--deeply reflective.

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My father-in-law died Saturday. Ken was a quiet man, a private man, quite the opposite personality of my mother-in-law, Fern. But between them they exposed me to a world of wonder. They changed my life, showing me the richness of experiences available if we open ourselves up, reach out.

They always traveled, often spending months abroad, staying with people they'd met or with friends of friends all around the globe.

Life was meant to be explored, to be tasted and contemplated and shared. She did it through words. He did it through pictures, capturing extraordinary moments in his portraits and landscapes. When people visited, they begged for him to do a slide show of his images, many of which made it into galleries and on Corbis. I think this link to Ocean View, an exhibit at the UCR/California Museum of Photography is still viable.

(The link takes you to the main page. You must click on artists and Ken O'Brien to see his work, I discovered when checking the link.)

Ken gave me my first SLR camera and taught me how to compose photos and how to develop them in his darkroom. He showed me by example that capturing good images means getting out and about, being on the lookout and then being patient, waiting for the right light, finding the best composition.

In no way am I offering these shots on this post as examples. They are just what I found while walking and contemplating his long, well-lived life. And I shot them on the fly with a phone camera--something that would have shocked his meticulous nature.

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He was a man who'd always kept himself trim and active, but his health declined and turned him into a shell of who he was. His passing was expected. His friends and family knew it was time for him to bid adieu to this world with all its wonder and pain.

The Easter egg party I wrote about recently was an incredible send-off. So many people were there who had known him for years and spent happy days at his home. Normally, he napped a lot in his final days but he sat in his wheelchair for the whole party. I like to think he absorbed all the love that filled that house.

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Anyway, that's why I've been absent from the blog world and will be sporadic in the days ahead as I have many family issues to deal with. I will visit you all when I can. Thank you to the new followers and all who comment. It always means a lot to me.

Sweet mystery

What is more mysterious than life, than the intricacies of nature? This fern captivated me from the moment I noticed it in the garden of my late mother-in-law. Her name, too, was Fern.

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The writer in me sees: A fairy's chariot. A creature from a distant planet. A deep sea being, like an octopus, curling into itself when flung upon land. A mystery waiting to unfold.

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I love that my eyes, my mind, take these leaps. And I know that helps my writing.

I'm currently two-thirds done with my fairy tale WIP and ready to take the giant leap into the climax and resolution, where all the complex, mysterious threads come together. I've been hearing the characters' dialogue for weeks. I haven't written down these confrontations, because I see them, I know them. They are developing, waiting to unfold and will be there when I need them.

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Here is another view of a fern frond unfolding. This one looks like an upside down seahorse, doesn't it?

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Fern loved the sea, lived by it most of her life. She also loved literature but rarely let anyone see her writings, her words scribbled on backs of envelopes, scraps of lined paper or sometimes typed.

After she died, my daughter found a folder of her writings with a note (on an envelope) to me. It read, "Did I ever show you, I think not, these poor, few travesties of lyric songs. You may see them, dear."

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A moment, please. My eyes tear, my heart aches. I do miss her.

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Since April is National Poetry month, I'll share one of Fern's poems, hoping that I found the most finished draft she wrote.

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She called it No Myth.

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Forewarned, Psyche dared not find

the face of Love in light,

nor flare of discontent which might

unseat that lord; no sight

reveal if he be radiant or foul.

And yet he knows her contour,

slant and color of the eye,

her soul, computerized,

conditioned, tidied, tamed,

claimed, tuned to die,

he shoots the shaft, reversed, towards home.

Did she risk an open query,

haggle over price to pay,

trade, while tugging at Love's sleeve,

deceit for immortality?

Or make that godly, girlish move

aware, sure, pure in sin,

knowing lone Beauty, Love

needs not consort with Truth to win.

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Thank you, Fern, for opening my eyes to so much, to the magic and the truth all around us.

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(once again, I cross my fingers that Blogger won't make too much mess of the paragraph spacing)