Showing posts with label Hedgebrook Writers Colony. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hedgebrook Writers Colony. Show all posts

08 November 2011

A Muse Ponders Her Role & Dishes Dirt

Hello, Sparrow here,
            Sorry for taking over this week’s log, but someone had to.
            You see Captain Val—how can I say this and not be judgmental—has had a very busy week and is now at her monthly writers retreat on the Oregon coast. I even asked the Captain if she wanted me to do this, but a shrug and a mumbled reply gave me no definitive answer as she sat there overwhelmed by 244 emails, all of which I think should be deleted. But no, she’s so responsible, she had to go through all of her personal email first, then her political, followed by (discrete cough) her social networking messages. She responds to the ones she can and connects with others, establishing her “online presence” as an author and—well, truth be told—filling her natural need to connect. Fine. But I’ll wager that by the end of the week, she’ll drop a few of the groups within the different sites because, well, I’ll be frank, she’ll find some of the chit-chat unnecessary and—big roll of the eyes here—she already networks in real time and space. Of course, she has other responsibilities, and I understand, but this?
            I’m quite excited for the recent research she did for her work-in-progress (WIP in the writers world). (SHOULD be working on; get off the internet!) Oh, goddess, now she’s watching a TED video on the next-generation digital book. (Oh, my, that is interesting! Look at that. Amazing!)


            I’m sorry, again. Sigh.
            So, the research. On Friday, Captain Val visited Laura Lee at Redoux Parlour to research a local fashion design studio, interviewing Laura Lee, taking photos of the machines, the tables, the storage of thread cones, the necessities such as the industrial cutting tool that can whiz through six layers of fabric. 

Laura Lee Laroux- photo by Claire Flint
In her novel, the twenty-something daughter is a local fashion designer who is soon to head off to Paris to attend high couture school, or whatever it’s called. So I have no problem with her doing this type of work as it feeds me, too, and I fly around taking in everything Captain Val does, from the vintage clothing, to the bulletin board covered with design ideas. She may call on me when she rewrites the studio scene where all this research will land. I surely hope so.





            Oh, for heaven’s sake! Here comes that damned parrot. I cannot tell you how I would love to stuff this bird’s mouth. He sits on the Captain’s shoulder and proceeds to pontificate on so many subjects that he should be left on Fox Island where he’d either survive well or be eaten.
            Brawk, brawk, brawk. He goes on and on about how Captain Val’s novel should be more multi-layered, larger in scope, filled with more vivid details, heightened with more literary panache (he uses these words! Does he even know what he’s saying?). His own long-winded narrative spiel should disqualify him from criticizing any writer, never mind his own Captain’s. That bird is a disgrace to the bird species. Plus, he distracts her with politics and family worries, tapping into a glut of guilt that already causes the Captain misery. That psittacine needs to be put out of his misery.
What that pain-in-the-butt parrot looks like

How I see the the parrot

            I must change subjects while I sit here waiting to be called upon. (In one of the Captain’s last logs, she called me flighty and that really hurt my feelings; I am only flighty when the Captain is distracted or overloaded. Is it my fault that I desire to be working, and I’m ignored?)
            Enough of my complaints. Instead, I’ll share this bit of the Captain’s writing life. 
            In her work in progress, the two sisters have a mother we never see, but hear over the phone. (Isn’t there always a mom somewhere in a novel?) Well, just a few weeks ago, the Captain told her mother in a way of preparation that she had used details in her novel from her mother’s English background. These details are so rich and unique, I will not even divulge them here. As most writers do, they steal. Yes. Once when the Captain attended a residency at Hedgebrook Writers Colony, one of the writers, Jean Brody, told the younger women at the table, “It’s all grist for mill,” as the writers told alarming stories about themselves. Ms. Brody sat back with a knowing smile.
            Recently when the Captain and I were sailing into port, we listened to author Jeffrey Eugenides who just published the novel The Marriage Plot talk on NPR’s “Fresh Air” about where his characters come from. He said:

"I don't write characters and base them on a person. What I do when I create a character is put in details from all the details I know who might be like that person and then put in a huge amount of myself.”

             I’m not sure Captain Val would agree with that, but she does agree that the characters are always composites, that they may start out with one person in mind, but as the fictional dream is created and the character comes to life, the character takes on its own persona. Agree? What do you think?
            Oh, and I must tell you this—hush, hush—that the Captain’s new escape, something that takes her to a different world from this pirate one, is the ABC show Revenge. One of her favorite film forms is film noir, and this has so many of the elements. Or maybe it has to do with her Capricorn moon or the idea that the show’s writers were told to develop an updated Count of Monte Cristo, but she loves the high conflict and characterization and the obvious analogy to our economic times when wealthy people do anything to keep their lavish lifestyle, including, as she says, demolishing the middle class. The show, set in the Hamptons, focuses on a young woman who enacts revenge on a family who set up her father to take a fall for a crime he didn’t commit.
            Here’s the Revenge logline or summation that would be used for a pitch if trying to sell it to an agent or producer:

Revenge centers on a young woman who is welcomed into a community filled with people who don't know she's only there to exact revenge on those who had destroyed her family.

            And for those curious, here's the trailer:
            Oh, that damned parrot! He’s on a rant again. I’m done with that. Shoo, go away. Ha! I opened the door and he flew out.
            Ah, you need me? My Captain needs me. Thank goodness. I must fly now. Thank you, Gobsmacked crew, for listening.
            What? Oh, okay.
            My Captain asked me to thank all of you. She now has over one-hundred followers aboard the Gobsmacked. Delightful! What a joy! She’s thrilled. Merci beaucoup.
            Can’t wait to give her a little inspiration, because I’m good at inspiration and. … Coming!
            Good-bye, all! Until next time.
            Sincerely yours,
            Sparrow
            Captain Val’s Muse

p.s.
From IMDB Revenge page: Yes, the show is loosely based upon Alexandre Dumas' 'The Count of Monte Cristo', albeit transposed to the present day. Amanda Clarke (and her father David) stand in for Edmond Dantès; Conrad Grayson for Baron Danglars; Victoria Clarke for Madame Hermine Danglars; Frank for Lucien Debray etc.


Coming Up!
Interview with book reviewer Diane Prokop
Inside a Writer's Critique Group
My Research Trip to Paris: How to Let Go and Follow your Instincts
Confirmed Gossip and News from the Writing World


07 April 2011

Every Picture Tells a Story


Ah, Stalwart Followers!

            You’ll likely want to flog me, but I veer off course again. Here’s the drift:
            This very mornin’, while readin’ over my latest Captain’s Log, I see I here promised a photo gallery escapade, the Key West sail with the proper English relatives.

What in Hades are you doin’? I say to meself. This isn’t Facebook, you dunce! This is about your writin’ life, you fish fodder.

            Aye, I could argue all is fodder for a writer, even the English relatives. But nay, this weren’t one of those times. I’d let me cutlass down, been caught in the moment of the fun, the partying, the being away from the desk and writin’. Am I daft for wantin’ more play?
            Returnin’ to the ship called home, I was, however, ready to write, thank Neptune! Bein’ self-employed, I had a few awaitin’ and a new one to boot. Late I was in approachin’ the blog, but I had greadily readied myself for the visuals of photos. Now I was going on gobsmacked. How the heck could I switch direction, again? Was I driving my readers crazy? Would they join me as I hopped like a frog from one lily pad to another? And where the bloody hell is that interview with Jessica Maxwell you may be asking? Ah, mateys, scheduling conflicts, and I won’t do an email interview. Live ones give the unexpected and are dammed good interesting. So stay on board!
            Aye, I could beg forgiveness, but you’re a good lot, and I expect I’m not the first to disappoint. Instead of floggin’ myself, I’ll move the bloody photos to FB.  Could it be simpler?
            But where to go, messmates?
            I sit, thump me head, drum fingers, drink tea. Check me last blog again.
            There I find the latest comment and sail over to Kirsten’s blogship.           
            A twinge! My gut’s a flutter. She’s followin’ “A Thousand Hands Clapping.” I do not know this ship, but I take a look. And blimey! Lookee what I find—

 

            E’er was this synchronicity squared? I write to Catherine, captain of the blogship and congratulate her on her first movie/slideshow. Watchin’ it, reminds me of the photos I’ve taken, and a thematic tide surges through me. Like a ship, a floating bit of wood and canvas upon the sea that contains all a buccaneer needs, these photos squeeze much into little, something I call artistry from confinement.


            Oh, me buckos! Visual arts feeds me. In Florida, I watched no movies, so stimulation came from the unexpected and humorous. Whether sailing to Key West with my brother or afterwards trawling South Beach with my sister, I looked for objects that that tell a story. That’s why we take photos—to remember our stories, to create our stories. As a storyteller, I try to find photos that speak to me. Here be a few. Imagine what they say, what stories they tell. What stories you spin from them.


            I know not how these “found objects” will surface in my writing. I’m followin’ this line of thinkin’, fellow seamen and women, ‘cause it has to do with “feeding the creative beast.” Or should I say “chumming the waters?” Perhaps, as in dreams, I am both the beast that I’m feeding and the feeder of said beast. As a writer, I don’t dismiss any of this crazy wandering of the mind. Not all needs to be purposefully followed. Like day dreamin’. If it surfaces, I pay attention or perish. It is, as one of my late compatriots at Hedgebrook Writers Colony said, all grist for the mill.
            And I think I’ll clatter on with this very same subject next week with more about “found objects” as a jumping off place for writers. Nay, this isn’t about catching ideas for a story like so many fish, but more about stimulatin’ the creative glands or filling the creative stomach. We need nourishment, all of us. Writers sometimes find it in the mundane, sometimes in the mysterious. It’s all part of the process.

And if you understand any of this prattle, if any of the photos strikes a story in you, join this blog with a comment. The wilder, the better.

All my duty to you,
Captain Val

"A Thousand Clapping Hands" blog can be found here:


Coming Up! (I hear ya laughin’, you scallywags!)
“Found Objects: a Launch for Creative Storytelling”
"The Fountain of Creative Ideas, or Why My Resume Wouldn't Land Me a Normal Job"
"Platform, Flatform"
"A View of My Writers Room Wall: What Inspires Me"
... and soon an interview with Jessica Maxwell of Roll Around Heaven