A Photograph and A Vineyard

Several bloggers have opined on how they spent New Year’s Eve and/or New Year’s Day. I can’t imagine that you seriously want to read about my 3 mile walk in the county park with my husband or the panini we shared at our favorite diner after waking up late on January 1^st. I will tell you about the book I read, though. Mary Coin by Marissa Silver.

 I spent a good part of the afternoon engrossed in Silver's evocative novel inspired by the iconic photograph from the depression, Migrant Mother, taken by photographer Dorothea Lange and highly recommend the book. The author's multiple point of view story centers around three characters: 1. Mary Coin, the fictitious name of the migrant mother herself, a woman with courage and nerve 2. Vera Dare, the fictitious photographer who wrestles with creative ambition and leaves her children to pursue her work and 3. Walker Dodge, a present-day professor who discovers a family mystery embedded in the photograph.  The extraordinary tale taken from a brief moment in history will keep you turning pages.

Just as Silver’s book was inspired by a real-life story, my novel-in-progress was as well. FLOURISH is based on the unique team of the first woman winery owner with a woman winemaker in the state of Pennsylvania. A photograph gave impetus to Mary Coin; a vineyard in the Lehigh Valley did the same for FLOURISH. Both Mary and Liz, the protagonist in my novel, are strong, determined women though Liz is more fortunate than Mary. For starters, Liz lives in a different era and she has a sisterhood who rallies around her. With their support she overcomes adversities and succeeds in ways she never expected.

You can read the entirely new first chapter of FLOURISH on my website www.linda-rosen.com.

When Seagulls Take Flight

It had been a rainy morning and the sky was still full of dark clouds, the air thick with humidity. Not the kind of day you’d want to sit on the beach. I was on my bicycle heading down Sea Pines Drive on Hilton Head Island and had a choice – turn left and head back to the condo or turn right and head for the beach.  My wheels made the right. The beach was quiet. A few people strolled along, their feet in the surf, another rode by on his bicycle. It was after five o’clock so the lifeguards were no longer there. Basically, it was the seagulls and me, and that was just fine. The only sound came from the tranquil whoosh of the surf as it lapped against the shore.

A white wooden box that I think held supplies for the lifeguards, or for the guys that give out chairs and umbrellas on a nice day, seemed like a good place to sit. I stared at the dark gray surf and watched champagne-like bubbles form as the waves lapped against shore. My mind became quiet. My entire being settled. I watched the sea gulls take flight and somehow words formed in my head. The words became sentences and in a few quiet moments I had a whole paragraph. Writers are supposed to carry paper and pen wherever they go for moments like these, but I didn’t have any.  I did have my trusty iPhone and slipped it out of my pocket, pressed “notes” and began typing on the virtual keyboard. My index finger worked furiously -I’m not a two- thumb texter.  

Recently I’ve read about the need for quiet to stir creativity, to allow one’s mind to turn off, to dig deep into oneself.  A person does not have to actually meditate, she needs to stop. Stop talking, thinking, texting, emailing. Stop doing – and let your mind quiet down. As I stared out at the great expanse of the Atlantic watching the gulls take flight, with the sand between my toes, I found that quiet place, the place that let my creativity flow.

You can't plan something like this. You can't force the moment. It just happens, and when it does, go with it. Let yourself go. Let your thoughts, words, and  images flow like the sea,  back and forth, no beginning, no end. Eventually the sun comes out and everything is brilliant, vibrant. 

 Here’s a sample from the scene I created while I sat on that white wooden box. It’s from the middle of my new first chapter for FLOURISH, the novel that I’m expanding, once again, from suggestions given to me by an agent who rejected the manuscript as is, but offered to read again once polished. To be honest, my mind has been on Liz, my main character, and her vineyard ever since - actually ever since I started writing the novel four years ago! (go to www.linda-rosen.com for more). Although I wasn’t planning on writing when I rode to the beach, my quiet mind let the words flow.         

         On a mid September morning in 1980 when the air smelled of autumn and the sun was low in the sky, Liz and the kids climbed in the golf cart and rode up to the vineyard to inspect their fruit. Just as Matt Woods predicted, the grapes matured and would soon be ready for their first harvest. Liz kneeled down to Noah’s size and together they sniffed the grapes. She took a clump in her hand and felt for firmness. Plump and juicy, ready to burst, just as they should be. “Only a few more days,” she told her little guy with the wide open eyes, “and then we can pick them.” She left Bethany and Noah playing on the grass and went to check the other rows, to make sure insects or birds hadn’t bruised any of the fruit.

            “Mommy, mommy,” Noah’s five year old voice cut through the quiet peaceful vineyard. Liz knew from the whine he had some kind of complaint about his sister and she wasn’t in the mood to referee. “Befany ate a grape!”  He shouted and Liz couldn’t help but smile. She adored his lisp. Then as usual, Bethany chimed in. “I’m not the only one, Noah ate one, too.” It drove her crazy when her kids tattled on each other, plus she’d told them on the ride up not to pick the fruit. She would give them a taste, but only one.

            “Remember we can’t eat the grapes,” she reminded them. “We have to sell them.”

            With thick juice dripping down his chin, Noah looked up at his mother, in all innocence. “Why? Why can’t we keep them?” he asked, licking his lower lip.

            “Sweetie, I told you before, when we sell the grapes we’ll get money and then we can buy you a new big-boy bike.” Liz smiled at her little guy and swallowed the other words she was thinking - and Daddy can buy more vodka. Dick drank it straight up or on the rocks, and it was the reason he was still in bed that morning. He’d come home late the night before. Liz was in bed with the lights out, but she was wide awake. She didn’t want to start another argument, there had been too many of late, so she kept quiet when Dick claimed he was out with the guys. But she wondered when men started wearing Shalimar.

          

 

 

A Bouquet of Fiction and Flowers

Writing is kind of like gardening. When I first started my novel, FLOURISH, the words came together like new seeds sprinkled in the dirt. Then I realized I had to amend the soil, add some nutrients to make it richer, and as with any shrub or flower, it takes time to see it grow to its full potential with an abundance of robust, colorful blooms. FLOURISH, which I wrote about in my first blog post, is now finished and sitting on my computer, taking a rest. Or to be more honest, I’m taking a rest from it. After almost three years, I need to step back, give it some time to set, and then come back with fresh eyes and decide whether it blossoms are vibrant enough.

In the meantime, I’ve gone back to a story which had its seeds planted several years ago. I was on vacation when my sister-in-law, Roni, told me about an oil painting that had hung in her parents’ house for many years, how she found the artist and what ensued. Immediately my brain started clicking and I set off writing. But, then I got involved with FLOURISH and set the painting off to the side.

Do you ever wonder where writers get their ideas from? I do. Sure, there are memoirs, quite an abundance of them now, but there are so many other stories with great characters and plots.  One of my favorites, The Art of Racing in the Rain, is brilliant. I imagine the author, Garth Stein, is a dog lover since his narrator is a dog. I can just imagine Stein sitting on his couch one night petting his pooch and wondering what’s going on in his mind. Maybe Stein had some family trouble, as in the novel, or maybe he read about a similar situation in the newspaper. However he came up with his story-line and characters he wrote a fabulous book, one I recommend highly. You can’t help but fall in love with Enzo, an insightful lab-terrier mix. And if you know how he came up with his story, please tell me.

While waiting for FLOURISH to set, Roni’s painting is blossoming into a new novel. I’ve taken the idea of her oil and am scattering its seeds, centering it around a family secret held for 85 years.  I’ve got plans as to where the story will go, but new buds are popping up where I never expected, and suddenly I’ve got a new character. We just met and I’m not sure how much she’s going to play a part in the novel. I’ll keep writing and find out. My pen will let me know.

I realize this post, again, doesn’t have a fitness tip. It’s the literary part of The Literary Leotard. For those of you who wait for my exercises, I promise my next post will be about core strength. In the meantime, stop for a moment and observe your posture. Are you slouching? Is your belly sticking out? How about your head? Is your neck pushing forward? Okay – readjust. Pull your abdominals in, roll your shoulders back, retract your head – sit up! You’ll feel a bit taller and even more important; you’ll be helping your spine. Make it long. I’ve found the more you sit or stand erect, you not only look more confident, you feel it.

Until next time – hold your belly in – from the moment you wake up ‘til you go to sleep. But, don’t forget to breathe! Stay tuned for more.