Showing posts with label untitled. Show all posts
Showing posts with label untitled. Show all posts

Friday, February 19, 2016

Reading, writing, and Downton... the things in my life

Hello lovely readers,

I hope you are all (who ever you are) are having a good week and are excited for the up coming weekend... I am, my mom is town and we are going to be enjoying some pampering, also doing a little bit of shopping and just enjoying some mom and daughter time. But before the weekend begins I just wanted to give you all a quick update on my life...
 I tried reading Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier as it was recommend to me by my friend and while I was intrigued by the story I didn't get past 100 pages. One night I was reading in bed and the book Me Before You was sitting on my book shelf and I kept thinking I want to read that instead. So I began reading it. I will also admit while I have wanted to read this book for a while and when I saw the ad for the upcoming movie I was more intrigued... plus I love Sam Claffin (aka Finnick).
Re-watching trailer I think I am going to need tissues... Yep I am a sap. 

I think I am two or three plot points away from being done, which feels very weird and cool all at the same time. Currently I am trying to type up every thing I have written out in order to get my mind settled on how I want to finish the story. I have it outlined and I know how I want to end in my head putting words on paper feels hard. But as I have been reminded I have to keep pushing myself.
{The Future was Theirs}
I have been thinking more and more about preparing for my second draft and sharing my work. I know this goes against some advice but I am thinking of sharing the story through a blog format. I am not so concerned about being published or the money, and to me that sounds like a headache. For me it is more important to share my story with my friends and family and anyone else who reads this blog. But I am still thinking through this process.
For now I just have to finish the first draft.

Thinking about
Even though I am working on the first draft of my story my brain can't help but wander to my next story.  
A couple of months ago I thought of a story line where a modern day girl finds a journal from the past only to find out that it is hers. Then a few weeks later I quickly jotted down this scene...
He was perched on the bench ready to jump into action, clasping the edge of the seat to make sure he didn't fall off. He eagerly awaited her to arrive on the incoming train.
Later I saw a man sitting on the T wearing a tweed jacket and sweater vest and the name Crispin came to me and wrote this out...
Crispin was wearing his best forest green collar button up with it nearly matching green tie, wool sweater vest with a red and gold diamond pattern, and his tweed jacket that had patches on the elbow. He loved that jacket, it had been his fathers and still smelled of his father's pipe tobacco. Crispin thought if gave him a scholarly look, and when her wore it he stood a bit taller. He been in the library shuffling through papers looking for some some notes on the archaeology diggings in Pakistan. His uncle had referred to it the other day and Crispin was certain his uncle had misquoted the author, however scholarly his uncle pretended to be he was always misquoting someone. Crispin had made it a game to look up the quotes to discreetly and politely correct him. He was shuffling through some papers when he caught out of the corner of his eye a movement in the garden. No one besides the gardener went out there after Aunt Edith passed away and even out of the corner of his eye he recognized this was not Marion, the crotchety old gardener, who was only kept on in respect of Aunt Edith. This movement was a woman who clearly did not want to be noticed. Crispin slammed the files shut and marched to the garden, he wasn't sure if was more curious by the woman's movement in the garden or angry someone would intrude on them. There had been tales of ghostly figures on the property and youngsters had mad it their mission to hunt these out and these escapades had happened more since Aunt Edith's death but never in the day time. Crispin was happy to finally be able to have his say in the matter once he captured the intruder.
{This is not how I pictured Crispin but I like the suit}
Not sure what is going to happen with this but I feel all these plots are intertwined.

I am greatly enjoying watching the last season of Downton Abbey and I am interested in seeing how it will all end. During the first season of Downton I didn't care for Edith at all but over time she has grown on me, she sometimes whines too much, I feel she is becoming more empowered. Now if only Mary could stop picking on her I would be happy. In this season I am feeling more sorry for Thomas or Mr. Barrows but I think if he had just been nicer earlier on more people would be rooting for him, but I do want him to be successful at the end of the series.

I do want Mary to be happy but I honestly don't understand why they made Henry a race car driver of course this was going to be a hang up for Mary after Matthew's death. I am actually surprised how long she has pursued him because of it... but I guess sometimes love is a risk. I think Branson was very wise (as he has always been) in the last episode.

Also I have been binge re-watching Hart of Dixie, which I enjoyed the second time as much as I enjoyed the first time and knowing what was going I enjoyed watching the character development more. I will say right now I wish Lavon and AnnaBeth had ended up together as I thought they were perfect together. 
{AnnaBeth and Lavon}
 Plus she was good friend to both Lemon and Zoe even though they hated each other. Plus her fashion (minus some green eye shadow) was better than Lemon's... I know this shouldn't be the reason why she should be with Lavon but its true.
{One of my favorite outfits}
Overall I am happy with the ending of the show.

Video contains some spoilers up to season 3

 Looking forward to
In March I will be going to visit my sister and family to celebrate my little ginger man's 1st birthday. I cannot believe he will be a year old. 
{Him and I over Christmas}
That is all for now hope you guys have a good weekend. 

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

"Yours Faithfully"... letter #7

Hello Lovely Readers,

I know it has been a bit since I posted a letter in this series. My mind has been full of getting back to reality after vacation, being wrapped up in some emotional stuff (I am fine but some very close people to me are struggling and I am hurting for them), and trying to focus my energies on my other story in progress. But I do like this little project and want to keep it going.

For letter #6 click here.

Dearest Aunt,
My heart is aching... I think I will burn this letter as soon as I write it. Now I am desperate for your voice and guidance, and yet I know you cannot speak to me. If you could, I would not be able to tell you for I swore to both Hugh and Ozzie I would not say a word, and I will keep my word. However, my heart aches and I know that you will never read these words as I swear I will burn this letter as soon as I write it.

Ozzie is married. I know no other details than that. Only I imagine he must be ashamed of this marriage or why would he keep it secret... but I cannot think that Osborne would something that would bring such shame to the family, he has always proved himself to be such a good son, brother and cousin to myself. I can only assume that he meant to tell you about this marriage but with your health he did not want to add any more burden to your heart. Though I have not configured in my mind why his marriage would add a burden. Marriage is suppose to be a wonderful event and surely knowing that your son was so happy would bring comfort to you. 

However, like I said I know nothing of the details of her, the marriage, or anything only that it is to be a deep secret. 

I promise it was not my wish to add this secret to my life, I was in the library reading when Hugh came in announcing he had a letter for Osborne from his wife.

It feels so wrong to call Osborne, Ozzie, as I feel there is a great separation between us with his secret. I don't know if I can even look at him the same way I did through all our childhood. 

Anyway I was sitting in the library and Hugh came in and announced he had a letter from Osborne's wife. Hugh must have been in on the secret as it seemed the words were natural on his lips. Ozzie  Osborne then scowled that Hugh should have looked around before saying such things. That is when Hugh's eyes caught mine. I must have looked terrified because his face went white and then he stumbled over his words. 

I immediately got up in and left the library. I didn't know where to go but I knew I could not stay there any more. Half an hour or so later Hugh found me in the garden and tried to explain the details. I said I didn't want to know them as I knew I could keep any more secrets in me. He respected my wishes. 

The thing that hurts the most is feeling so separate now from you and my Uncle as I cannot tell you the truth. I also cannot talk to Hugh or Osborne about this either as I swore I would not mention it again and that separates us too. If it was not for you and the hopes you would wake soon keep me here, otherwise I would rather be home and in sweet innocence. Does that sound horribly selfish? I will be by your side till you awake, I promise and will not leave you. Please awake soon, I know seeing your smile again all will be well. 

Yours faithfully, 
Osborne and Mrs. Hamley from Wives and Daughters.

Saturday, May 9, 2015

Story time Saturday... "Yours Faithfully"

 Hello lovely readers,

I know I should be nothing but happy with my up coming vacation but I have fallen into a little funk. So I am taking time to do some escapism writing. This is my continuing re-working of Wives and Daughters, hope you enjoy.

The following is letter #6 to read past letters

Dearest Aunt,

I know you cannot hear me now. Oh I wish you were how anxious I am to tell you all my thoughts. Of course if you could hear me, I do not know if I would say a word. You being awake would be enough.  

Before I write another word I must tell you Ozzie is home. I know you so wanted to wanted to see him again. I hope when you wake, for I know you will wake up, he will be by your side. I know how much joy that will give you. He is just as handsome as I remember, he has such kind eyes that make me know he is a truly generous spirit. He has a fine gentle face with graceful features, and when he smiles he reminds me of you. Oh Aunt if only he didn't look so lonely as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. No matter what uncle says I know that Ozzie carries the great disappointment of failing this semester. He talks about leaving school all together and going to California. Surely there does not need to be a whole continent between him and uncle, no matter what trouble he is in. If only you were awake I know you would you would not let uncle speak such abuse to Ozzie. I do not blame you. 

The one bright light in this whole house is Hugh, your step-son. Hugh has played a vital role in going between Ozzie and uncle. Ozzie confides in him in everything and uncle enjoys taking long walks with him in the day and enjoying a pipe with him after night. I would never say this to you for I know how much you care for Ozzie, but Hugh truly seems to be the perfect son. He enjoys the countryside a great deal taking great detail in the plants, trees, and animals that roam it and yet he has a kindness towards man kind I have never seen. I am afraid on our first meeting I made a bad impression. Mama made me pack my dress and I wore it to dinner, upon entering the dinning room I could see it was quite a mistake to dress so ostentatiously. He must have thought me quite frivolous to dress in such a manner with your health being as such and then through the night I could not complete a sentence with stumbling over my words. I also could not remember any passages of books I had been reading to you that very day. I felt to be completely ignorant. 

Since then we have gotten to know each other, he said yesterday that I could read such knowledgeable books with out being bored; he has never met a girl who took such interest in history. I must say uncle's library is so well rounded in ancient history. I cannot help but devour the details of the Egyptian Empire. When uncle desires to sit with you, Hugh is good to take me on walks around the garden and point out the different flowers, I never had a thought of botany but with him speaking I feel it is more of a story than just scientific studies. He does not say it but I know he would miss you as much as Ozzie, as you have been his mother for all the life he can remember.

Oh aunt if you could hear me, I would want you to hear how much you are loved and how much we all need you here. 

Please do not leave us.

Yours faithfully,

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Story time Saturday... Letter #4, #5

For letter #3

Dearest Aunt, 
I fear this letter will cause you quite amount of pain. 

Uncle was here, which is why I called away at end of my last letter, and he begged me to come with him. Oh I would be at your side in a moment if my will was my own, but it is not. My mama says I will be able to come to you the Monday of next week and has given me leave for an extended visit. 

I am sorry I cannot be with you now.  

Dearest Aunt, 

I do not if I will have the courage to send you this letter but I feel I must write my thoughts down, for I fear if I don't get them out I will explode and mama will shame me with my feelings. 

I completely do not understand my new mama, she knows how important you are to me, how you have been a second mother to me in these years since my own mother past away, and yet she forbids me to come to you. At least for a time. She seems to think an engagement of a dinner party is far more important. Oh how I wanted to scream and throw a tantrum at that moment when she refused to let Uncle to take me. I feel she must have known I wanted to throw a tantrum for she gave me a look to say "you poor child." I despise that look. It makes me feel so small and as if my feelings and wants don't matter. Perhaps to her they don't matter. She has never cared for me--not really.

I am frequently reminded of the day, I went to The Towers, when I just six or seven, and how she let me sleep in her bed when I was over tired. I am reminded that she was willing to let me share her bed when all the towns people left me behind, and they thought father would not come for me until the following morning. She states that this was a mark of her kindness. I have never seen it as kindness. I feel she put me in her bed and forgot all about me, not remembering to collect me before the towns people left, and I have a vague memory of she sneaking the food Miss Helene brought up for me. No matter what I remember, my mama infuriates me when she tries to pass herself of as generous towards me. I know I should not write those words, oh Aunt if you read his letter, please burn it, for I know I am quite wicked in saying what I just said. I should not even think it. 

Dearest Aunt, it is you I worry most for. My mama is saying I have not been good company at these engagements we have had, I do not know how to be good company when my thoughts are plagued by you and your illness. The one comfort I have is reading Cassandra's letter, I cannot wait to truly call her my sister, but mama thinks she will not come till Easter. Till then I am on my own with my new mama. I will copy her words for you to read them (if I send this letter) for I feel they will give you as much as pleasure to you as they have to me:

My dearest Molly,

I am sorry if my wording is a little too bold for I have never had a sister, and I do not know how to write a sister I have yet met. Perhaps I should write, "Dear Miss Gibson" but that sounds too formal after all we are related now.

I wish I had been able to attend our parent wedding, mostly to meet you. My mother writes that you are a kind girl, full of knowledge on various topics, and not afraid to express your opinions. She writes the last part as a fault, but I rather enjoy a girl who expresses her thoughts. I would not be able to call you a true sister of mine if you were not opinionated. And a true sister you will be. I feel bound to you already.

Please have a snap shot taken of yourself so I may have a photograph to picture you, while I wait and dream of meeting you. 

Oh my, I feel my words are a little true strong to be good. I would not have you thinking I am too overly sentimental, I might be a bit, but as I said I have never had a sister and you being my sister now makes me spill over with emotions. I have been on my own too long I fear and I have been left only to imagine sentiments. I promise when we meet I will be quite good with my feelings and the words I use to express them. 


See my dearest aunt she is so kind, she is truly kind and warm, an apparent opposite from her own mama. I believe we will be true sisters and friends. Besides you, I long to see her most frevently. 

I feel I will improve my vocabulary as she has been educated in some of the best schools for young ladies. 

All my love, 

PS- I heard talk Ozzie is to be home soon, I hope that relieves your heart, I know your son was too good not to come home. 

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Story time Saturday- Letter #3

Dearest Aunt, 

I have barely had a moment to call my own since father's wedding. I apologize it has taken me this long to respond to your last letter. You are so good to think of me in your weakened state. I know you will be my confidant in all matters as you only have my best interest at heart. 

I am trying to do my best to look for the best in my new mother and so far all I can say is she is very refined. She has quite a structure to her life I worry that I will not be able to fit into. Usually father is gone making calls before the rest of the house is awake and she takes breakfast in bed, she says it is the way of married ladies, and while this time should be my own she frequently calls me to sit and talk to her. She says I have a soothing voice, however she does not share any of her breakfast with me and when she is changing I find a moment to sneak a bite or two. Then she receives calls in the afternoon, she has yet to make any calls as she states, that she is a new bride and the people should call on her. I feel she does not find Hollingbrooke desirable for she frequently complains about the lack of intelligent conversation. She also laughs at how people people put on airs when discussing the family at The Towers.

She definitely feels an intimacy towards them, I guess being a governess for them all those years ago and being the Mrs. Chemsworth's  special guest makes her feel such ways. Though I hardly understand what she did except to be at Mrs. Chemworth's beck-and-call when the Lady was in the area. Although she must have a been a good companion as both Mr.and Mrs. Chemsworth were at the wedding and their daughter Miss Helene was a bride's maid with me. After the ceremony Miss Helene and I became fast friends though she five years old than me,and she is far wealthier than I could imagine. She sometimes teases about the people of Hollingbrooke, over all she is very kind. She promised as soon as my new mother was settled she would call on both of us. "Mama", as father is trying to get me to say, does not like when I talk about Lady Helene, she thinks I am presumptuous, but I can tell you about her and how I think she is going to be true to her word and call on us. 

Sorry my dearest aunt, a few days have passed, since I wrote the last part. Oh I wish I had a moment to call my own. Mama has had frequent visitors and we have been called to attend dinner at neighbors homes. Mama thinks it is due to her providence of freshness in the town, but I think it is a greater compliment to father. Everyone in Hollingbrooke knows he is best doctor in the county and he is so favored by many families. While the invitations are for mama and father, father is more frequently than not able to attend and I must serve as a substitute. I don't mind much but I do so hate to hear her criticize our always generous host and hostess on the return trip. I am going to own it to the fact she is far more refined than any of us.

Father, told me my new mama had a daughter named Cassandra, about my age, she was suppose to come to the wedding but was unable to make it. I wish she had come she might have softened her mother up. I do not remember my own mother, but I know the way you speak about Ozzie and what a joy he is to you, I feel certain it would have been the same for Mama. However, today I received a letter from her. Mama didn't think it was right that she write exclusively to me but she is so kind in her letter I think if words can prove a person's character I will love Cassandra forever. 

Have to go mama is insisting I come to the drawing room.
Yours faithfully,

I honestly don't know where this letter writing is going to go but I find it interesting in trying to reconstruct the story of Wives and Daughters by letter writing. If you know the story I have changed a few character names and the town names. Though I love Molly Gibson and the way she is portrayed in both book and film, it is not how I see my Molly, at least not in looks. I want to keep the characteristics the same but I might modify the description (if this continues on). I hope you enjoy these letters and if you have not read the original source please do. 

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Free Writing Wednesday

In my last post I wrote I had the desire to retell the story of Wives and Daughters, I sat down to do a little free write and this is what came out. In Wives and Daughters, Molly is sent off to visit Mrs. Hamley as her father, Dr. Gibson, has learned one of his pupils is an admirer of his daughter. Like most dads he freaks out over his little girl, who is seventeen, having a suitor, so he sends her away. In that time she is away Dr. Gibson convinces himself he needs to get a new wife and new mother for Molly to protect her from men. This is kind of the telling of that.
Not a screen shot from Wives and Daughters

Dear Aunt Hen,

I hope you do not mind that silly nick name as you know it has quite stuck since my childhood days when I could not say Henrietta. 

I write to thank you for the wonderful time I had with you and uncle at your home. It was so generous for you to take me in for the entire summer especially since I know you were quite distracted with all the anxiety of my cousin Ozzie's time at Harvard. I am sure he will do quite well and will come home as soon as his time with his friends in New Port is over. Please keep posted on any updates. How I long to hear from you. I wish I was there for I could write your letters for you as I know you have been so very distressed in not in the mood to write.

I do so miss you and the walks in the gardens and even picking flowers for you, I know they always cheered you up. I made uncle swear he would pick flowers for you in my absence, but you know men can never be left to do a woman's work. I miss sitting by your window and letting the summer breeze brush over us.  Oh dear just thinking about it brings tears too my eyes, but I am an easier crier as you know. 

Things are just not the same at home, since I left. Father had a pupil, who was preparing to go to medical school and he is now gone. I can't say Mr. Cox was a great conversationalist but he was pleasant and his wild red hair was quite an amusement. Now without him the house seems almost empty. But I keep busy, preparing the house for my new step-mother who is to come. I know her so little and yet I feel at odds with her already. Oh please do not tell that to anyone for I would hate someone to think I was uncaring. I do so try to do as you say and look for the good in others but it is rather hard sometimes. All I feel is a great separation between father and myself growing everyday. I guess that is what happens when a man is about to get married, a new woman has replaced me in his eyes and in his love for me. 

I shall not write more I fear I have said to said too much. Forgive me Aunt Ham for my wicked thoughts. Please know I had an amazing time with you and uncle and I hope it can be repeated over and over. 

All my love, 

Dearest Molly,

Do not hold back any emotions on my account. Your happiness is my happiness, your sadness is my sadness. I did say to try to find the best in people but I do understand it is hard when you feel so uneasy with the situation. I am sure your father has found a good woman to be your new mother, he is such a good sound man and he would never think of a woman in such a way unless she was completely honorable. But I do know how grieved you were over the suddenness of this all and I cannot blame you for that. Do try to remember your own father's happiness though and how saddened he will be if he thinks you do not like his wife-to-be. No matter what please write to me and tell me all your heartache, sorrows, and happiness I will forever be your confidant. 

You are so kind, dear Molly, to ask after Ozzie, I do so hope his frivolity in New Port will end quickly. I do not wish to sound selfish but so much of my comfort relies on him, especially now that you are gone. Yes, while Arthur tries his hands at picking flowers, for my sake, he is not so nearly as clever at it as you were are. Oh Molly come back whenever you desire, I will keep your room just the way it was when you left. It can always be your oasis.

I am sorry I cannot write anymore I feel so weak, must rest.

Yours truly,
Aunt Hen

 I am sure this phase will pass and you will be ever first in your father's heart. 

Monday, April 13, 2015

Too many stories in my head

Dear lovely readers,

I am writing mainly to the other bloggers out there who are writers... well I guess all bloggers are writers. But I feel like this is more a writing problem. I am in the middle of writing a story I love and it has been going through my mind for years, so writing it finally feels like I am accomplishing a goal. However, I am re-reading Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell (I know I have talked about the book and mini-series a few times on this blog...if you have not read it or watched it by now, you are missing out) anyway I love this story so much and I have thought about how to update it.
Roger Hamley and Molly
Or re-tell it in some way. I have watched a lot of vloggers updating stories on YouTube and while I feel this would be a great and easy vlog to do... I do not have any film experience. So if a vlogger is out there reading this blog can you please please make a adaptation of this story I would be eternally grateful.

For myself, I feel more comfortable with writing about the early twentieth century than I do in modern times. The last story I wrote was a re-telling of Sense and Sensibility but set in 1906 in western Massachusetts. It was lots of fun bringing the characters of Elinor and Marianne, who I love so much to life as Laurel and Emmy and trying to figure out what women in 1906 do when they are completely dependent on the generosity of family members. 

Molly, Cynthia, Mrs. Gibson
So now I my mind wrapped up in how to bring Molly Gibson up-to-date. The basic premise of Molly Gibson is she is very selfless, and always trying to please people, especially her papa. Unfortunately she is too selfless and in that has a hard time speaking up for herself and when she does some people think she is being selfish, especially her new step-mom. Her new step-mom frequently pretends that she is better than the station she lives in and acts in ways that are quite silly because she wants to be considered high-class. With her step-mom come a new step-sister, Cynthia, who is beautiful... I mean it is said about a hundred times how enrapturing Cynthia is. I personally think this is because she is actually not that good of person on the inside. But good Molly loves her anyway and goes to great lengths to protect Cynthia... even at the cost of ruining her reputation. Eventually her reputation is restored, thanks to Lady Harriet and she does find love (sorry spoiler). However, Elizabeth Gaskell dies before the actual book is finished so we just have to assume all ends happily for Molly.

Going back to my writing- as I said I feel more comfortable with the early twentieth century. So I am trying to configure a way to bring Molly into that time period. However, as much as I am enjoying those musings I must stayed focused on my story at hand. Ugh to be a writer with too many stories on my mind. I guess it is better than not having any stories.
If I do write this story I must use this line.

Monday, July 28, 2014

we can be alone together

Christa stood up and helped Ginny on to her feet. Christa knew Ginny would want to hide away when she really just needed someone's shoulder to cry on. However, Christa believed no pain couldn't be healed when eating cheesecake, if only temporarily. And just as if they were kids again they climbed out the window and down the tree and ran as fast as they could through the lawn. Ginny couldn't help but give a little giggle as they jumped into the car. This action took her back to happier memories and right then that is what Ginny needed.

~~~~~~A Month Later~~~~~~

"Ginny, you want to go to Essie's house, I have some cleaning I have to do?"
"No thanks," Ginny responded without taking her attention off the TV. 
"Come on Ginny, I could really us your help, Essie wouldn't want you just sitting around."
"I am not just sitting around."
"I'll buy you a milkshake." 

Ginny rolled her eyes, that trick hadn't worked since Ginny was a child but she knew if her mom used that line she was desperate. 

"Oh alright," Ginny faked grumbled. 
"Thanks Gin bean." Her mom was over dramatic.

Ginny didn't know what to expect going to Essie's house without Essie being there. She hadn't gone back since she and Christa snuck out of the funeral. Her mom had gone back a few times always to do cleaning. Essie had kept the house so pristine, with the excuse that the Queen might drop by, that Ginny really couldn't tell what her mom had to do. Dad and her uncles decided to keep the house at least for the time being. Even though her extended family had moved  out of town they still came back to Essie's house for Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, and other important gatherings. It held so many memories for everyone no one could imagine getting rid of it, but Essie was the true soul of the house. Even just looking up at the house it felt empty.

"Take your time Gin bean," her mother said seeing the deep breath she took.
"I'm fine," she said defensively.

Her mom reassuring put her hand on Ginny's knee. "It's okay not to be fine. Essie was a wonderful, loving, and irreplaceable woman. It is understandable to miss her." 

Ginny took deep breath and got out of the car all the while playing with the cross between her fingers.

"Good day Mrs. Camden," his voice called out over the lawn.
"Hello Alex, good to see you. How is your mother?"
"Oh she is fine, a little busy with my niece and nephew staying with them for a week."
"I am sure she loves it."
"Yes m'am she does it." Then he looked at Ginny. "Hello Ginny, it is nice to see you."
"Hi Alex," her tone was short.

Her mom nudged her in the rib cage telling her to be nice.

Alex Panswick, had been working for Essie for the last three or four years (Ginny couldn't remember exactly) but he had always been around. He was close friends with her cousins and every one kind of accepted him as family. Though he was considered family his high school crush on Ginny was wildly teased about. He used to leave roses for her outside on her window ledge, slip copied poems in her locker, and always bought her a gift for her birthday. Ginny just found it pathetic. He was not her type at all being a minor computer geek, president of the Purity Club, and he even sung in the church choir (without being forced to). While Ginny was away at college he bulked up a bit and got some muscle, which you would think would add to his appeal but Ginny just saw him as the annoying boy from high school.

That was until the night after Essie's death. Ginny couldn't remember all the details of that night, she just remembers sitting in the large oak tree that was in the middle of the wheat field. Ginny came there whenever needed solace. Essie had told her that her grandmother wouldn't let her grandfather chop it down even though it was in the middle of the field, she had said it was the most beautiful tree she had seen and she felt it was a special gift to them. Since then it had become more of a family treasure. There Ginny was sitting watching the sunset. She hadn't cried yet and could not be surrounded by all the tears of her mom and aunts. It must of been later than she imagined for she heard her mom's call out to her but she didn't want to get out of the tree. She kept searching the sky for the first star.

Then she heard his voice. "Hello Ginny."

Ginny wouldn't admit it, but his voice was always sweet to her.

"Did my mom send you out to look for me? I am adult you know."
"No, I came on my own. But she is just worried about you."
"Tell her not to worry."
"I think she rather see you for herself. Moms are like that."
"Thanks Alex, but I just want to be left alone."
"All right."

But he did not leave her, he actually climbed up the tree and sat next to her.

"I said I wanted to be alone."
"I know. I want to be alone too and this is my favorite spot." He frequently said corny lines like that even if they were truly sincere Ginny only heard them as cheesey. "You think we can be alone together."

"Fine, just don't say anything."
"Fair enough."

Then without her realizing it his hand were on top of hers. She didn't know if she was angry at him being so bold or comforted because he was there. But she started crying right then. He put his arm around her and she buried her face in his shoulders and he didn't flinch with her crying on his shoulder. When she calmed herself down she looked up at him, he took his thumb to graze away a tear and then held her chin. He acted like he wanted to kiss her and she was about to let him. He abruptly pulled away as if he saw something, someone that disgusted him. Without saying a word he slid off the tree and walked away.

He hadn't said anything to her since that evening and when ever she looked at him she still had flashes of that moment. And she was confused why she cared so much if he didn't like her.

beautiful picture of a tree

Monday, July 14, 2014

Sitting down and Writing

Previous post Inspiration Strikes 
I was actually thinking about this scene from Raising Helen when I wrote Ginny hiding in the closet
Ginny closed her grasp around the cross necklace hanging around her neck, she wanted to yank it off, but no strength came. Essie had given her this cross on her last birthday with the inscription "Always love" on the back.

"Here you go my love," Essie pushed the little box in front of her.

Essie wasn't a fan of big celebrations, she rather preferred to have a quiet tea and cake to celebrate her granddaughter's twenty-third birthday. Ginny opened the little box seeing the gold cross a little antique looking in the details. It was beautiful to be sure, simple but eloquent, and just like Essie to give something of a religious nature to Ginny. Ginny remembered the years of Easter egg hunts that had Bible verses in them instead of candy. It was beautiful though and Ginny knew it meant a lot to Essie.

"My grandmother gave that to me on wedding day, and her mother gave it to her before she came out west. I only had sons so you are the next girl to inherit it."

"Thank you Essie, it is beautiful."

"My grandmother, told me that it was passed on when the woman was about to start a new adventure."

"What new adventure is that, Essie?"

"I am not sure, I can just feel your life is about to change in great ways."

"Great ways," Ginny thought in that closet, did great ways include losing Essie one of the few people Ginny truly loved.

Ginny turned the cross over in her hand remembering the words Essie told her, "remember no matter what happens God will always love you, you can be separated from His love." Ginny nodded her head. She remembered going to Essie's church's camp for youth when she was in her preteen years and one night the speaker was giving a very compelling message and it broke Ginny's heart and that night she prayed for the Lord to come into her life. She said the words and it felt so genuine she even spent the next few weeks pouring over passages in the Bible. That was all before, before her parents fighting (even though they reconciled with lots of counseling) but still their words,their seeming hatred for each other, and their almost abandonment of her still scared her. Those scars sent her running her into the arms of Kyle, the first boy she thought she loved him and she gave him her most precious gift (as Essie called it) and then when she didn't feel like having sex with him again he dumped her. Ginny held these scars close to heart, so close that she almost put a wall around her and only Essie and her best friend Christa ever got beyond.

"There you are? I was getting worried. I hadn't seen you since the grave site," it was Christa this time.

Christa Evanston, had been her friend since preschool as she shared her snack pack with Ginny. They had grown up to each other with their houses only being a few blocks away apart and they had spent their childhood playing dress up, ridding bikes and having a lemonade stand together. Christa was almost a sister to Ginny and another grandchild to Essie. Christa had moved to San Francisco after college but when Ginny called her to tell her Essie died Christa was on the next plane. That's just they way it was between them.

"Personally I think it is odd to go to the grave site and see a body lowered into a hole. I don't think we should be contained in such a small box. I want my organs donated and then cremated." Christa sat down next to her putting her arm Ginny's shoulder.

Ginny naturally let her head rest on Christa. "I don't want to think about it."

"Then think about this, why don't we sneak out the window and down the tree like we used to and go out for a drink."

"No thanks," Ginny said softly.

Ginny couldn't think about drinking not after what happened to Essie. Christa understood without asking why Ginny said no, she felt a little pain about even mentioning a drink, of course Ginny wouldn't want a drink not with Essie getting hit by drunk driver.

"Cheesecake then?"

"All right."

Christa stood up and helped Ginny on to her feet. Christa had been friends with Ginny would want to hide away when she really just needed someone's shoulder to cry on. Christa also believed no pain couldn't be healed when eating cheesecake, if only temporarily. And just as if they were kids again they climbed down the tree and ran as fast as they could through the lawn. Ginny couldn't help but give a little giggle as they jumped into the car. This action took her back to happier memories and right then that is what Ginny needed.

I know I have said this before but I have never been one to just and look a blank screen and come up with a story but when I started writing this story it just came to me. It feels great just to sit down and type and to be honest I am not sure how long this inspiration will last. I have a couple of  ideas 1) I want this to be a multi-generational story ( I was inspired by the novel The Girl Who Came Home) 2) I want this to be a pure blog story. I know I could write this out traditionally but I kind of like the idea of this story being like a serial to follow through my blog. This isn't a thought, purely a noticing that this is my first work of Christian fiction... I will try not to be too cheesy/ I love reading books with characters of faith as a strong protagonist but sometime I feel it is too over the top and it turns me off. 

Keep following Ginny and Essie's story through the Ginny tag. 

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Feeling stuck....

I wish I looked this happy writing. Even when I love a story I get stuck and I have to step away and get some perspective, or find something that helps me with my inspiration. Mostly for this I turn to Pinterest. I collect many things on Pinterest from my love of Edwardian fashion, to beautiful country side landscapes, and my obsession with certain TV shows and movies. Sometime it is just filled with beautiful nature scenes. 

In my story The Grand Days I will admit I have gotten stuck. I am trying to write about Mattie's first time in London and all that she experiences. And while I have spent hours on pinterest looking up ideas I am not sure what I want to happen here.  So I need to step back and think things through. I think I want to develope Daphne a bit, develop her into a softer character. She has been rather harsh in the past.

One thing that has helped me in the past of getting unstuck is to spend lots of time typing up my story (as right now most of it is still hand written). Doing this somehow gives me focus on what my story is about and helps gives me insight into what to do next. 

Looking up pictures has been awesome...
Crowds at Paddington Station- July 2, 1908
Life is like that sometimes... In the recent past I have felt "stuck". I have wanted to do things in my life but because I still have to finish grad-school I haven't been able to do. Sometimes I let myself get down on the feeling of being stuck because I anticipate the future being so much better. However, I have had a personal conviction that I live so much in hopes of the future instead of enjoying the present. (I am trying to work on that more.) Though there are things I want for my future... I can't let my desire for those things stop me from living now. I have found the best cure for getting out of the "stuck" feeling is taking a step back, reflect on what is going on, and praying God to use me in this moment.

I am not feeling so "stuck" now... I more feel like things are shifting. In my church our pastor has left to move back to Illinois and that feels like a huge shift because he and his family have been a part of my life for 7+ years. Hank baptized me. Also my community group (Bible study) is taking a formal break for the summer (first one in years) and I have started attending a new group at Park Street church. Personally I feel things are shifting. I have been in grad-school for so long (at least it feels that way) and now I only have my thesis to write. But I am wondering if the library world is where I see myself... I don't know. As I have posted about I want to use my passions for God's Kingdom but I am not feeling passionate about Library stuff. I kind of would like just to write to my hearts content and be of service to people (over coffee, missions or whatever). I have been praying about this and more asking God for my heart to stay steadfast in him. 

I am excited more and more about my story of Ginny and Essie (still untitled) I am using some autobiographical things from my own life and Ginny will be facing some questions I have faced and continue to face. I hope using my love of writing stories and my faith will be a good outlet. 
Not really related to post but awesome Roald Dahl quote

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Writing is a Puzzle (pt. 2)

I wrote "Writing is a puzzle" back in April but reading it and thinking it over I don't think it made much sense. Sorry about that, sometimes when I am writing these post my thoughts get carried away and it becomes a free flow of words. So let me clarify...

As a writer I am not really good at plotting out points and fine details, in my head I know where I want things to go but most of the time I let the character take me through scenes. For example in my last story Sisters of Pine Haven (still in revision) I based it loosely off Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility but I threw in some plot twist that were my own. I know writer's advise of knowing every detail of your story but I enjoy letting my characters take me on a journey with them. 

Now in my writing of my story The Grand Days (working title) I knew that I wanted Mattie to get into an accident, this is bring Kelby's feelings to light, but I wasn't sure how I was going to do this. I originally thought I wanted her to fall off a horse. Then I remembered I had already written that Mattie's father didn't own any riding horses. So how was Mattie going to get into a riding accident. At first I thought well maybe she could sneak off to Cranston Court (where she usually rides), however if she did that Kelby would never let her go off on her own... it was not appropriate back then for women to ride alone. So how was I going to have this riding accident with no horse? Well as I have stated sometimes I get inspiration from looking on Pinterest and back in April I found this picture...

And I thought how perfect is that. Mattie could easily get in a bike accident, but now how to get bike into the story and why would Mattie be riding that bike? (Especially since she was so used to riding horses.) Here is a little preview...

By good luck there something to change topics to. Shortly after Daphne's return a parcel arrived directly from London. A bicycle been sent to Daphne from a secret giver. Georgianna assumed that it was from one of Daphne's admirers, no matter how many times Daphne claimed the note was in Cousin Mildred's hand. Bicycles had replaced horses as the stylish mode for city girls to get around but they still had enough curosity about them. Daphne said she had grown quite accustomed to taking ride in the park on them and she thought this bike would be a good mark of civility in the countryside. Mattie wondered what use it would be as it seemed more likely to get stuck in the mud than a horse. However, she was thankful to have something to distract Georgianna with. By the end of the week they had christened the bicycle Cortez, after the infamous Spanish conqueor. 

In this way I feel writing is a puzzle because sometimes as a writer you know what you want to write but not sure how to get there until inspiration hits. In other ways I feel writing is a puzzle because sometimes scenes come into my head that have nothing to do with the current events of the story. I feel like those are puzzle pieces just floating around waiting to be of use. For example, going back to Mattie's accident, Kelby is suppose to see her fall and come to her rescue (very fairytale-esque) but Mattie doesn't really remember the details until years later. As I was writing about Mattie's recovery from the fall I wrote this scene. 

"Do you remember the day you got this," he stroked the side of her forehead feeling the scar beneath his thumb

"Yes I fell from that blasted bicycle."

"I knew then. As soon as I saw you fell, and thought you could have ded. I knew then, I ran to you faster than I had ever ran. I came to you and I called out, 'Mattie, Mattie, sweetheart'. It was foolish but then again it wasn't. You are my sweetheart and I felt from that day on I could not do without you."

He kissed her scar and she wanted to melt in his arms. "I guess I owe that blasted bike to letting me know of my affections," he whispered. Mattie giggled at joy in this moment. 

Now logistically this scene can't happen until years later but I loved where this was going and how it built up Kelby's feelings for Mattie so I scribbled it down. Now I am just waiting for my writing to catch up to this scene. Until then it is just a puzzle piece.
An ideal moment for Mattie and Kelby
Sometimes writing is only a puzzle that as writer is putting together. I think that is why I like writing because while I know the big picture of what I want to happen in the story I also get to explore the details of the story. 
In writing this post I went through some of my previous post of my Sisters of Pine Haven story and I realized how much I shared of it and I remember that being so motivating to my writing. Right now my story The Grand Days is just pen and paper but I will try to take some time to get it in type. I still have my thesis to work on but I know I need to keep up my fun writing to keep me sane. I will keep you posted on my progress. 

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Beginning again...

I know I should be doing school work but I can't help escaping to my creative writing. This story has gone through a few changes...

Once I get some writing done my favorite thing to do is to think of a title even if it is just a working title and a potential cover... 

{pic of dress}
Ever since I posted, Finding peace in Escapism, I have been wanting to post parts of my story. I have a friend that told me to not share my story on my blog, but I find it so motivating for my writing to share it.

My life begins with a letter. Maybe I should say my life changed with a letter since I received a letter when I was twenty-three. My new life began with a letter.

My dearest hope, 

If you doubt the words I spoke to you the other day, do not. I have made you the promise of my love and my devotion forever.

I have ordered us a simple room on the Northern Star liner, it leaves from Liverpool on Wednesday and we will sail to New York as man and wife. No one can stop us not even the King. I promise . If you love me meet me at Euston Station  for the 6:15 train. I will be waiting to take you into my arms and away from all the things long ago.

Believe me when I say, all my love. 

In all the ways I pictured my life I never imagined I would be engaged to one man and being forced to run away with the man I loved. I had also never imagined love would cause so many knots inside my stomach. As a child I imagined falling in love with a prince and having the fair tale ending. However, my prince ended up being my best friend and stable hand.


Mattie Harrington could not believe what she had done that fateful day, of course it would be many years before she talked about it. Parts of this narrative Mattie could still remember as if they had happened years ago. Some parts of this Mattie had to conjure up out of her imagination to make sense of all outcomes. Therefore, it is hard to call this a true account of the Harrington family but it is the truest account you ever hear.

No matter how many times Mattie Harrington told the story she always started the same way...

There was a time when we were all happy and innocent to the ever changing world. Before the war and the destruction on that followed in its wake. The war had changed our family in so much ways as it had many others. Before the war it didn't matter that Parker was heir to Cranston Court and best friend with Shane Gray whom was the eldest son of Cranston's head cook. Daphne was happy to wear daisy chains and Marcus dreamt of exploring the deep jungles of Africa. Back when we were children we would spend the summers in back woods, wade in the creek that divided Cranston Court from Southerton Greens. I remember here we could be a thousand miles away from everything and everyone with only our dreams to play out. Though, that was before the Great War that killed Shane and wrecke Marcus and made our poverty known. It was all due to the war. It was the reason why our lives and countless other lives that would be forever altered. 

Have no fear I have lots more pages written up I just have to type them up... 

Monday, March 4, 2013

Some descriptive writing

"A desire to write grows with writing"-Desiderius Erasmus 

In my last post about my story (which is still untitled) I wrote sharing my story with you my loyal readers it kept me inspired me to continue writing my story. So I hope to continue sharing bits of my story with you. I may not be able do to so regularly as I find I write better when I write with my hand and then I type it up. It is a very long process but it is so far the only way it works for me.

As much as I love writing plot, I love more the moment where I can get out a few good sentences of descriptive writing and make my characters or my setting seem more real. I am just at the beginning of my story so I am really working on some descriptive parts so my characters come to life for me and for my readers. So I wanted to share those parts with you...

This wasn't a journey this was a new beginning.

            Parts of this narrative I remember as if they were yesterday even though they happened years ago. Some parts of this story I have conjured up out of my imagination to make sense of the outcomes. Therefore, I cannot call this a true account of my family but it is the truest account you ever hear.
            There was a time when we were all joyful and innocent to ever changing. Before the war and the destruction that followed in its wake. The war had changed our family in so many ways as it had for so many others. Before the war it didn't matter that Parker was heir to Cranston Court and best friends with Shane Gray, who was the oldest son of Cranston's head cook. Daphne would be happy to wear a daisy chain necklace and Marcus dreamt of exploring the deep jungles of Africa. Back when we were children we would spend our summer afternoons in the Back Woods wading in the creek that divided Cranston Court from Southerton Greens. I remember her we could be a thousand miles away from everything and everyone with only our dreams to play out. But that was before the Great War. The Great War that had killed Shane and made our poverty known. It was all due to the war. It was the reason our lives had changed forever.

Summer 1909

Those were the grand days for us children at Southerton. Without mother and father there we were under the care of Nanny Alba. Every day after lunch she took a long nap  and expected us to do the same. Instead as soon as the weather turned warm we would run all the way to the Back Woods not stopping for any breath. It was here we all plotted out the grand adventures we desired for our lives. I wasn't old enough to plan a grand escape. I still loved our home. It had been a part of our family since King Charles II. It wasn't grand compared to Cranston Court but it was a prized estate. I was still finding nooks and crannies when to hide in for hours. My ancestors took Southerton Green from a simple hunt lodge to its grand scale built in the a modern architecture in the Georgian style. My grandfather used to tell me of the grand days of Southerton when they would throw lavish parties on the scale of a Duke and Duchess. I promised him I would recapture those grand day and bring them back to Southerton.

Dress Inspiration #1
Lady Welford was perfection itself. She had delicate features from her ivory skin, her gentle hazel eyes and her fair auburn hair that seemed properly placed as a crown on her head with no strand out of a place. Her dress was done in the stylish 'Empire' revival fashion that was coming back into style with lots of subtle lace and beading on the top, then a large cherry silk ribbon that had a large flower pin on in it, fading to a soft pink with deep inverted pleats at the back which went down to a little train. One would think that the dress being so subtle in would wash her out but it didn't. Lady Welford was true beauty. Her figure was particularly graceful and it was a style in which elegance reigned. A beauty like I had never seen before in such a way that one could tell the outside was due to reflect the inside. She looked down and saw little Georgiana looking almost lifeless and had overwhelming compassion.

            "Oh my goodness is all right?" Lady Welford asked with watery eyes.

            "Yes your lady. She is fine now thanks to Mrs. Gray, she probably just needs some rest," Marcus said.
            "Well of course. We have several guest rooms she can stay in. Mrs. Banks," she called the house keeper over. "Will you make sure to find the little girl a place to rest and get some food for the children and have them take it into the nursery. Then when we are done with our guest in the library."
            "Elizabeth!" Lord Welford stunned by her.
            "And maybe some dry clothes for the young ladies."I did feel a little embarrassed by my outfit. "Also Mrs. Banks we might want to fetch the doctor. And all of you will stay here till your sister is all better. Mrs. Banks make sure to also write Southerton we would not want Mr. Harrington to worry."
            "Our mother is not home your lady," Marcus said.
            "Well then it is settled, you shall all stay the night," it was almost as she could feel her husband getting mad. "Now Welford, I want you to smile and remember we need votes."

Dress Inspiration #2
            All what Lady Welford asked to be done was done in an orderly fashion. Her manners reflected her charming beauty for they were winning and never commanding and she show complete empathy to those around her.

            I would find out years later as perfect as her world seemed she terrible lonesome. Her husband would spend months away at a time her some was away at school, and while Lord Welford brought her back a nice broche or a new necklace it never replaced her heart's cry. By the time I learned this would be too late for me to do anything about it. I put this now so you would know the whole story and it will impact future events of this narrative.

            Cranston Court stood as a relic to the Tudor years with a lookout tower and lots of outset windows and it always had a feeling that a knight on white horse would be coming about any moment. Though it was a Tudor relic on the outside on the inside it looked more like a French Chateau done highly in the Rococo style that was ever so popular at the end of the last century. Lady Welford was an American Heiress through and through coming from a family who had their money from mill factories and investments in both railroad and a shipping industry. She had insisted for many modern improvements to be done to the house including new pipes, fitting windows, and dumb waiters so the food would be warm when it reached the dinner table. Most importantly she had the money to back up her insistence.
Painting of Derbyshire

Side note: I have changed the date from 1906 to 1909 to bring them a little closer to WWI. I also changed my heroine's name to Rose... I couldn't really get attached to the name Esther.