Maggie Secara's Blog, page 8

Writing fiction in general is about making stuff up, but still. There are realities that someone will always catch you on  Even in fantasy you can't make everything up--just the fantasy parts. Historical fantasy is even more likely to be dismissed because a) you can make up the history as well as b) making up the fantasy parts.

Well gosh, should be no big deal, then, right? Let me show you something. Earlier this month I started keeping a list of things I had to look up to be sure of getting the details right for Mermaid Stair. Basically, spot research for which Wikipedia is often sufficient--but not always. Here's what I got in the first week alone:


Folk songs with boats/ships in themCoracles (continued from the week before)Wind in the Willows, especially any dialog between Mole and RatDartmoor riversThe River Dart in particularThe Latin name for toads (bufo)A musical term (threnody wasn’t right, but it was stuck in my head, so I looked it up to find out what I really did mean)Beekeeping and sources of honey in DevonThe mechanics of going over a waterfall, with and without a barrelEnglish folk songs that begin with “As I was a-walking...”White water rafting terminology

In the last few days I have been re-reading parts of Peter Ackroyd's London: The Biography to decide where to put the new villain's lodging house. Where I had it situated in thate first NaNo draft was more or less impossible. 
I know this because I looked up the actual point of the confluence of the Thames and the Fleet on the Braun Hogenberg map of the 1570s, (right around #7). Then I checked the Agas map from the 1590s, the exact time of the story. Same result. What I need to be there is not only not there, it's somebody's garden. Not the kind of neighborhood I need. There are several choices: Drury Lane when it was still marshy and damp, Holborn Bridge with its suburban splendors and the upper end of Fleet Ditch, or Fleet Bridge itself. Or possibly someplace in the East End, but it has to be on the Fleet, the Walbrook, or Thames itself, or I have to radically alter two rather nicely written pages of character development. I'll sort it out.
Oh, and yesterday I gave entirely too much time to Old London Bridge, by Patricia Pierce--a history of London Bridge--for the sake of a few tiny details in one chapter. But I got 'em!

This week, I'd like you to meet Jane Bwye, a new friend and colleague whose book Breath of Africa came out just last month. It is a tale of life, love, danger and fate in Kenya during dangerous times. She writes from her own knowledge of the country, and deep affection, as you'll see.                                                     There’s something about Africa – especially Africa south of the Sahara – which gets to you. You only have to live there once, for a short time, to get the bug. 

Perhaps it’s the extraordinary light, translucent, clear, pristine, that lies over the land especially in the early mornings and when the sun sets. Wonderful delicate colours in the highlands over the equator which wash the sky. Or the warm orange glow over coastal beaches and plains, heavy with languid humidity.

Life slows down the minute your feet touch the tarmac at the airport. There is an air of quiet expectancy as you take your first breath and look around you. Wrizzled grass stalks line the runway. Perhaps there’s an impala grazing unconcerned, half-visible in the encroaching bush. Dust clouds the air. Customs regard you with measured, unhurried movements. There’s always tomorrow – even for the finding of lost baggage. 


The people greet you with smiles. Even the most snotty-nosed kids barely clad in ragged garments as they emerge from makeshift dwellings in the remotest areas. They are warm. Their needs are few. Their smiles wide with hope. Laughter is ever waiting round the corner. If you look into the eyes of a wrinkled elder, a busy official or a new-born baby, you will find a twinkle.

Life goes on, whether you are there or not. You are but a tiny spec in the scheme of things. Especially so in the wild which can be found within a stone’s throw from human habitation. Majestic lion, haughty cheetah, leopard slinking silently through the bush. And elephant – one moment you’re surrounded by these overpowering gentle beasts, the next, they have melted away leaving a sense of awe and wonder. Were they really there? And the birds – tiny treasures flitting among the trees and bushes, going about their business, oblivious of gasps from the watchers or the glint of binoculars.

You are free to live your own life here, make your own mistakes, be responsible to yourself – there’s nobody else to blame. Perhaps that’s what I like about Africa. There are many insects and creepy crawlies – fearful obscure diseases and the danger of sudden violence. But once bitten, the lure of Africa lies in your blood. You do not want to escape and it will always be your home.

Jane Bwye lived in Kenya for over half a century. Her novel, Breath of Africa is dedicated to its people.  You can find out more about Jane on her website:  www.jbwye.com

The revision/second draft of Harper Errant Book 3 is coming along. Sunday night I finished up all the "modern" parts of Part 1. I've been working
straight through Ben and Raven's thread to keep it flowing sensibly, and now it's time to set it aside for awhile.

Because there are ugly bits to layer in from 1595: in particular, a sick and twisted killer called Silence Carew. I don't much like writing him, or living with him, and it's about to get worse.  He makes my skin crawl. Now my job is to make sure he does the same for the reader! And that means writing his parts of Part 1 straight through as well, for consistency of tone, language, and plot, among other things.

In the original draft a couple of years ago, he was evil,, sure, but pretty 2-dimensional. Now he has to become a real person. That means writing new scenes, involving him with other people, and yes even meeting his mother. At the same time I need to develop  a couple characters who came in kind of at the eleventh hour originally. Their story turns out to be the key to... well, they need to  be introduced sooner.

So I'm working up the existing scenes to make them flow, while building the villain and his obsession, so that by the time the two stories come together, the whole novel will be more complex--and more exciting--than the sum of its parts!

I didn’t realize all at once that my Treehouse compatriots were rounding off the schedule of Wednesday guest bloggers until, oh, last week or so. I really should have spread them out a bit. You know, to keep the madness level of the world from reaching critical mass.  But here we are.

This week, one of the Treehouse of Solitude’s newer denizens, Gabrielle Kirouac Byrne is at the control panel with the giant robots, otter pops, and espresso machine to talk about the writing life as she practices it— as an exercise in controlled lunacy. And believe me. She’s Scottish. She should know.




The Circular Logic of Living Multiple Lives and the Blessing of the Treehouse.
I was honored when Maggie included me in her list of Treehouse guest bloggers, not least because we have never met. Luckily, thanks perhaps to the fact that writers spend a good chunk of life in our heads anyway, virtual friendship and support is not made less by the lack of face time.

When I sat down to write this piece, I was in the process of contemplating my “regular” job and asking myself what comes next.  I know, there’s a club for that – it’s called First World Humanity. Nonetheless, as I reflect on all the potential salaried paths that I might have walked (medievalist, opera singer, marine biologist, lawyer, politician, librarian) and cross-reference that, in true Virgo fashion, with the paths that I am on now and have no intention of leaving (wife & mother, writer, singer, simplifier), I am struck by the uneasy thought that I am possibly not sane.
Alternately, I may be part of an elite crew of actually-very-sane-thanks-for-asking, and in good company. I’m going with that one.  For those of us whose whole lives are a collage, or in some cases a never ending film montage, of possible stories waiting to be written, is it really all that surprising that our paths, talents and personalities are multiple? Could it be any other way?  To write believable characters and put them on their paths we have to empathize not just with various experiences of reality, but with the imaginary.  This is why I have trouble with the news. It’s one thing to be skilled at empathizing with living for real, walking around people—and that’s tough enough on the nervous system.  Writers have to empathize with very troubled people that don’t exist.
Thank gods for the Treehouse.
Thank great Poseidon for the otter pop (why not?).
Thank all that’s holy for the support and encouragement of our equally reality-challenged colleagues.  Considering the many parallel, evolving branches of our potential choices, in life or in story, there are no words (and that’s saying something) to express the value of a writer-colleague shooting out a simple, “I feel you, Sister.”

Being part of a group of fine folk, like those in the Treehouse of Solitude, can serve as a reminder that our struggle is collective, if solitary. Through sharing our writing with each other it becomes clear that we writers are not just challenged, but also blessed.  Who else lives as many lives as we lucky few? So some of the lives are in our heads – big whoop. Lives well lived, nonetheless.

If living multiple lives is a blessing, how do we do it without losing our minds? How do we know when our lives need a dose of reality? My life didn’t really “get real” until I had kids to support and I have to say, I had some pretty amazing experiences using the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants method of decision-making. So, maybe “getting real” is over-rated.  After all, it’s been scientifically proven that our brains can’t tell the difference between dreams and reality.  Our overworked and underpaid spongy pink tissues send out the same chemical signals whether we’re living our lives as elven chattel under a neon sky or filing papers at our desks.  Action follows belief.

This is when Scott (Walker Perkins) and Maggie tell me to get out of my own head and start lobbing otter pops around the Treehouse.  Never underestimate the power of a blue otter pop, travelling through the air at the velocity of an unladen swallow, to knock a little sense into a person.  Maybe the real question is simple. What do you want?

Donning my Simplifier hat, it seems to me that wants (or un-wants, if that’s easier) can be divided into two categories; short-term and long-term. If we can be clear about both and keep them out of each other’s way, then we’ve found the path of gold through the poppy field.  Over time, what we want becomes who we are. For writers – those who write – a single sane life would likely be a bitter pill. So, I shall continue as I began - slightly off-kilter, glassy-eyed with wonder and grateful for both the otter pop in my hand and the friends in my Treehouse.
Gabrielle Kirouac Byrne (G.K. Byrne) writes dark myth and folklore-based stories for middle grade and young adult.  She’s the author of several middle grade fantasies, including Moira Black and the Faery Bargain, Moira Black and the Undine’s Secret, Islands of the Ternkey and The Unusual Odyssey of Michael Pacer.  She’s currently bucking the trend (of ignoring overworked trends) by writing a young adult dystopian with steampunk leanings, and challenges you to say that three times fast.  She is sans agent and light on publishers for the time being but IS holding her breath, so likely that will change soon.
Gabby got a Master’s degree in literature from the University of Aberdeen in Scotland, the motherland for things fantastic, and has worked as an truck stop ice cream server, an editor, a paralegal, an opera singer, a marine biologist, an educator and a conservationist. She now herds politiciansgodshelpher (all one word). Gabby lives in Olympia, Washington with her husband and two outrageous daughters. She adores sharp wit, candlelight, parenthetical statements, and her own shadow.  Incidentally - yes, she is related to Jack Kerouac, but is neither alcoholic nor Catholic. You can find her at www.gkbyrne.com or on Facebook (of course). 

Many of my friends are costumed re-enactors of various sorts at various locations and times of the year. Most of my writer friends qualify as characters, no matter what they're wearing. The wild and crazy—dare I say it—wacky Deirdre Sargent is one of several who manages to do both. She also writes with the intensity of a frenzied chihuahua.  And she's a red-head, so you'd better listen.

[By now you've probably realized that the Treehouse, my online writing support group, is home to more than a few nuts. Why do you think we need the support?]

                      
Maggie asked me to write a guest blog and I was excited to plunge into the pool of bad ideas that I call my brain. My mental swimming pool is full of inflatable pool toys at the moment that represent the books I’m pushing out the door in the next few months, as well as a few writing panels I need to prepare for over Memorial Day weekend. The Barbie that has sunk to the bottom of the pool represents the Gothic steampunk short story I need to finish before the Memorial Day convention and the hyperactive pool boy named Sven who keeps bringing me drinks with no booze represents my current Xbox addiction that distracts me from writing. By now you must think I’m crazy.

You are not alone. I think I’m crazy. My cat definitely thinks I’m crazy. I've had my butt glued in this chair for the past two days writing. I haven’t taken a shower for longer than that. It has almost become a weird baseball “luck” thing. You know those ballplayers who wear the same underwear for all of their games and refuse to wash it because it has winning mojo? Well, I told myself I wasn’t taking a shower or washing my hair until I finished the first book I needed to get out the door. Fortunately for the sake of the entire neighborhood and my cat’s sanity, I finished this morning and promptly took a shower. The cat sat on the toilet and studiously stared at the curtain as if her x-ray vision would scrub the dirt off my skin faster.

Hell, the houses next door were on fire and I didn’t even notice until seven fire trucks were literally parked outside my house. What makes writing so fascinating that it would turn me into Howard Hughes only without the money or the obsessive compulsive hand-washing? Writing is about experiencing life and life is pretty damn fascinating. Here are the bits that I have found help me on a daily basis.

Writing is part talent, part habit, and part lunacy. Don’t get me wrong, you need to have a voice in order to be a good writer however everyone’s voice is different. I will never be John Steinbeck but other people will never be me no matter how hard they try. Find your voice, the voice that makes you unique and you are half way there.

Take inspiration from life. Do you have insane cousins who banged each other at a family reunion? Did your roommate ever pee on your cat? Did you ever pee on your roommate’s cat? Did you ever think a duck ate your nose while high on THC-laced orange juice? You didn’t? OK, then maybe you need some other friends or family because all that shit happened to me. Honestly, people are freaky. Just keep your eyes open and a notebook handy. Things will happen that make some great ideas for stories that you never would have thought were possible.

Be true to yourself. Let’s face it—you are all you have. Sure it’s nice to have a spouse or a kid or better yet a Pembroke Welsh Corgi puppy named Dylan but at the end of the day, they aren't going to write anything for you. If they do and you put your name on it, well that’s plagiarism and your peers will look down on your with mocking derision. You need to write from your soul about what excites you. Let’s face it, if you’re bored writing it, we are bored reading it.Writing is work. Be prepared to give up your social life, your gym schedule, and your jaunts to Monte Carlo. You will be spending a lot of time staring at a computer and even more thinking “Damn, this is shit! Why am I even doing this?” That’s part of it and you just have to tell your Negative Nelly self to shut up and keep writing. You will get through it. It just takes work.

There is no right way. Some people write in the morning, others write at night and I write until my pitcher of martinis runs out and then play Xbox. Find what works for you but just remember to write something every day. If you are going to let your writing slide, it will slide right out of your life.Love yourself. Really, after all the abuse, late nights, Cheetos binges, and moments of self-loathing you need to appreciate yourself for the creative soul you are. Most people go their entire lives without doing anything creative or honest; you are doing both. When you write, you are opening a small window into your soul. Most people are not brave enough to do that so celebrate that vibrant side of you.
The most important thing to remember is to laugh. Laugh at yourself, laugh at others, laugh at nothing. Laughter is a great gift. Look around you, there is some funny shit out there—Honey Badger, Grumpy Cat and that talking baby on the finance commercials to name a few. Laugh a bit each day and it will really help, honest. Now go out there and write like a honey badger because honey badgers don’t give a shit!



Deirdre Sargent is the author of The Squirrel Stole My Thong and Other Reasons I’m Still Single as well as a series of humorous Disney travel guides. A professional actor, writer and corset-wearing diva.

Deirdre is a graduate of the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. She has been entertaining vast audiences with her wit, anecdotes and her ability to bend time and space for longer than she can remember. Currently Deirdre is working on her new adult satirical humor book I’m Bitchy Because I’m Starving and her humorous travelogue The Mouse Ate My Wallet, plus an anthology of Gothic fairy tales with a steampunk flavor Toxic Tales in a Tangled Garden.

She lives in geek grrl splendor with her Xbox 360, portable Tardis, and her lard ass cat Alia (aka The Abomination) On a good day, you can find her hanging out at Stately Wayne Manor, avoiding commando attack squirrels or having a Chamborlada at the Forbidden Island in Alameda.

Somewhat more reliably, you can find Deirdre on her website and her blog: Bytes From Babylon: A Unique Humorous View of the Bay AreaOr give in and Follow her on Facebook

Many of my friends are costumed re-enactors of various sorts at various locations and times of the year. Most of my writer friends qualify as characters, no matter what they're wearing. The wild and crazy—dare I say it—wacky Deirdre Sargent is one of several who manages to do both. She also writes with the intensity of a frenzied chihuahua.  And she's a red-head, so you'd better listen.

[By now you've probably realized that the Treehouse, my online writing support group, is home to more than a few nuts. Why do you think we need the support?]

                      
Maggie asked me to write a guest blog and I was excited to plunge into the pool of bad ideas that I call my brain. My mental swimming pool is full of inflatable pool toys at the moment that represent the books I’m pushing out the door in the next few months, as well as a few writing panels I need to prepare for over Memorial Day weekend. The Barbie that has sunk to the bottom of the pool represents the Gothic steampunk short story I need to finish before the Memorial Day convention and the hyperactive pool boy named Sven who keeps bringing me drinks with no booze represents my current Xbox addiction that distracts me from writing. By now you must think I’m crazy.

You are not alone. I think I’m crazy. My cat definitely thinks I’m crazy. I've had my butt glued in this chair for the past two days writing. I haven’t taken a shower for longer than that. It has almost become a weird baseball “luck” thing. You know those ballplayers who wear the same underwear for all of their games and refuse to wash it because it has winning mojo? Well, I told myself I wasn’t taking a shower or washing my hair until I finished the first book I needed to get out the door. Fortunately for the sake of the entire neighborhood and my cat’s sanity, I finished this morning and promptly took a shower. The cat sat on the toilet and studiously stared at the curtain as if her x-ray vision would scrub the dirt off my skin faster.

Hell, the houses next door were on fire and I didn’t even notice until seven fire trucks were literally parked outside my house. What makes writing so fascinating that it would turn me into Howard Hughes only without the money or the obsessive compulsive hand-washing? Writing is about experiencing life and life is pretty damn fascinating. Here are the bits that I have found help me on a daily basis.

Writing is part talent, part habit, and part lunacy. Don’t get me wrong, you need to have a voice in order to be a good writer however everyone’s voice is different. I will never be John Steinbeck but other people will never be me no matter how hard they try. Find your voice, the voice that makes you unique and you are half way there.

Take inspiration from life. Do you have insane cousins who banged each other at a family reunion? Did your roommate ever pee on your cat? Did you ever pee on your roommate’s cat? Did you ever think a duck ate your nose while high on THC-laced orange juice? You didn’t? OK, then maybe you need some other friends or family because all that shit happened to me. Honestly, people are freaky. Just keep your eyes open and a notebook handy. Things will happen that make some great ideas for stories that you never would have thought were possible.

Be true to yourself. Let’s face it—you are all you have. Sure it’s nice to have a spouse or a kid or better yet a Pembroke Welsh Corgi puppy named Dylan but at the end of the day, they aren't going to write anything for you. If they do and you put your name on it, well that’s plagiarism and your peers will look down on your with mocking derision. You need to write from your soul about what excites you. Let’s face it, if you’re bored writing it, we are bored reading it.Writing is work. Be prepared to give up your social life, your gym schedule, and your jaunts to Monte Carlo. You will be spending a lot of time staring at a computer and even more thinking “Damn, this is shit! Why am I even doing this?” That’s part of it and you just have to tell your Negative Nelly self to shut up and keep writing. You will get through it. It just takes work.

There is no right way. Some people write in the morning, others write at night and I write until my pitcher of martinis runs out and then play Xbox. Find what works for you but just remember to write something every day. If you are going to let your writing slide, it will slide right out of your life.Love yourself. Really, after all the abuse, late nights, Cheetos binges, and moments of self-loathing you need to appreciate yourself for the creative soul you are. Most people go their entire lives without doing anything creative or honest; you are doing both. When you write, you are opening a small window into your soul. Most people are not brave enough to do that so celebrate that vibrant side of you.
The most important thing to remember is to laugh. Laugh at yourself, laugh at others, laugh at nothing. Laughter is a great gift. Look around you, there is some funny shit out there—Honey Badger, Grumpy Cat and that talking baby on the finance commercials to name a few. Laugh a bit each day and it will really help, honest. Now go out there and write like a honey badger because honey badgers don’t give a shit!



Deirdre Sargent is the author of The Squirrel Stole My Thong and Other Reasons I’m Still Single as well as a series of humorous Disney travel guides. A professional actor, writer and corset-wearing diva.

Deirdre is a graduate of the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. She has been entertaining vast audiences with her wit, anecdotes and her ability to bend time and space for longer than she can remember. Currently Deirdre is working on her new adult satirical humor book I’m Bitchy Because I’m Starving and her humorous travelogue The Mouse Ate My Wallet, plus an anthology of Gothic fairy tales with a steampunk flavor Toxic Tales in a Tangled Garden.

She lives in geek grrl splendor with her Xbox 360, portable Tardis, and her lard ass cat Alia (aka The Abomination) On a good day, you can find her hanging out at Stately Wayne Manor, avoiding commando attack squirrels or having a Chamborlada at the Forbidden Island in Alameda.

Somewhat more reliably, you can find Deirdre on her website and her blog: Bytes From Babylon: A Unique Humorous View of the Bay AreaOr give in and Follow her on Facebook

This week I've shaken the Treehouse once again and Scott Perkins—writer, craftsman, humorist, and Giant Robot wrangler—popped out to tell me to get the heck off his lawn. When he found out I wanted him to write a blog post, he was only to happy to put down his knitting. No, honestly. Quite happy! 
                                      



When Maggie asked me to write something for her blog, I had only the vaguest notion of what I was going to write about. The creative process is my usual muse for these things, but then something happened. A couple of weeks ago, despite being of sound mind, I asked my wife to teach me how to knit. I would really like to lay this on the fact that I was actually quite ill at the time with the latest strain of influenza, but I can't really blame the flu. I actually wanted to learn how to knit.

I'd planned ahead, you see. I knew going into this year that in spite of my pledge to keep active by learning all the major trades of Tudor England (and then write about them, of course) I was at some point going to end up on the sofa staring at the Netflix queue and wishing I could go outside and do something useful.

Also... rain. Living near Seattle, I had to expect rain delays.

So I made a short list of "Sofa Projects" and set it aside for those days when I couldn't do anything more interesting. At the top of the list was knitting. Kristin, my saint of a wife, volunteered to teach me.

After two solid weeks of non-stop knotting (not to be confused with actual knitting) I finally had an actual bona-fide hat and had confirmed once and for all that this craft is every bit as tedious as I thought it would be. After I finished my hat, Kristin made one from the same pattern in less than three hours.

I will never be a knitter.

I would happily hand-copy the Magna Carta with a quill pen, or paint a portrait using tiny dots, or carve a whole tree into The Thinker with a pocketknife but please, for God's sake, don’t ask me to knit a scarf. Kristin finds knitting all kinds of fun and would rather set her hair on fire than do any of the other things I mentioned. She makes enormous beautiful lace shawls and cozy knotwork fishermen’s sweaters. She seeks out the most complicated patterns using the finest threads and the smallest needles. She tells me that she finds the repetition meditative. She has several projects going at once and a backlog of projects ready to go at a moment’s notice. She’s also an engineer and can assemble robots from what are to me meaningless strings of wire and code.

I find her entire career mind-blowing; I simply couldn’t cope with what she does every day.

Which makes me think of all the times people have said to me “I couldn’t write like you do, day after day, it’s just so tedious.”

When someone says that, I bristle mostly out of habit. Because in a way, they’re right. It does get pretty tedious sometimes. This is part of why most writers keep several stories in the tumbler and can switch gears with things bog down in whatever they're working on. Kristin's multiple projects are there to give her a change-up when that lace scarf gets to be too much of a pain and she needs a break.

Many writers will tell you that they like having written much more than they like actually writing. Writing is hard work. When someone at the college writing center where I work asks me what it’s like to write for a living I tell them that it’s like volunteering to do homework every day for the rest of your life.

And I’m only sort of kidding.

Long before I spent two weeks trying to turn a fraying cat’s cradle of yarn into a hat using a pair of sticks, I realized that everything from knitting to sculpting to painting a portrait and building a robot was made up of moments of joy stitched together by long stretches of monotony. A huge portion of our lives are made up of finding where our tolerance for tedium lies and find a matching pastime.

Over the past twenty years, Kristin has taught me to knit, embroider, and sew. And while I actually enjoy sewing, the rest is just something I have to finish before I get to move on to something more fun. Rather the way most of the students I encounter every day view writing: Get the paper done, get the grade, graduate, and for the love of all that’s holy, please never make me write another thing as long as I live!

The rhythms of language and the tap of the keys are the soothing notes that punctuate most of my memories back to a very early age. Poring over texts for the odd and the esoteric are my idea of fun. Synthesizing what I learned and putting it on a page as something new and – dare I hope – fresh, is a glorious thing to have done even if it's not always easy or exciting to do.

The fact that other people would rather set their hair on fire than do it just makes it better somehow. I feel that way about knitting and having tried it didn’t change my mind. In fact, it made me appreciate all the more the fact that she was willing to put up with it so that I have warm sweaters and mittens to keep me warm. Just as she, I hope, appreciates that I write funny stories for her to read so that she doesn’t have to.

This strange business of putting words on paper is my favorite brand of tedium. I hope you find yours and someone else to appreciate it with you.

Scott Perkins is a Writer and Artist (and brilliant creator of  book covers --mps). When he's not managing a college writing center, he blogs about writing and literary culture at www.pagestotype.com. Each year he takes on a Massive Crazy Project, chronicled in blog form. Last year was an online science fiction farce called Howard Carter Saves the World and this year it's to become the ultimate renaissance artisan, currently underway at renaissanceartisan.blogspot.com. Come join the fun!

No, seriously!  The British Library wouldn't lieResearchers at the British Library have found sensational evidence for the existence of the Loch Ness Monster. Hidden within the pages of a 12th-century manuscript is not only a description but also a
drawing of the beast known to millions as Nessie.
 
Loch Ness in Scotland, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons; image of the British Library, London, from Wikipedia
Walter of Bingham (d. c. 1197) was a minor cleric from Nottinghamshire who, unable to fulfill his vow to go on the Third Crusade, made a pilgrimage to the holy sites of Scotland. William's own manuscript ofItinerarium Scotiae (The Journey Through Scotland) has been long neglected , but shows the author's fascination with Scottish history, customs and wildlife. One commentator has remarked that "Walter of Bingham is to Scotland what Marco Polo is to China". The tone of The Journey Through Scotlandemulates the writings of Walter's famous mentor, Gerald of Wales, who wrote accounts of Ireland and Wales in the 1180s and 1190s.
For the complete article, see The British Library's medieval and earlier manuscripts blog:

Working on Mermaid Stair with daffodils to keep me going!

Sharon Cathcart is a dear friend and delightful writer who, like T.E. MacArthur, is a member of our writers group, The Treehouse of Solitude. She is also one of our most prolific as well as best travelled members. As my guest this week, she has some insightful observations on... observation.




True confession:  I started this blog post at 3 AM in a London hotel room, when I couldn’t sleep.  It was my third time in London, and I was thinking about how much that first trip had broadened my horizons.
As a historical fiction author, I spend a lot of time doing research.  All the same, there is no way to explain the way your understanding deepens when you see places, things and people you’ve studied, up-close and personal.
I’d studied English history for decades by the time I made that first trip to London.  It was easy, in my mind, to conceptualize what a Yorkist or Lancastrian castle would look like.  Yet, on that first visit to England, climbing Warwick Castle’s “Mound” to see the ruins of the original structure brought home that it was much smaller than I’d imagined – as well as its strategic importance.  You can see for miles from the Mound’s vista.
And that is to say nothing of the humbling realization that Richard III (my favorite, much-maligned monarch) had stood where I was standing and had looked out across that same vista.  It was wonderful.
I can tell you that similar feelings arose in the White Tower, Edinburgh’s Holyrood Castle and numerous other sites I’ve been fortunate enough to visit.
Picasso, Sleeping Woman, 1952Seeing Man Ray’s photographs at London’s National Portrait Gallery this time out was a real treat; part of my forthcoming novel, “In The Eye of The Storm,” deals with Paris’ modern art movement in the early 20thC., and Man Ray was part of that.  So were Picasso and Matisse; I got to see their seminal works when the Leo and Gertrude Stein art collection visited my city.
So, why is this important?  Aside from discovering that I rather liked Picasso’s pre-Cubist works (there is a small print of his “Sleeping Woman” at my desk), I found myself better able to visualize peoples’ lives.  It’s about seeing furniture, houses, works of art … and even the intricate carvings prisoners left on the walls of their Tower cells.  Folk both wealthy and humble kept things that we are able to study and comprehend.  Seeing a letter written in Rob Roy MacGregor’s elegant hand, next to the man’s well-worn belt (which demonstrated him to be a small fellow) was another enlightening moment; we think of heroes as larger than life, but this man’s hands were probably smaller than mine.
Despite having studied the Palais Garnier extensively when I was writing “In The Eye of The Beholder,” there was no real way to appreciate the intimacy of the building.  Admittedly, the outbuildings (like the stables) are now gone, but the five sub-basements remain – as does the Phantom’s Box 5 (with a commemorative plate on the door).
Area SacraDiscovering that Rome is small enough to walk everywhere even today was also enlightening.  Among the many ideas for novels that are running around in my head is a centurion’s tale; seeing the Colosseum, various fora, the Area Sacra, Pantheon – and how close they really are to one another – means that the book will be that much better when it’s eventually written.
All of this is the sort of thing that helps fill in the picture when you’re dealing in historical fiction. 
Now, maybe you’re thinking “I can’t just up and travel abroad?  What are you thinking with this?”
What I’m really saying is that it’s important to take advantage of any opportunity you get to see the things you’ve studied.
Maybe you’ve written a novel set in Ancient Egypt.  I was fortunate enough, thanks to an academic competition, to see the very first U.S. tour of King Tut’s treasures … and that doesn't come along very often.  But if you’re in the San Francisco Bay Area, you can visit the Rosicrucian Egyptian Museum any day of the week.  It houses the largest collection of Egyptian artifacts west of the Mississippi, and even has a replica rock tomb.  (Full disclosure: I was a docent there for a while.)
My point is that there may be fabulous opportunities right in your own back yard that will allow you to better involve readers as you share experiences via your tale.  When we take advantage of whatever opportunities come our way to see what we’ve studied, I truly believe we are changed for the better.
Sharon E. Cathcart is a former journalist who has been writing for as long as she can remember and almost always has at least one work in progress.  Her latest book is “Through the Opera Glass,” a collection of short stories.  

Learn more about Sharon and her work at her website, http://sharonecathcart.weebly.com, or by visiting her Facebook fan page, http://www.facebook.com/sharon.e.cathcart.