Tag: writing

Silk Road Inspiration

~ susanoleksiw ~ 6 Comments

Recently a friend told me about a trip her mother wanted to take with her to India, and asked me about some of the sights and events planned for them. I found a description of the trip online and skimmed through it thinking how I would answer her questions when just below was another trip that threw all my travel plans and budget for the year into the trash can.

When I was perhaps eleven or twelve years old I came across a book about a trip to Central Asia. After You, Marco Polo by Jean Bowie Shor describes a journey she and her husband made following in the footsteps of the explorer on his travels from Venice to China in the late 13th century. The book was published in 1955, only a few years after their trip in the late 1940s. The author is the definition of the word intrepid, and I don’t believe anyone alive today would even consider taking the same trip so dependent are we on cell phones, public transportation, emergency services, detailed maps, and reliable guides, not to mention translation programs on our cell phones and a general sense of peace and safety (now perhaps ebbing). I reread this book recently and it is still one of the most incredible survival stories of any traveler on the Silk Road in Central Asia I have encountered.

This book sparked my love of Asia, as a result of which I ended up living in India for a year doing research, and then returning for a second year for more of the same. I’ve been back several times to visit friends, and even though I’m no longer any kind of scholar, I’ve maintained my interest in India in the Anita Ray series and several photography projects. The author, Jean Bowie Shor, inspired numerous characters with her impetuous forays into forbidden areas and unbelievable luck in surviving and even thriving, as well as her fortitude in traversing a 20,000 foot mountain pass with her fever-stricken, delirious husband and two guides who were hoping to fleece their dead bodies of more money than the entire community would see in a hundred life times.

I don’t plan to write during the trip, but that’s a plan that can quickly evaporate. I do plan to take a lot of photographs, and as I often do when working on an Anita Ray story, I’ll line up the most interesting along my desk to glance at while I work after I get home. Some people like music in the background, some like a particular bit of clutter, I like photographs.

Now, after many years, I’m finally taking my dream trip—to the Silk Road. I’ve signed on for a tour with about a dozen others to visit three of the Stans—Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgyzstan—along the Silk Road. After a lapse of many decades, I will be part of the kind of  ensembles of tourists that I find so stimulatingly murderous in my Anita Ray series set in South India. I’m doing a lot of background reading so I’ll be ready for my characters when they show up. The trip is scheduled for the fall, so I have a lot of time to enjoy one of the best parts of travel—anticipation.

I’m not sure what this post is about, but I’m booked for a trip I’ve dreamt about for years and taking it now seems fitting.

Research, or the Lure of the Rabbit Hole

~ janispattersonmysteries ~ 4 Comments

by Janis Patterson

There’s nothing more frustrating than a novel which mangles history. Unless, of course, it is alternative history (at best a bastard genre) and clearly labeled as such. What raises my ire is when someone writes what is purported to be historical fiction but has such factual clangers in it as to stop the reader cold. My favorite example of this is from a contest I judged when a Regency hero – handsome, wealthy, arrogant as all of them are – pulls a fountain pen from his pocket to sign some important document.


Really? A fountain pen?


The bladder fountain pen that we all know wasn’t invented for at least fifty years after the Regency. Even the steel-tipped dip pen wasn’t invented until after the end of the Regency. Before that, writing was done with feather quills, usually goose.


Of course I dinged the writer severely for not doing proper research, and sent a rather kindly note of explanation of her low score, hoping to raise her consciousness about the necessity of research. Instead she attacked me viciously, not only in a private letter but on social media, ranting that it was an old-fashioned pen and who would know the difference anyway.


And there is the crux of the matter. Far too many people get their ideas of history from novels (and movies, and TV) and therefore as writers we owe them the honesty of real facts.


Such a high-minded ideal is not without its dangers to us, though. I was working on a fairly early Victorian Gothic where my librarian heroine had to make some ink. Now I knew she couldn’t just pop off to the allsorts shop in the village for a bottle, so I went online and looked up how to make ink.


Who knew there were so many ways to make ink? And there are so many people making it today? Well, it was a plethora of information and I started reading happily. Only thing was, I realized that some of the recipes used items to which my early-Victorian-working-in-remote-Scotland heroine would have no access. But I had to make sure of what was available, which took me to botanical sites and shopping sites and each of them led to other sites, most of which had little to nothing to do with Scotland, libraries or ink, and before I knew it hours later I was deep into the intricacies of making Scottish country cheese. Still don’t know quite how I got there, but it was fascinating.


Now I don’t know if I’ll ever need any minutiae about the making of country cheese in Victorian Scotland, but it did give me a deeper insight into the Scottish rural people of the time, their lives, their chores, their way of living. Besides, I believe that everything is useful in some way, some time, some how. Who knows when some snippet of rural Victorian Scottish life/mores/cheesemaking – or something influenced by them – will show up in a totally unrelated story? It’s one of the dangers and the magic of writing!


Doubtless by now you have figured out that I like research. And, having an inquiring (some say nosy) mind, I must admit I do. It’s one of the most fascinating things in the world. And one of the most dangerous. It can take hold of a story, turn it every way from up, then hand it back to you in a form totally different from the way you originally envisioned it. Or, if you are strongminded enough to corral your story to its original form, those little snippets of research are still there, adding depth and shading – and an occasional surprise – to your story.


A prime rule of good writing is Do Your Research. Another rule of good writing is Do Not Let Your Research Take Over. Usually I manage both, but it’s most definitely a delicate balancing act.

Lists and More, Always More

~ susanoleksiw ~ 4 Comments

I belong to a chat list of people in my general geographical area, one or two counties north of Boston mostly along the water. Here we post requests for a carpenter or, right now, a snow shoveler. Members report on the remodeled bath and how well the job was done, or not done.

One man organized a picnic for anyone who wanted to come, and within days he had offers of side dishes, the loan of a grill, a small tent in case it rained while he was flipping burgers, a few tables and chairs, and a volunteer to track who was doing or bringing what. There are long discussions on what’s happening that has brought a helicopter and two police cars, and whether or not the city can or should do something about the homeless woman who has set up shop on a certain corner.

This is a community within a community, an ongoing exchange of good will, information, moral support, and occasionally humor. Lots of people are looking for small jobs, the kind that don’t attract construction companies. These are people willing to do just about any little chore—watch your elderly mother one afternoon a week, or your two pre-school children three days a week, or water your plants while you’re on vacation, or fix the front steps, or cut down a small tree that’s dying. There’s always someone who’ll help install a smoke detector, explain the restrictions on B&Bs in a specific town, or suggest a junk removal guy who is reasonable, quick, and neat. Small jobs but necessary ones.

I’ve had several jobs taken care of through this site, and occasionally I recognize another user, or another user recognizes me. The site is more efficient than asking at the local hardware store, another place I’ve come to know and love since my husband died. It’s also more informative. In almost any instance a person seeking a worker for anything will get two or three suggestions, with affirmations (or not) by other readers. 

The site is remarkably accurate as to skill, reliability, and pricing, perhaps because a failure in any one of these areas will lead to a disappointing post, at best, and complaints from others and a decline in business.

For a long time I thought of this as a useful site, but now I read the offers and requests, including occasionally my own, and I feel like I’m reading a novel or a short story as people report on life changes requiring a new home for a pet or a change in a second bedroom. This change in perspective is perhaps the result of how I see the world, or at least my corner of it. 

When I hear someone talking about an incident, or see a group of people engaged in something, within seconds my brain has constructed a narrative, just like what I did in the first paragraphs above. You read very few facts; instead you got a feel for how a group of people relate to each other, with holes where paranoia, suspicion, ill will could fold away from view.

When you’re a writer, wherever you look you find a story.

Happy New Year! or Bah, Humbug!

~ janispattersonmysteries ~ 2 Comments

by Janis Patterson

Somewhere it seems to have been written that the first post of a new year is supposed to be a joyous burst of ambition, resolve and anticipation about all the wonderful things the new year brings.


Humbug!


If you’re like me, the new year is startlingly if not exactly like the old year, but with the added stress of having to remember to change from 2024 to 2025 every time you have to write a date. The house is still messy, laundry has to be done, my daily word count has been ignored, meals have to be planned, cooked and cleaned up after… Plus, I’m tired. And fat. Between the gustatory excesses of Thanksgiving, assorted parties (including a family wedding), and the several days of Christmas gatherings and the pure physicality of extra cooking, shopping and gift wrapping – naturally all done with appropriate snacks and meals – I find myself wishing that the lovely clothes I received were all a size or two larger.


Of course, this too will pass. I will return to what I was before the holidays (and hopefully lose a little more!) and wear my new garments with pride, the house will get clean (okay, cleaner) and life will return to the occasionally bizarre standard we regard as normal.


After the final excesses of New Year’s Eve.


There was a time I went out on New Year’s Eve. Friends would have parties – I even gave a couple myself – or on rare occasions my escort of the minute and I would go clubbing, where at the stroke of midnight we would scream, kiss and hug anyone within reach, dodge a flood of balloons and sip champagne. Where did we get the energy?


This New Year’s Eve The Husband and I did what we usually do on New Year’s Eve – stay home in our jammies, eat a good meal (usually leftovers from December’s overwhelming bounty), sip either a good bottle of Veuve Clicquot (the best champagne ever!) or a mug or two of egg nog (usually virgin) and make a concentrated effort to stay awake until midnight, when we kiss and express our hopes for a better new year for us and for everyone. It doesn’t get better than that, folks. This year we actually stayed up after midnight – not because of any resolution or desire to see the New Year in or a result of our libations… You see, one of our local TV stations was running a Twilight Zone marathon…


Anyway, that is why this is a most untraditional post. I am not going to wax eloquent of the delights inherent in a fresh start, or how you really can keep a resolution to write X number of words every single day, or that you now are free to really work towards making the NYT list, or any such nonsense. That would be as ridiculous as telling you to buy a gym membership and actually keep your promise to go Every Single Day… (Does anyone ever really fulfill that resolution? Anywhere?)


Truth is, you can do any of that or any other kind of beginning any day of the year. Back in my youth there was a popular poster proclaiming Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life. Kind of cheesy, but also very true. Every day is a new beginning.


Today is your new beginning. So will be tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. Enjoy each and every one of them, but use them wisely.


Happy New Year.

Prime the Pump and Take a Long Voyage

~ Janet Dawson ~ 6 Comments

It’s an old phrase: priming the pump. Back in the 19th century, it meant pouring liquid into a pump to expel the air and make it work. Even now, an internet search will tell us that before any centrifugal pump can be operated, it must be primed. Priming is the process of replacing air in the intake lines and portions of the pump with water.

But our subject is books and writing. Priming the pump also means encouraging the growth or action of something. In this case, my work-in-progress.

It’s a historical novel. I have a large pile of words that will eventually become a coherent first draft. Where the hell I’m going? How am I going to get there? Will it make any sense? It probably will, to me. Will anyone else want to read it?

Thus I prime the pump. I’ve been seeking inspiration in one of my research books, taking lots of notes. I’m paying attention to the timeline of actual events, in order to integrate my fictional characters into the crowded parade of real people who were doing things in my setting in 1878 and 1879. As I do this, I write notes to myself, usually set apart in brackets, outlining things I want my protagonist to do. Or learn.

There’s a lot going on, but it’s impossible—and improbable—for me to place her physically at all the significant events, much as I would like her to be an eyewitness. I must pick and choose the most dramatic scenes and figure out a logical reason for her to be there. The rest, she’ll have to learn from others. Besides, the book already looks like it will be long. Some events need to be mentioned in passing rather than detail.

So, reading a book, in this case, a research book. Or another book. Like this one. Years ago, I was going through a bad patch that soured me on life and left me feeling perpetually grim, grumpy, and depressed. A friend tossed me a lifeline, a book. It’s Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy, by Sarah Ban Breathnach.

I’m not one for touchy-feely, self-help books. Over the years, I’ve bought a few, gotten little from them, and quickly donated them, passing them on to other readers. But Simple Abundance spoke to me at a time when I needed it. It’s a collection of essays, one for each day of the year, looking at things like joy, gratitude, beauty, and so forth. I read one essay every morning. I’m always surprised and gratified when the essay for a particular day speaks to something that’s going on in my life. Such as the day my father died. That essay was exactly what I needed at the time.

One of the best takeaways is the gratitude journal. Each evening, I jot down three or more things that I’m grateful for—even if it just clean sheets on my bed, a quiet day at home, and especially a productive day of writing. I find that keeping the gratitude journal has changed the way I look at life. That helps immeasurably with my writing.

Simple Abundance also introduced me to the Greek poet Constantine Cavafy. On a date at the end of the year, the author quotes Cavafy’s poem Ithaka. During my trip to Greece in October 2023, my group visited the ancient theatre of Epidaurus, constructed in the late fourth century BCE. It’s considered the most perfect ancient Greet theatre with regard to acoustics and aesthetics. It is still used for the performances of ancient plays.

Our tour guide demonstrated the acoustics at Epidaurus by standing in the middle and reading a poem—Cavafy’s Ithaka. As we enter the new year, I leave you a few lines from the poem [translation by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard, C. P. Cavafy/Collected Poems, Princeton University Press, 1992.]

As you set out for Ithaka

hope the voyage is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

. . . .

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you are destined for.

But do not hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years . . .

May your voyage this year be long, full of adventure and discovery. And productive!