The Boy on the Porch

(Coming September 3, 2013)

This is the newest book, out in a few weeks.  

The title floated in my head as I woke one day two years ago, although I did not recognize it as a title. It was merely a phrase, insistent enough that it stuck with me through the morning.  The following day, it appeared again as I awoke, and later that day after a nap, again: "the boy on the porch."  A few days later, again.  And again.  And again.

Okay, okay, okay.  I will write to find out about the boy on the porch!

The Well

My grandparents lived without indoor plumbing

and raised eight children.

I was afraid of the well

because one of my cousins

threatened to push me into it

down into that deep black water

but I was also drawn to the well

to the novelty of it

and begged to fetch the water.

When I now use the phrase

refilling the well

to describe breaks between books

and the gathering of new inspiration,

in my mind I see

that well, above,

deep and dark and full.

xx

Simple Complexity: Inspiration

Objects or scenes that appear simple often reveal hidden complexity. I think this is what first draws me into a story--not a complex idea, but something so pure and simple that it haunts and engages the mind.

The above scene, for instance, is merely a hallway with afternoon light flirting with the wall and door. I'm drawn to this sight. I like that contrast of light and shadow, and I'm intrigued by the fleeting nature of that particular pattern of light. Can I capture an instant, can I understand why it appeals, can I recreate the scene in words, and can I do it in a  simple and pure way? Can I resist cluttering it in the rendering of it?

Here's another photo to illustrate:

At first glance, this might appear to be a poorly-taken photograph of a framed silkscreen (two fish swimming in the sea)–'poorly-taken' because of the reflection that obscures the painting. But if you look closer, you see that 'within' the silkscreen of two fish is the reflection of wintry birch branches outside the room wherein this artwork hangs. For me, this becomes more than a simple reflection of light and shadow on the wall; it holds a story with many layers, a story of contrasts and parallels that wants to be told. Can I plumb the depths of that story and yet convey those depths in an uncluttered and pure way?

Heavy thoughts for a simple Saturday afternoon, mm?

Story Settings

Often I am inspired by place. The above setting for instance, which was my view this morning of fog shrouding the lake, begs to have its story told. I see the fog as perfect metaphor for the beginning of story, when all is shrouded in mystery. Can you make out the dock in the center of the photograph? (You may be able to click to enlarge.) I like how you can only see the first part of the dock. To see more, you have to go further into the fog, and this is pretty much how I find out what my stories are: Begin and then go on, a little at a time, discovering what is ahead.

I know it's a lake out there, obviously, but what will I encounter along the way, and how far will the dock reach, and what will happen at the end? Just like story.

A Writer's Error

In a recent video clip, I misquoted my own granddaughter. In that video, I said that inspiration for The Unfinished Angel came from my granddaughter Pearl, who told her first story at age two. Her correct story is/was: "Once upon a time in Spain there was an angel and the angel was me." In the clip, I omitted 'in Spain,' an important element in her story and in sparking my imagination.

I was fascinated that she would include 'in Spain.' How could she know what or where Spain was? My daughter explained that she had recently read Ferdinand the Bull to Pearl; that story begins with, "Once upon a time in Spain. . ." I love knowing that. I love the thousands of ways words and stories shape our imaginations.

I was so intrigued by Pearl's one-line story that I repeated it each night, like a mantra, before I went to sleep, hoping my subconscious would find the story. Several times I tried to jump-start the story, but I kept getting stuck on that Spanish element. I have not lived in Spain; I do not speak Spanish fluently; the Spanish angel remained elusive. Then, four years after first hearing Pearl's story (not six or seven years as I said in the clip) (sometimes I cannot add or subtract), my husband and I spent a year in Switzerland, where we had worked twenty-five years ago.

The above photo shows our view in Lugano, Switzerland.

And there I found the angel. I saw where the angel lived and heard how she/he spoke. So: it became a Swiss angel instead of a Spanish one, and once that element was discovered, the story unfolded one scene at a time.

Now, one more error to admit: I also misquoted Pearl on the book's dedication page! Ack! Every other page of the story had been read and re-read and proofread dozens of times. My editor, proofreaders and I are all sticklers for accuracy. There was no way for them to know, however, what Pearl had actually said, so they could not detect my error. I don't know how I made that mistake. It bothers me that I did.

My only defense is this: in the space of three weeks in January--just before I submitted the dedication--four people died: my beautiful brother Dennis; mentor and friend Mary Crist Fleming; and two cherished librarians, Kate McClelland and Kathy Krasniewicz. Their names appear on the same page as my misquoted, brilliant granddaughter Pearl.