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?

The Colors of a Draft

I use pastel colored paper for manuscript drafts; it feels more tentative and fluid than white. It also gives me a visual record of when parts of a draft were done.

In the above stack, the gold pages (approximately 100) were written between May-July, 2009. The blue were written between August-December, 2009 (only about 30 pages because I was on book tour and in England during that time.) The green pages are the most recent (about 100), written in my recent immersion in North Carolina.

I'm not done yet, and the draft is exactly that: a draft. It's like the frame of a house without the windows in it. No paint yet. No electricity. Definitely no granite countertops.  Lots more work to do in subsequent (and new-color) drafts.

The colors help my memory. If I need to quickly refer back to an incident, I can remember when I wrote that scene and what color paper it is on, and I can find it easily.

The final draft (maybe 2 or 3 drafts from now) will be all white and pristine.  Subsequent revisions will be on colored paper to easily identify where changes were made.  I guess I like things fairly orderly; otherwise writing a book and keeping all the details straight might make me crazy.

Moss and the Brain

I'm in North Carolina right now, immersed in writing the newest book. The photo above is from nearby Orton Plantation, and I've chosen it today because it reflects the state of my mind as I trek through this first draft. I can only see a little way ahead each day; I wish I knew what was at the end of the path, but I don't. All around is a sea of mossy strands, threatening to overtake. Enticing red flowers tempt me off the path. Do I go there?  Or stay on the path?

Or lie down and take a nap?  Mm?

The Unfinished Angel scene: The Nature of Signora Divino

Today, one more reading from The Unfinished Angel.  Sometimes the Angel throws pine cones at Signora Divino and her grandson Vinny.  Sometimes the Angel pinches them a little. In this scene, the Angel explains why.

This is the last scene I'll read from this book.  Probably.

Video clip

THE UNFINISHED ANGEL: dedication

Sometimes I know early on in the writing process to whom the final book will be dedicated; sometimes I don't know until the book is ready to be printed.  I had thought that I would dedicate The Unfinished Angel to my granddaughter Pearl, who inspired this book when she told me her first story: "Once upon a time in Spain there was an angel, and the angel was me."

But then, in January, 2009, when I was about to finalize the dedication page, four people dear to me died within a span of three weeks. I felt as if I had to gather them together on this dedication page as a way of keeping them 'alive.'

Dennis W. Creech:  my brother, eleven months younger than I, he was the middle child of five. I love this photo (below) of us. We look rag-tag and a bit devilish:

Mary Crist Fleming: 96 years old, the founder of the TASIS schools in Europe.  She was a charismatic educator, my husband's and my 'boss', friend, and muse for the past thirty years.  She lived in the villa attached to the tower in which the Angel lives in The Unfinished Angel.  Mrs. Fleming was living in that villa while I was writing the book, and she told me, "I will be that angel some day, and I will live in the tower."  I bet she is there now.

Kate McClelland and Kathy Krasniewicz:  Most people in the children's book world knew or had heard of these two women, both librarians, both supremely dedicated, generous and loving. I admired them both but knew Kate best: she made me laugh and she made me think. Kathy and Kate died in a tragic car accident en route to the airport following the annual ALA conference.

Back to the Spooky Cupboard (#4)--uh oh

Ah ha. I finally figured out how to get the clip to run here. I have to relearn this each time I do it, which says something about my expertise, mm?

So. In England, packing up to return to States. Return to spooky cupboard and . . .uh-oh. Watch:

Back to the cupboard?

Good morning from England. While packing up to return to the States, I encountered something puzzling. Eww. Clip didn't work here but is posted now above. . .as Spooky Cupboard (#4)