Emily Carr’s Forest

/ Lisa / 2 Comments

A snowy afternoon and moments ago I wrote the last sentence in the first draft of book three. I will need to start revising soon, and I want to do so with Emily Carr’s words before me.

A friend recently loaned me her complete works. It seems she is famous, especially in Canada, for not only her writing, but also her painting. She lived in the early 1900s and the thing is, she lived and wrote about places close by. Victoria BC, the forests, the Haida people. How did I miss out on her works? I’m surprised I didn’t learn about her in school.

She talks about ‘peeling’ a sentence back to its bare essence. That image sticks with me as I begin revising. Looking deep into story structure, at each individual word.

Emily Carr went into remote, abandoned Haida villages and sketched and painted the totem poles she found still standing. She also then wrote about those experiences. Those poles were old back then, and it’s doubtful any still stand now. But she captured them and gave us their history, so that they will never be forgotten. When I read her words I wish I could see them as they were then.

The book I’m reading is called ‘The Complete Writings of Emily Carr’ and of course comes with introductions and forewords before each piece. These are worth reading as they were written by those who knew her intimately and give the reader honest views of Emily. When you read those, and think about the period she lived in, you realize she was an extremely unique woman for her time. What courage it must have taken, and really, what self-confidence, to stand against the norm, the traditions, and to live life the way she wanted.

Her writing is well worth delving into, especially this book with the background that’s offered.

When I look at her paintings I can feel the forest alive and breathing. I can sense movement of wind, feel the cool mist. I don’t know how she does that, bringing the woods alive through word and paint.

Here is a sample, taken from her complete works, in which she talks about the totem, the Wild Woman of the Woods, D’Sonoqua. Alone in a village, she went exploring, beat through a nettle field and fell at this totem’s feet. After reading this I longed for that same moment of stumbling onto old magic in the forest.

“Her head and trunk were carved out of, or rather into, the bole of a great red cedar. She seemed to be part of the tree itself, as if she had grown there at its heart, and the carver had only chipped away the outer wood so that you could see her. Her arms were spliced and socketed to the trunk, and were flung wide in a circling, compelling movement. Her breasts were two eagle-heads, fiercely carved. That much, and the column of her great neck, and her strong chin, I had seen when I slithered to the ground beneath her. Now I saw her face.

‘The eyes were two rounds of black, set in wider rounds of white, and placed in deep sockets under wide, black eyebrows. Their fixed stare bored into me as if the very life of the old cedar looked out, and it seemed that the voice of the tree itself might have burst from that great round cavity, with projecting lips, that was her mouth…’

Wow.

And I’m only a quarter of the way into the book. Find it if you can, and read the words of this extraordinary woman. I also strongly encourage you to do an internet search on images of Emily Carr’s artwork. Look especially at the pieces where the colors are dark greens, the style almost simplistic until you look closely.

Then let me know if her words reach across the years to you, too.

Anticipating the End

/ Lisa / 5 Comments

I love the tingly sense that the end of a story is near. You can see it out there on the horizon, so close, but not ready to be touched just yet. You know it’s creeping in, but you can’t look at it directly or it will dissipate like fog, gone forever.

And since it’s Christmas Eve I’ll use that analogy – it’s like being a little kid again, sitting near the tree with its lights and decorations, grasping that nutcracker and thinking, tonight the magic will happen and he will turn into a prince.

Hands hovering, fingers near the keyboard, or lightly holding the pen, breath almost held, knowing the words are almost here, almost free.

Of course the downside of that anticipation is the fact that soon, the gifts will all be open. The end of the story will be written and all that’s left to anticipate is the long slog of revising and the business end of getting the book out there.

But for right now, the story is still just mine, still magical, still unknown.

And oh so close.

Potential piece of cover for book #3, Ghost Roads

Potential piece of cover for book #3, Ghost Roads

 

The Dreaded Bobble Head

/ Lisa / 6 Comments

We’ve been re-watching a show called Numb3rs (that’s not a typo) and one of actors fascinates me. Peter MacNicol turned the role of a professor who’s brilliant but rather foggy from a cliché to fully developed character. I find myself studying the mannerisms of the character. I’m not sure if the actor did this on his own or if the director assisted, but either way, what could have been a cardboard walk on character became much more. And I think a large part of that was movement.

Peter held his body with shoulders slightly hunched forward, making the chest shallow. He held one arm across his body, cupping the other elbow, with that arm held upright. As he talked, his hand would be there like a flag on a flagpole, moving constantly, nervously, absentminded, busy. When the character was puzzling over something the hand would move limp, tugging at a curl, pulling at an earlobe. When nervous or agitated, the hand would move more quickly, flitting, worrying.

There were many more mannerisms this character had, including the way he spoke, but you get the idea. Watching him made me ponder on the old dreaded bobble head of writing. There are two things my characters do in the first draft of a story that could cause issues in real life. One, they run around naked until I’m editing and realize I’ve forgotten to dress them. Two, they nod a lot and just stand there while in dialog.

The editing process fleshes them out more. Of course in the first draft I’m just trying to capture the story, so that makes sense. But I have to remember to go back and add those mannerisms; the movements that give depth to dialog and character, and even more depth to the unspoken dialog between characters. Body language is so important.

Clear body language for a dog caught in the act

Clear body language for a dog caught in the act

When I watch an actor who does a marvelous job of bringing that language of the body to life, I find myself thinking – how would I describe that so it would be seen to the reader? How would I describe it without it overwhelming the message in the dialog?

Another thing I like to do is sit in a parking lot with music playing so that I can’t hear what people are talking about. Or watch people in a busy restaurant where the ambient noise makes it difficult to pull out individual voices. In those types of situations you can watch body language without being distracted by the words. And again, figure out how you would describe what you see and what you think they are talking about.

Finally, during an edit process I like to hold my hand over the dialog on the written page, look at the movements I’ve given a character, and see if those movements tell me anything or if they are just filler.

But like I said, that’s all in the editing process. For the most part, in the first draft, I have a bunch of bobble heads nodding and smiling. Or nodding and frowning. Or nodding and teary. Blah.