Sunday, August 19, 2007

Scotland, Maine, and all manner of the unexplained!

Voice of the Blogger: Deborah
Mood: Reflective, wishful
Music: Tree toads on the wind, dishwasher on the wash cycle
Writing: Scotland, Maine, Colcannon, and generational memories

OK, folks, I sat down with the blank screen on my lap, in my sunroom (or, today, gloomroom, since there's only a misty-gray sky), and started typing. The goal: 30 minutes. The result: 60 minutes, 688 words, very little editing-while-writing, and a trip through the foggy waters of what I call Generational Memory--those memories, urges, desires, and sentimentalities that have been part of my soul forever, that I believe have been passed through my bloodlines from my Scots ancestors, and stir my soul like nothing else can.

I feel like I've started a great exploration in writing. A clarification of things unexplained (my urge to go to Maine--I've never been there--in the winter and stay in a cottage on the beach for six weeks, alone, with just a bottomless pot of coffee and a laptop and the dark waters on the horizon), a sorting-out of feelings (my sense of kinship to the high, black cliffs of northern Scotland--and I've never been there), and wishful thinking (getting whiskey-drunk--it would only take one shot--in a pub in Scotland and singing Celtic songs in fluent Gaelic with distant relatives I'm not sure even exist, and who, I find out after the songfest, are gifted poets and lyricists). Discovering a possible answer to the "why?" I keep asking myself about these memories of place and language and music and culture that aren't my memories, and aren't even memories at all.

The personal journey begun today is one I can't wait to return to, to continue the ride with words, nuance, and simile (the writing of which, for me, is like trying to catch a butterfly without a net).

To find joy in the practice, and desire in the gift.

And now to the store for leeks and potatoes to complement my first-ever organically-grown cabbage from my first-ever garden. The result? Heavenly, aromatic, Scots-created colcannon (how's that for a segue?).

Wish you were here!

10 comments:

smcelrath said...

Hi all--

Gloomy days yes, but I've been walking the beaches up north, searching for all manner of treasure, be it petosky stones or sea glass. I watched my daughter ride her bike for the first time--without training wheels and without me running alongside panting out encouragement and balancing her with a death grip on her seat. I've stared into the blue -orange coals of the fire and dreamed while I sipped a very mellow Pinot Noir. I listened to the coyotes yip and howl, avoided a skunk (he really was quite undisturbed--but I wasn't), and made precisely 72 trips to the bathroom (apparently my daughters figured the only way they could get me to ride my bike with them at any given moment--no matter where I was in my book or dinner preparations--was to say they had to go to the bathroom).

So, no writing, but a fair amount of soul-mending. A necessary ingredient for me to be able to write sometimes.

I'll join the 30 minute a day challenge come Thursday. After all, next week I'm back to work so my writing schedule is back on--6:30 a.m. to 7:30 a.m.

outdoorwriter said...

Sarha;

Wondered where you had been lately.

I really enjoy watching fires, especailly when the coals seem to be breathing, they're so hot. We have a glass-doored woodstove that we heat about half the house with in our great room. It's so peaceful; dogs, people and moths are all drawn to the flames.

The coyotes serenade us occasionally from the power line. Sounds like they're right under the window.

I used to have a "worry stone" I picked up from the beach. It looked like someone had rubbed a big hollow in it with their thumb. The power of sand and waves in rounding and smoothing rough and square edges ias amazing.

I'll take the challenge as well to write for 30 minutes every day.

dreemryter said...

Hi S and L,

Guess if you're taking the 30-minute challenge, I'd better get up early tomorrow and start typing!

Sarah, camping with you sounds so peaceful, in spite of the 72 trips to the john. I have yet to experience camping that way. I do it too seldom to be organized, and the people I have gone with seldom want to just "be."

D

smcelrath said...

Parts of camping are relaxing. Parts are not. We have done it enough, however, that we are much better organized than we used to be. My husband still thinks we can take a nap after setting up. Ha. Putting two sisters in the camper and expecting them to nap is like sticking a hound and a raccoon together in a dumpster and expecting them to coincide peacefully. Doesn't happen. I usually end out taking the girls for a hike.

Worry stones are cool. I was speculating last night about sea glass. Lots of polishing turns shards of glass into treasure. How much polishing does it take to turn the sharp parts of my life into treasure? As a writer, I think it is possible, but have to admit that it took about 20 years for me to be able to write Black Dragon.

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