Green Tea and Five Sentences For Me

This time it's green tea.

Green Tea

Not only is Green Tea an awesome beverage, one that makes me think of times with my grandmother; it’s a presumed health drink.  Certainly my memory holds a healthy glow–sitting at one of Nanny’s kitchen tables and watching as she measured out the rolled dried leaves into a tea-pot.  She would have a pan of water heating on the stove and just before the water reached a boil, she would pour some over the dried leave, rinsing them.  This acrid water she disposed of  after swishing the pot once or twice to warm it a touch.  Then she would pour in the rest of the heated water, go get cups for us while it steeped, rinse them with other warmed water she had waiting .  Finally, she would bring the tea over to sit between us.  She never actually sat down.  My grandmother’s maiden name is Sparrow, and it suits the way she flutters about her kitchen even now almost into her 90th year.

The resulting drink would be a pale, crisp golden green, a touch sweet.  I remember not liking it at first, but wanting so much to be a “big girl”, I drank it readily.  I did not appreciate tea for years, even well after my grandmother could no longer enjoy the drink she prepared with such love.  A few small strokes and a prescription for Coumadin limited her chance to enjoy many of her favorite foods including green tea.

But this isn’t about my childhood memories or even the limitations of medication and diet.  It’s about a short story by the Irish writer Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu–or rather about my rediscovering Le Fanu’s writing.

“Green Tea” by Le Fanu turned up in the book (Dover Editions Great Irish Short Stories) I picked up for my #readsprint on Wednesday.  It had been quite literally over 30 years since I’d ever read anything by Le Fanu.  But, even so, I sensed something in “Green Tea”…  The name of the Dr.Hesselius.  It was warm and familiar.

Yes… “Warm and familiar” is an odd description for a story involving ghosts and paranormal destruction.

Turns out, Le Fanu also wrote my favorite vampire story “Carmilla”.  That story, that I’d read sometime around 4th grade, made enough of a mark on me that I drew upon it when I was in college.  Using amber-screen vt220 terminals in the various basements of SUNY Albany, I hung out on early social networks such as MUDs and MUCKs,  usually in FurryMUCK. I had two characters.  One named after my cat Ishkabibel who was, quite accurately, a ball of white fluff with eyes that bounced around excitedly and left strands of hair wherever she went.  The other was a shape-changer: a sleek black cat/frail girl/lycanthrope based on Le Fanu’s Carmilla; my own character’s third anagram named was Lalmirca.

Illustration by Michael Fitzgerald for Le Fanu...

“Carmilla” also introduced me to the joy of word play in a sense I’d never known before.  And while “Green Tea” was a pleasing story in its own, I find myself more delighted by the memories that looking up details for this post inspired.

The joy didn’t end there.  In doing a Google search to get the link , I found other stories of that name.  Short stories are a bit of a passion this month, since this is Story A Day month here at Chez Mabee.  And so I also found this little gem: Green Tea by Nasir   It is rough.  There are mistakes.  Pronouns shift for characters; there are clearly places where the author was thinking in one direction then wrote another.  But it was sweet.  Sad, but sweet.

Now skipping away from Green Tea  to savor a cup, I have an idea…

Five Sentences

Similar to Kait Nolan’s wonderful Test Mile, I find myself committing to getting at least five sentences of new story written every day.  It wasn’t so much an intention of mine but something I began suggesting to other ROWers after I realized I’d been doing it automatically every day even on those days I felt I too busy or (worse imho) “blocked”.

The idea came from trying to write more in my WiPs.  This unnamed, unspoken goal stated “write five more new sentences in the story.  Just five…“  These sentences had to be part of the story I was working on(not a new story), and they had to try to break the block.  If I couldn’t manage more than five, that was fine.  I went on to new things.  If I could write more than five, I would keep going until I found myself blocked again.

Sometimes I wrote paragraphs of complete and utter nonsense or character sketching, scene sketching, minor character creation or even just ranting into my blank page before I came up with those five sentences.  Sometimes five sentences resulted in pages of backstory, new secondary and tertiary characters, new story ideas…

The “Unnamed Story” I have posted in my Tuesday Snippets developed out of many of these sessions.  Now it is a story in its own right; it is not the WiP I want to work on.  And in the manner of exploring the unknown, it has a multitude of flaws.  I overindulge myself in describing scenes.  The story splits and goes in different directions as I reconsidered the effects of a character’s actions and followed those possibilities further….  It was/is an exercise–I’m still writing pieces in it.  It and the Was Long Variation are my scratch pads for those five sentences, places where I can explore a character and effuse details that I need to know, but perhaps the reader does not.

But  for every paragraph there–indeed for every several paragraphs there, I draw a sentence that I can use in my Writing In Progress.  Maybe not as a sentence itself, maybe as just an idea…  I still have  that sentence to write.  But it is there.

And when I have five sentences, my day can be done…or not.

But I know I’ve written.

The ROW80 check-in however…

Well, since my goals for the rest of May are fairly limited in scope: a story a day and maintain my regular comments and sponsor duties, I can say with delight that I am meeting those goals with almost no problem.  Even days without internet have not really interfered much, since I am rediscovering my joy of writing with pen and paper (I am not as eagerly looking forward to typing everything in before the 30th).

So everything is going well.  Sort of…  As some people may have noticed, my update on Sunday (made via a short post on Facebook) was not the happiest thing.  Most everything is better now, but it reminded me of something…    The ROW80 is a challenge that is more that writing; it’s about living as a writer.

And the ROW80 is about supporting each other as writers.  My ROW80 teammates were there for me this past week.   Please, never hesitate to ask when you need support in your ROW.  It’s what makes this such a wonderful challenge.

And speaking of support…. here’s the linky!  Why not stop in and meet a few of these wonderful people?

Photo Credits:

  • This time it’s green tea. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
  • Illustration by Michael Fitzgerald for Le Fanu’s story Carmilla in The Dark Blue (January 1872), electrotype after wood-engraving, reproduced in Best Ghost Stories, ed. Bleiler. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A Lucky 7 ROW

The Lucky 7 Meme pic

Meme Time

  • If you just wish a short-cut to the ROW80 check-in go: here.
  • If you prefer to just shortcut to the comments go: here.

Back in March,  the very eloquent Jayrod Garrett tagged me on the “Lucky 7″ Meme.  And since I’m slowly re-working these blogs into something different, it seemed an ideal time to send out some of these posts I’ve built up.  Besides, this one was fun…

The Lucky 7 meme rules are pretty simple.
1. Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript.
2. Go to line 7.
3. Copy down the next seven lines (sentences??) as they are – no cheating.
4. Tag 7 other authors.

I chose to go to page 77 of Release for this little game.  For those following my posts, you may recognize Release as the WiP I’ve been trying to decide whether I wanted to spend the effort on reviving.

This little sample comes from page 77 of 515 pages when formatted in Times New Roman 12pt (as many people use for their electronic submissions).  That does matter….  If I used the classic hardcopy manuscript font  of Courier New 12pt, the piece is quite different, coming from page 77 of 640 pages.

For a moment, it felt as if I was there, not her, in one of the formal beatings I had received, or worse.  Only my voice was caught, and I couldn’t cry out.  I gagged.  I thrashed and kicked, tried to break away…

A cuff aside the temple reintroduced reality, then I noticed movement down by my relations.  After casting a disparaging glance at the guard behind me, I watched a man join the Andar and my grandmother, another red-head than the one in the ring with my mother.  I recognized the baldric and sash of the Dantii Captain Lauren Vestitian.  He took over my grandmother and drew her off.  Their departure privileged me–that symbol of power and strength, our sovereign, fell to his knees, clutching at handfuls of grass and dirt.
*

And just for the comparison, here is the Courier version (which obviously occurs much earlier in the book):

“Would you have?  Put away the swaggerstick, kid.  The two of you need each other to deal with what is hap–”

I cut him short.  “I don’t need anything…but you off my back.  Yeah, and maybe a chance to wring his Oh So Very Royal Highness’ neck.  I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t started bragging about that brat of his.”  Chaz was one of the few people I’d been willing to talk to about the things that had happened to me.

*
Yeah….  I’m still not sure what I think either.    Hope you enjoyed the pieces, of course.

And for the rest, here are my seven people.  And like Jayrod said in his own post, I have no expectations from any of my targets fellow writers, but it is a pretty fun, light-hearted meme.  So if you’d like to do it, please let me know.  It will be fun to read what your stories hold in them.

1) Shan Jeniah Burton
2) Lena Corazon
3) Ryan King
4) Lauren Garafalo
5) Fabio Bueno
6) Shah Wharton
7) Amy Beth Inverness

And now, for my ROW80 check-in….

Hmm…
Can we say “bleh?”    Come on, everyone…    1…2…3…  BLEH!

There, I feel better.  Really.  I feel better.

It’s not that things haven’t gotten done.  I’ve just spent more time researching this past week than actually putting words to screen or paper.  It’s been heavy research too with lots of heartbreaking tales of suffering, loss, self-abuse, as well as tales of strength and perseverance.  The effects of tropical parasites on tribal cultures and reading interview after interview of people (mostly women) who were involuntarily sold into the sex trade….  I will be taking a few days off from researching very soon, just to give my heart a break.  I’m not even asking my head to deal with putting everything I’ve learned into character form on the page yet.

A man sitting at a desk, cutting apart a paper...

The rest of my goals (barring that #*&(*^@! Timeline) have gone fairly well.  I’m ahead still on typing, and the editing is proceeding steadily enough; though the heavier rewrites are fast approaching, and I’m sure my great number will fall then.

Heck, I’ve even gotten most of my walking done without any hassles this week.  And that’s with the sinus infection from …well, I don’t know how one could have a sinus infection in a place that’s supposed to be as hot and fiery as Hell, so I’ll leave it as another Bleh!

The BIG thing I am discovering this ROWnd is  my tendency to not take my welfare into account.  Especially notable, I tend to completely toss aside the computer-free days as if they don’t nearly matter as much as doing my sponsorship postings or even checking in with people whom I play with on Fairyland.  I have noticed this before in myself…  this tendency to not value my own needs and try to help and support the world.  Silly, of course.  I know that everyone can manage a few days without me around.  Heck, intellectually I know that some people don’t even have a clue that I am here.  That even most people don’t know it.  But…

I take my small responsibilities perhaps far too seriously.   And I’m still trying to decide what that means…

*
Lastly, because I was feeling so under the weather Thursday and Friday, I’d made one “big answer” to everyone who commented on my last post and promised I would acknowledge those wonderful people here.  This serves two purposes….
1) I get to acknowledge their largesse a bit more
2) You get a link to on of  their more recent blog posts to enjoy.

So without further ado, please enjoy…

  • Susan Franzblau –expert on hypnosis and sloths (there are no sloths in this post, I regret to say)
  • Shan Jeniah Burton –whom the Boodle still calls Aunt Dee more often than not and who will always have a place in our family with or without sloths
  • Ryan King –who favors action over sloths, but shares my love of Scrivener and understands my predicament with social media.
  • Karen Huber –an insightful essayist who is exploring her own experiences as a blogger and has inspired me more times than I can count
  • Robin McCormack – who knows and supports the pursuit of education and loves to read, read, read

Please check out these great bloggers and enjoy their writing and insights.  And to each of you, I owe you a real response these days.  But thank you for taking the time to comment and share your time with me.

And lastly, a belated “thank you” to Kirsten at A Scenic Route for having a copy of the Lucky 7 image I could borrow and some wonderful writing related posts.  I especially enjoyed: Character Interview: Who’s Teaching Who?

A “Most Beautiful Thing” and a Tuesday Snippet

Stones

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today is the first of a few meme posts that I have lined up, but I have no doubt you will enjoy this one.  I wasn’t tagged in it.  Like the Friday Flash Fiction that L.S. Engler would post, or the occasional #3WW (Three Word Wednesday) poems, this meme I decided to join in solely for the pleasure that sharing brought me.

And so, I give you my version of Fiona Robyn’s The Most Beautiful Thing as I wrote it, nearly freeform, in 750words this afternoon:

Thinking about the Most Beautiful Thing…  Given it’s originator, it’s something of a “small stones” exercise, but even without truly exploring the depth of beauty I have found, I know where it lays…  I don’t need a small stone to know that I have something incredibly beautiful here with me every day.

There are days I would say it is so beautiful to have my few hours alone at night, in my own home, working on stories, sitting in an almost dark home, relaxing yet getting so very much done….  which I do.  My power hours for writing, reading, typing all come after 10pm.  I only go to bed around then  because the 6am waking time to get the Boodle to school (which we haven’t been making at all lately) seems to come earlier and earlier each day.

(Of course, my 10pm going to bed time usually drags out into the 1am to 2am “I just want to finish one last thing before I turn off the computer” bedtime.  And often, I don’t turn off the computer because too much is still running.)

But while I find those moment peaceful and empowering, I would never attribute them as “beautiful”.  They are necessary for my sanity, desirable for my efficiency, and even pretty darned nice.  But beautiful…  no.

What is beautiful? The Boodle… his genuine heart and love.

A little backdrop here:  Yesterday, crossing one of the two public reservoirs on the way home from my Boodle’s school, I hit a bird.  Well, this daring aerialist swallow decided to see if he could fly under the car.

Tachycineta bicolor English: A Tree Swallow fl...

Hurt, but not dead, I knew he’d suffer for a while there on the road.  With a broken wing, a blinded eye, and a few missing tail feathers he wasn’t likely to fly ever again, but he seemed determined to live from what I saw.  So I brought him home.  We had cat food (kitten chow is recommended for feeding these birds when nursing them), sunflower seeds, water…  an old box from some computer memory filled with some extra soft rags…

He didn’t really like the box and chose to settle against my chest and sit there.

But the injuries must have been worse than I could see.  I should have suspected, given the damage to his eye.  I rose for a few moments to go see if he’d prefer a little perch in his box, settling him in it.  I came back inside less than minute later, and he’d died.

Now, of course, you might wonder where  my Most Beautiful Thing is in this….

Well, after my last post, one might wonder if I fear I may be raising the next Hannibal Lector.  Trust me, I’m not.  The Boodle is enormously sensitive and aware of the feelings of others.  This is the boy that will run and cower in another room and hide when someone speaks to him loudly or will start crying just because he’s seen a friend hurting.  And this is the boy who came over to me to hug me and held my hand so we could walk outside and say goodbye to a little tree sparrow that I’d hit with the car yesterday.   He held my hand, he hugged me, and he told me to “Feel better” and that the little bird would go back to Nature where it came from.

And my husband’s heart is amazing too, because even before the Boodle came home from school, he gave me hugs and encouraged my support of that little bird.

So maybe the Most Beautiful Thing really is mine, not theirs.  It is my life and the fact that they (and so many other amazing people and experiences) are a part of it..

♥♥♥ More

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