Sunday in Meat Camp

 

Life is Good

The Things by Donald Hall

 

When I walk in my house I see pictures,

bought long ago, framed and hanging

— de Kooning, Arp, Laurencin, Henry Moore —

that I've cherished and stared at for years,

yet my eyes keep returning to the masters

of the trivial — a white stone perfectly round,

tiny lead models of baseball players, a cowbell,

a broken great-grandmother's rocker,

a dead dog's toy — valueless, unforgettable

detritus that my children will throw away

as I did my mother's souvenirs of trips

with my dead father. Kodaks of kittens,

and bundles of cards from her mother Kate.

- - - Donald Hall

Visitor by BRENDA SHAUGHNESSY

I am dreaming of a house just like this one
but larger and opener to the trees, nighter
than day and higher than noon, and you,
visiting, knocking to get in, hoping for icy
milk or hot tea or whatever it is you like.

For each night is a long drink in a short glass.

A drink of blacksound water, such a rush
and fall of lonesome no form can contain it.

And if it isn’t night yet, though I seem to
recall that it is, then it is not for everyone.

Did you receive my invitation? It is not
for everyone. Please come to my house
lit by leaf light. It’s like a book with bright
pages filled with flocks and glens and groves
and overlooked by Pan, that seductive satyr
in whom the fish is also cooked. A book that
took too long to read but minutes to unread—
that is—to forget. Strange are the pages
thus. Nothing but the hope of company.

I made too much pie in expectation. I was
hoping to sit with you in a tree house in a
nightgown in a real way. Did you receive
my invitation? Written in haste, before
leaf blinked out, before the idea fully formed.

An idea like a storm cloud that does not spill
or arrive but moves silently in a direction.

Like a dark book in a long life with a vague
hope in a wood house with an open door.



                    - - -   by BRENDA SHAUGHNESSY

It's a good day for our country

Here's a quick guide from PBS for the most watched election races  -  https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/your-quick-guide-to-the-most-watched-races-of-election-day-2023

Read what my hero Connie Schultz has to say about the Tuesday elections.

And Jay Kuo

Life is Good

And this is my reminder aka "me nagging" you to

Vote, Vote, Vote

It has never been more important

Oops . . .

 I have always been the worst person ever about unpacking suitcases after I've returned home from a trip.

The only person I know who is worse is Don Barley.

He teased me a couple days after my return from South Carolina about how quickly my suitcases were unpacked and put away and I strutted around right proud of myself.

Until I looked in the closet and couldn't find my little denim shirtdress I wanted to throw on to run out to do a few errands.

And then realized there were several dresses missing.

Oh No!

Were they still hanging in the closet in MarshSong?!

Nope.

Right here. Hanging on a door waiting to be unpacked.

<sigh>

Things I Brought Home With Me - Gifts from the sea, Words and Images . . .

 

Gifts from the sea

Words and images from the heart and soul of The Low Country

Time for a bit of a recap of my week in South Carolina.

Allow me some moments of meandering through my thoughts.  Otherwise known as "rambling." Or stream of consciousness.  In my case, "rambling" is more to the point.

We all know the prevalent theory about writers being either a "pantser" or a "plotter."

I am in agreement with The Magic Violinist that there is a third category; the "plantser."

Read her article here; it's interesting.

Whatever category you happen to fall into as a writer, you probably have your own personal subset of writing tools.

Mine is photography.

Every photograph taken has a story.  A story that has been captured like a fly in amber.  

The photographer will, at least in my own experience, be able to remember the story with just a glance at the photo.  And possibly expound upon that story with a little time and scrutiny.

My photographs often act as my writing prompts.

There's a theory that taking pictures is a way of capturing an image but conditions the photographer to be somewhat lacking in the utilization of their full attention and thereby losing the full effect, and possibly, the complete memory, of the moment.

I disagree.

While that may be true for some, it is not true for all.

When I'm taking a picture I feel a connection.  That connection continues after the shot.  I have absorbed not only the photo itself, but feelings.  Sense of place.  And, on occasion, even scent.

For instance,

This

What on earth is Cinderella's carriage doing on a lonely road on Saint Helena Island, South Carolina?

  

That was, absolutely, a question that popped into my mind.

Along with surprise, joy, astonishment, bewilderment, delight and laughter.

And the beginnings of a story.

"Where is she hiding?  Does she have both her shoes?"

And so, the images that came home with me are all the viable genesis for a story.

A possible emergence of a new WHIMSEY.

OR, the feasible conception of several brand new stories.

Time will tell.

This I can say with certainty.

My time in The Low Country as the recipient of the Pat Conroy Literary Center’s Fall 2023 Writer’s Residency was not wasted time.

Besides being magical, it was, in fact, creatively stimulating.

Almost nightly while snugged up in MarshSong I transferred images into words.

My notebooks I kept while writing WHIMSEY went on this trip with me.

Including the "Whimsey Bible," which is a complete collection of the Whimsey characters and their physical characteristics, personalities, family trees, birth/death dates, wedding dates, etc.

The Bible was kept so that I would be able to fairly easily reference the characters along with past events in order to write more Whimsey stories.

The notebooks, along with the (many) drafts, of the work in progress long referred to as "Whimsey Two" were read, again, and studied while I was at MarshSong.  

As were new notes penned during my stay.

For a wee bit of background, here's the short version of what has happened to "Whimsey Two."

If you've read WHIMSEY: A Novel, you know it was told, basically, through Emmaline's experiences.

My next Whimsey was going to be Olivia's story, and continuing with each of the women comprising the lifelong friendships of Emma's, and their families.

For me, it became obvious after a lot of time and effort, that it wasn't working.

It was just WHIMSEY on repeat with no new meat.  A series already old with the second addition.  

And so -

It has languished (a nice word for <perished, expired, withered>, you get the idea - choose one).

Will The Low Country, as one of its gifts, help WHIMSEY recover and flourish?

If not in novel form, but perhaps interconnecting short stories . . .

Time will tell and we shall see.  

I am working on it.

Right now, I am, thanks to the Pat Conroy Literary Center and all the really delightful people I have been lucky enough to meet through this experience, hopeful.

Hopeful is the best I can give right now.

But, you know what?

Hopeful, like life, is good.

In the meantime, I"d like to encourage you writers out there to consider submitting an application for The Conroy Center Writer's Residency - Spring, 2024.  

Info and application can be found here

Life is Good

Tuesday - Home, and what I brought with me

 Home.  ❤

776.2 miles (roundtrip) and 7 days later.

I'm home.

Someone once said, "there's no place like home."

Dorothy, honey, you know it's the truth.

https://introvertdear.com/news/why-theres-no-place-like-home-for-introverts/

The long drive home from St. Helena Island to Meat Camp was approximately 341 miles, and with a few brief stops to refresh my weary bones, took me about seven hours.

It's been a long time since I did that sort of drive alone.

Usually Donald does the driving.  He enjoys driving.

Me?  Not so much.

Although, driving long stretches I do sort of slide into a Zen mode which is good for thinking and reflecting.

I had lots to reflect on driving back home to The High Country after my week in The Low Country.  These two areas could not be more different.  They both have their own essence of nature and character.  Their differences are sharp, crisp, and in some demesne, quite stark.

After some time to ponder my week in order to form words coherent enough to put to paper, I'll share my thoughts.

In the meantime, I'll do what I do here so often and share some images.

I am like a lot of people when it comes to traveling; I pick up souvenirs.  Things that hold particular meaning and remembrances of the place of origin.

Images embedded in my mind of the experience.

Of the culture

Of the people trying their ever best to save pieces of their culture that are in danger of disappearing.

And while I bring home memories important to myself,

I hope I show respect for the cultural integrity of The Low Country in my photos and in my words.

My Life is Good

Let me never forget

Monday, my final day, in The Low Country

 

My last day at MarshSong began, as usual, with coffee on the porch with Moonpie.

And a few of the local deer, which are all very petite.

Then I drove into Beaufort and did a little exploring.

Then a visit to The Pat Conroy Literary Center and  a very special private tour with Kathy Conroy Harvey.

And then a tour of St. Helena Island with my hostess, Mary Ellen Thompson.

https://explorebeaufortsc.com/haunted-beaufort-st-helena-islands-chapel-of-ease/

https://explorebeaufortsc.com/the-vanishing-praise-houses-of-st-helena-island/

I think I may have mentioned the magic of The Low Country.

You just have to be open to it and it will find you in its many different forms.

The day ended with a little "do" in my honor hosted by Mary Ellen and Mike McFee at Mike's lovely home.

Marly Rusoff, me, Mary Ellen Thompson, Candace Hanau

Me and Barbara Donahue

Kathy Conroy Harvey, me, Casandra King Conroy



I'm working on a piece about my visit - please check back



Life is Good