Author: KLMcCarty

A World Built on Inspiration

12th Trial: Work out, or Write? Work out, or Write? Not. Enough. Time.

Weekly hours spent writing or in the pursuit of plot: 2.5 hours

Weekly Choice of Tea: Turmeric and Ginger (again)

Biggest Success: Seeing the stories that surround me every day

I would like to introduce you to my very dear acquaintance, Charles. You can hardly be surprised when I tell you that writing did not fare for the better this week, but I feel so much ahead from where I was. And not because I spent the measly 2.5 hours writing, but because a character’s loose sketch within my imagination now has more defined lines and darkened shadows. In other words, a faint prospect has now a foundation and a personality. I have known Charles as a patient for some time now, an adorable older man of 89 years that always brings a smile through the doors. It wasn’t until I decided to stop by his ‘shop’ and see the model trains he always talked about, did I realize that all this time he is worth a novel in himself. I wish to introduce you to Charles, as you may all expect to see him again within the pages of my story (which again, if I have more weeks of 2.5 hours writing, none may live to see).

He has a small house for his hobby of creating a railway with moving model trains that carries loads from different parts of North Carolina. Of course, these loads and the quarries they come from have to be within your imagination, and the imagination of this place is truly to be witnessed. He began building it in 1955. He used plaster and other materials to build mountain sides; dyed fabrics to the shades of Fall’s leaves; took old photographs of his travels to Yellowstone National Park to make craters and ravines; used old cans to create bridges and openings within a mountain for the trains to pass through. All the model trains are operable, and have a destination and an origin. One weekend a month everything is unveiled, and a 24 hour functioning railway starts up where it left off last month. Charles and a work crew of about 6-7 people who have admired his work make sure the tickets accompany the trains, and that everything runs smoothly. Everything you see has been hand placed and made by Charles alone.

Charles tells me this is his hobby. This is no more of a hobby that an artist works to create a masterpiece. Within every mapped region is Charles’ story, the places he has gone and seen and been impressed by, while the names of the women he has loved are the titles of shipping companies or furniture storage units. He says America was built on the railway. He remembers chasing trains as a young boy with his father. Charles has visited all 50 states by car, because “flying is for birds”. I am so much better for the people’s lives that I touch, because they touch mine even more. Charles is such a strong character, and he is someone you pass at a grocery store, or a man that discusses his hobby for model trains. Just look around you. The stories that surround us every single day are breathtaking.

The Importance of Thoughtful Action

11th Trial: Should one detach reality from its descriptive tense in a setting, as one alters a living character to protect their identity?

Weekly hours spent writing or in the pursuit of plot: 5 hours

Weekly Choice of Tea: Iced Peach Tea

Biggest Success: Meeting a man named Brian at Smelly Cat Coffeehouse

I have mentioned before that I live in an area very conducive to a town in a novel. I need nothing more than to walk out my doors and write of the life that happens every moment, the detail in all the cracked brick that holds up small businesses and artist shops, and the effect of the bright air of summer. Not only am I lucky in my surroundings, and the happenings of the town, but in its people. I have already told you of the wanderers of Noda, such as the man in the sweater with ornaments dangling from it. One in particular I have made friends with, at least he remembers my name. His name is Brian, and we met at the local coffee shop as I sat writing with Boo Radley (my dog…not the recluse neighbor of Lee’s novel..though inspired by!). He was the most intriguing person I had met yet—he rode up on a double seated bicycle and parked it next to my table. His seat was under a large umbrella that was secured to his bike by means of a hockey stick, and at the front of the bike sat a four leaf clover made of wire. He got off the bike and went into the coffee shop, for presumably, coffee. Upon closer inspection there was a saber inserted above the back wheel of the bicycle. He shortly returned outside and sat near me. I continued to write, but could not help but watch him and his mannerisms. How else can characters inspire me? No I am not a creeper, stalker, starer! I know, a picture lasts longer.

He unpacked his bag and had a few pieces of rectangular wood and a large lens from a projector. He then looked up at the sky and waited for the cloud to pass. Once the rays were directly above him, he began burning the wood with his lens. I was astonished! I had never seen it before! And so began our friendship. He described it as Solar Pyrography, and he does it solely as a hobby. He was currently working on his trademark, which was a hand vertically over a maze symbol.

To him, the hand means action, the maze means thought. He said you cannot have one without the other in civilization. If you have just the hand, you are no better than a bully dictator that only uses brute force. If you have just the maze, you have a mind without a body, and therefore little effect. The only was is Thought and Action, essential together for they are disastrous apart.

While none of this does not scream of something more british, as most of my blogs emphasize (though I have started reading Mansfield Park, thank you very much!), this is an incredible example of the influences I find right outside my door. Action and thought. Cannot one create an antagonist based on that concept alone? My new trial is a difficult one–can I separate my reality from my novel? Should I even try?

“I have found a million and one things to do with a hockey stick that doesn’t involve hockey.” -Brian

Of an Equal Nature

10th Trial: Not knowing personally the drama of a small town that is going through a change– In the next couple weeks, I plan to begin attending the town meetings here in Noda!

Weekly hours spent writing or in the pursuit of plot: 7 hours

Weekly Choice of Tea: Southern Mint, which we bought at the Biltmore house

Biggest Success: Finished reading the novel Agnes Grey and typed up Chapter 2

Needless to say, a lot has been happening. I finally feel as though I am catching up and reconnecting with my novel since the European trip. It is bizarre to feel displaced from the storyline that one begins developing, as you would assume that the author and the story are in one mind. I imagine at some point that will happen, however as I typed up chapter two, I found that I had to make notes of things that I wrote about so as to not forget them down the road! Today I was calmed from the anxiety I felt of jumping back into my project from a few weeks break of it. It is almost like going through a maze at nighttime with a headlamp: the upcoming bushes and turns in the pathway come into view as you near them. I truly, as I’ve said before, dislike this approach. I am finding it resourceful though. Even today I realized that the town I am in is going through a significant change soon, as the light rail is being developed to connect Noda to Charlotte’s city center. How exciting it is for me to be able to possibly witness the changing mentalities of an area with changing transportation! So my new homework for the upcoming weeks will be to attend town meetings (which sound so romantic anyways!) and see the true politics of an area like this.

I am also beginning a new book, Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. I have finished Anne Bronte’s novel Agnes Grey, which I am happy to say I now know her a little. One thing I loved after I read the ending, was that there was a letter by Charlotte Bronte about her sisters, that she had wrote after both passed away. She discussed their beginning as authoresses and how they used fake names to get published. This is what she wrote:

“Averse to personal publicity, we veiled our own names under those of Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell; the ambiguous choice being dictated by a sort of conscientious scruple at assuming Christian names positively masculine, while we did not like to declare ourselves women, because–without at that time suspecting that our mode of writing and thinking was not what is called ‘feminine’–we had a vague impression that authoresses are liable to be looked on with prejudice; we had noticed how critics sometimes use for the chastisement the weapon of personality, and for their reward, a flattery, which is not true praise.”

I love that Charlotte describes both ends of a critic–praise and disapproval–and how both should be ignorant of the author/authoress for true critique. Along the same lines of progressing passed gender prejudice, which is still suffered today though not nearly as severe as Bronte’s time, I am proud to say I witnessed this past week America overcoming a milestone in Gay/Lesbian prejudices. The supreme court made law that no state in North America can deny gay and lesbian couples the right to marriage. While there will still be a struggle and discrimination, I am proud to say that I’ve seen this day! And more so, that my Aunt has seen this day. As you can see by the picture supplied, I have a lovely girlfriend that if I so choose to marry one day, that is a right that is no longer denied to both of us. I am seeing that we can all one day live within an equal nature, both in literature and in love.

Numerous Ways I may Have Offended a Brit

9th Trial: Relaxing. Not letting other plans devour my time from relaxing and working on my novel

Weekly hours spent writing or in pursuit of plot: 5 hours

Weekly choice of tea : Turmeric and Ginger

Greatest Success: Brainstorming on our next adventure!! And setting a deadline: by December 2015, have 6 chapters done

My desire for something more British and the after effects of traveling to Britain itself, are lasting still. I have been typing up chapter two since my return, one to remember where I was when I left for vacation, and secondly to infuse a poetic feel in the sentence structures. I am so happy that I recently went to England; the very air there seems to infuse your language with poetic winds. And already, while typing up the chapter have I altered so many silly descriptions, so many awkward transitions. I do laugh at the thought of me over there, so desperate to be more poetic, to talk the way they do, and to just be more British! Here are instances of me trying maybe a little too hard to fit in, or rather things I almost did:

1. Speaking, though earnestly, in a British accent that sounds mildly Irish
2. Asking location to Platform 9 3/4 (obvious)
3. Dropping “H”s down in Soho Square
4. Wearing gym shoes. Anywhere.
5. Calling tea, “Tay”….its just not quite right
6. Asking for Watson at the hospital
7. Using “bloody” in the wrong descriptive tense. EX: I want a bloody Pims! (seems wrong)
8. Completely oblivious that Syphilis reigned supreme in certain historical contexts
9. “Brazen Hussy!” -Rex Harrison

10. During a speech, call them “Proper Society” (yes, it brought an awkward laugh)

11. Waiting to order Guinness as the last in the line of drink orders

I am too excited to finish typing up this chapter and begin chapter 3 this week. Chapter three will have to be written while I am outside, as it mainly will be a description of a new town the character has moved into, a town that I would love to model after Noda, where I live now. There is so much lively characteristics about this small town that has the perfect background for my story, and because it is part of me. Anyone who knows me well enough will see me in all parts of the story, it is hard to disassociate myself from it. And frankly, I don’t have a desire to. I am writing this not to become a literary master of imagination, but for it to mirror my passions and my opinions; my admirations and my happiness. And as it is Father’s day today, I must admit one thing–my father can truly look forward to seeing parts of himself throughout the characters. I have many influences in my life, and he is one that will be illustrated. I have never met a man so funny and compassionate, so cool and yet so dorky. I love him for his mannerisms and his carefree nature. I love him for his love for everyone and everything. To beginning chapter three, and to my amazing father!

My Father and I at my graduation from Chiropractic School

Dancing with the Daffodils

8th Trial: Converting Vacation Mind back to Work Mind

Weekly hours spent writing or in the pursuit of plot: 0 – but if you please, I had just reason not too! I was too busy with the surrounding nature of England and Austria

Weekly Choice of Tea: English Breakfast Tea, of course!

Biggest Success: Finding Daffodils

Will this be my last Wordsworth reference? Most likely not, however I am so surprised that my love for his Daffodil poem was apparently the one he is most loved for. An interesting fact I learned while in his home at Rydal Mount. Yes it is true, I have journeyed to the place of worship itself, to the Mecca of literature’s admirers! In the heart of the Lake District I walked the gravel and grassy carpeted lanes where Dorothy and William tread; I saw the squirrels that were ancestors to the creatures that inspired Beatrix’s vivid imagination; I drank at the pub that Charles Dickens frequented; I traveled further south to London and visited the home where Keats lived. All in all I was surrounded by the beauty that was so well documented by the talented observers, and that gave inspiration to their arts. While my time at Wordsworth’s home was short, I felt the refreshing pulse of the Lake District. In other words, the gardens and cottage is what makes the area thrive in my memory and in my heart. Everywhere I looked there were fields of sheep; the gardens were kept and in bloom; the cottages with the perfect bowed windows had ivy covered front archways. Wordsworth’s study was outdoors, as was Beatrix Potter’s. Her animation with the Lake District was through the stories of tiny creatures that had the most innocent and exciting adventures: to forbidden gardens; a washer porcupine of our imaginations; wicked wretched bunnies in high passion. Both authors fell in love with the Lakes because the quiet calm that fills the air will flow through any artery and vein, bringing life to every limb.

Simply, I intend to go back. This time with pencil in hand and no activities on book. Maybe when I finish my novel and need to revise it (badly), can I then take a hiatus to the wide countryside of rolling fells and deep, sincere vales. I was in Austria prior to the Lake District, where the Alps gave small glances into towns tucked dearly between each ascent. Austria truly surprised me with its unimaginable heights and classic styled homes. “The hills are alive, with the sound of music” is not just a tune of metaphorical reminiscence, as I always thought the song to be about. Sitting on any hillside I could hear the bells that adorned the surrounding cows that grazed fields around me. It was music, so peaceful and tranquil that I could stay on that hillside for years and never grow weary of its tune. Photos from Austria:

Everywhere I journeyed, I could feel the land. It healed me, and I believe it healed Jamie as well. It is ironic that the places we traveled brought so much peace and restfulness to my heart, brought with it an event that caused so much fear and anxiety. When Jamie fell off a cliff ledge in Austria (as most of you know by now), my soul could not rest with the image of her disappearing from sight, and me powerless to stop it. England then tried to calm us with promises of sunshine and scones with jam and cream, with sparkling lakes beside beds of reeds. But I could not be calm. She rests beside me now, as I sit in our apartment in America, and I am confident that an event like that anywhere else would have left me a nervous wreck still—yet it was only the beauty of the lands we left that healed our hearts and minds, and it was only there that I could have recovered from the shock so quickly. Jamie as well, as she is ready to go back even now! However I know that where we need to be now is here; I know this because I drove home from work yesterday, and noticed for the first time, that daffodils lined the highway exit to my home. In a way I see my world differently, though it probably has always been like this. I will write, I will love this precious survivor, and I will work hard to be able to find myself again in the fields so that I too may become devoured by its effects.

An obsession come to life: the Lake District, UK

7th Trial: Maintaining descriptive tenses in the flow of events, so as to not seem choppy between thoughts/actions

Weekly hours spent writing or in pursuit of plot: 9 hours

Weekly choice of tea: Pineapple (that bloomed in my tea pot, see picture below!)

Greatest Success: Finished CHAPTER TWO!

It is roughly that I say I finished chapter two. Yes, I placed the period mark at the end of the final sentence, however I realize there are places where more description is needed. When writing a scene, I don’t seem to write as fast as the scenes flash in my mind, and nearly never does my mind stop in time to document all that I want it to, but just moves on to the next event. So much is then lost, and no one could envision what I am seeing, and therefore what I am meaning to illustrate. Could any story live, where description is set aside? Can you not feel pain for the character, if you do not see the creases of his forehead, the sweat on his brow and above his lip, and the distant expression in his eyes? Or feel the relaxation of a person who wakes in the early morning, feeling the dew between her toes, the chill of morning air pulling the strands of hair across her face, as she watches the dim light brighten the greens of the trees? And yet it is easily passed, or in some circumstances not my own, depended on severely.

This chapter came by rather quickly, and I know that when I type it up I shall have to add quite a large amount of description to its fast pace. It is one thing I wish that there is more of in the novel I am reading, Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte: this emphasis on description. She passes over scenes with summaries at an alarming rate! And so I sense the inevitable feeling growing deep in my heart, a certain need that brings forth the flowing muses of my writing. I need something more British (could anyone guess otherwise?), to fills the holes in chapter two—and now could not be a better time for such a need! Come Wednesday, I am flying to London, England, where I will be in Austria from there for 3 days. After that I go back to London and drive up to the Lake District–a place that I have wanted to go since I read Elizabeth Bennet traveling to the Lake District with her Aunt and Uncle.

My wonderful friend is getting married there, and amongst the adventures planned, there will be horseback riding through the open fields, where I will likely hold tight to the reigns and close my eyes, imagining Darcy riding through gorgeous landscapes. Yes! My obsession is obvious, and I cannot pass down a once in a lifetime chance to be influenced by Austen’s senses. Not only hers, but also those of William Wordsworth and his sister’s, Dorothy Wordsworth. I will traverse the gardens of Rydal Mount where he wrote about so dearly, and sense the happiness inspired when looking upon the hillsides, the waters, and the vales. I will see their home at Dove cottage, drink at pubs in Ambleside, and visit the farm of Beatrix Potter. I cannot wait to report back, and give you a month’s worth of material inspired by such an adventure!

Backpacking Cold Mountain

6th Trial: Once a you realize you are in a rut, how do you change the course you are on?

Weekly hours spent writing or in pursuit of plot: ZERO–though the inspiration gained filled more than a weeks worth of struggling motivation

Weekly choice of “tea”: Hot chocolate by the campfire

Greatest Success: Backpacking to the summit of Cold Mountain, a 16.4 mile hike and an elevation of 6,030 ft

This was a tribute to the book by Charles Frazier, and a challenge to say that I hiked up one of the tallest peaks of the eastern United States.

Like any connection with nature, there is a residual feeling of loss when you leave it. That is not the case today–I close my eyes and I see Frazier’s description: “It stood apart from the sky only as the stroke of a poorly inked pen, a line thin and quick and gestural. But the shape slowly grew plain and unmistakable. It was Cold Mountain he looked. He had achieved a vista of what for him was homeland.” I feel its wild peace in my heart still, and its beauty is what steadies my mind.

I think of Charlotte Bronte’s quote from Wuthering Heights, as these moments are essential to my existence today, a small light within the fleeting and ever changing jobs and stresses of my life.

“My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.” -Wuthering Heights

With these images in my inward eye, I can start a week dedicated to chapter two, and next week you shall hear my success in advancing out of this rut I am in with my writing! The view from the Summit of Cold Mountain:

I guess the only way to get over the rut you are in, and start fresh, is to shake it off!

A Story by Any Other Name

5th Trial: Describing what I am writing about to others, which is so easily explained by my own inability to see far into how on earth I am going to get my character’s from here to the end of the novel.

Weekly hours spent writing or in the pursuit of plot: 2 hours– a low point! The sacrifice was well worth it, spending it at Perin Plantation, a home back in country side Ohio

Weekly choice of Tea: Iced peach tea

Greatest Success: Sharing the weekend with the wonderful grandmother Perin and holding a beautiful baby named Amelia

I have been writing at a local coffee-house called Smelly Cat this past week. It has adorable small red tables with tin flower pots, where the bright yellow flowers bring a feeling of quiet meditation with them. Which is important, because the streets surrounding Smelly Cat bring many characters with it. Just Friday I had a man screaming across the street “Bless you!” to anyone that sneezed within his ear shot, as he sat by his possessions in plastic bags, wearing a thick red sweater with ornaments dangling from it. I, of course, was sitting next to the person that had an allergy to something, and was in the middle of that strange dialogue between them. It was at this place too that I had two separate people ask me very similar questions:

“I see that you are writing, what are you working on? Oh, a story? Of what?”

“I heard you say you were writing a story. What will it be about?”

I of course avoided both questions, shrugging my shoulders, mumbling that it is something we all have yet to find out. I find it humorous that I give myself no credit as to the direction of the novel, one because it is true. However, I am realizing that stories seem to take its own direction, whether you intended it or not. For instance, at the start of chapter two I had the brother character being present and moving the scene alone, initially not intending him to come out until later on. I find that I like his placement there, and wonder if this is an effective approach to writing a novel: give it little restraint, and it will unfold just as beautifully, though differently. Didn’t Shakespeare teach us that? That a rose is still a rose, given a different name? My story will not lose its overall meaning, its ability to create that which I want it too, if I allow it to change an intended course. I have had a title in mind for a while, and yet that may change too. And so for anyone who wants to know such similar questions as asked above, just know that my story will be what it will be, and will smell just as sweet!

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” -Shakespeare

The Inward Eye

4th Trail: finding TIME to write (which may turn into the 6th, 7th, 8th trial too!)

Weekly hours spent writing or in the pursuit of plot: 7.5 hours (coffee…)

Weekly choice of tea: Turmeric and Ginger with Pumpkin spice whipped honey (locally made!)

Greatest Success: Unraveling (at least in my mind) the writing of the over-shadowed and yet very talented authoress, Anne Bronte

My mother and being a mother!

Today was particularly wonderful. It is Mother’s day, and I had the incredible opportunity to share it with my mother, who still lives in Ohio. She was on her way to Myrtle Beach, taking a much deserved vacation. I love my mother dearly! I also displayed for you a picture of my dog, Boo Radley–who is a child to me, and I claim motherhood as anyone would who are crazy animal lovers. After my mother had left I dived more into a novel that I began last week by Anne Bronte, ‘Agnes Grey’, and in the first several chapters I go with her through the trials of a governess. I can feel so much sympathy for the main character, as she is tormented by disobedient children and idiotic parents, and can hardly find the time for leisure, for herself, and as she states, “for the bliss of solitude”.

I look at my own struggles of finding time to do everything I want while working six days a week; my mother’s own struggles with a stressful work load and finding time for a vacation; Anne’s display of such similar obstacles; and am that much more motivated to foster what Wordsworth describes as the “inward eye”: take all that calms you, that brings you peace and happiness, and allow their images to fill a dismal mood or circumstance, thereafter filling your heart with happiness and remembrance. In other words, for me, bring forth the feelings I experience when surrounded by nature, the feeling when riding a horse, the bliss of sitting by a window with a good book. Allow an inward eye to motivate you. With such love in your sight, who then could not find the energy to be who they want to be, and do what they are meant to do?

“For oft when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of Solitude,

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the Daffodils.” -Wordsworth, ‘I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud’

Share a comment on what fills your inward eye, and motivates you!

Downton Abbey at Biltmore

3rd Trial: Feeling the back drag of accomplishing a milestone

Weekly hours spent writing or in the pursuit of plot: 4.5 hours

Weekly choice of Tea: Chamomile

Greatest Success: Discovering the daily work life of lobster fishermen, and words like “shedder”, “stringer”, and “bait drums”!!

Procrastination is one word that I want to make sure I don’t use too often. Last week was a huge success–I had laid the beginning chapter to rest, ready to start chapter two–which is ultimately a whole new world. I was feeling ahead of the game, and felt an inexcusable desire to relish in it. And so a week passed in that attitude, and little progress was made. As anyone who has been into the ocean, trying to swim into shore: there is always a wave that pushes you forward, and the ease of that moment is a luxury. You don’t have to kick and pull so hard. And then the back drag comes that is expected and unfailing, holding you back until the next wave comes. One chapter is nothing, and its back drag teaches me that accomplishing a milestone only means that you have to work harder for the next one, that it doesn’t get easier, and it shouldn’t. As each chapter will pass, so will the complexity of the story increase, surfacing the need to know more of the characters, and the need to illustrate the morals you wish to exhibit. This is hardly a time to take a break and relish in ill-defined successes!

And for my blog I selected gorgeous photos taken this weekend at the Biltmore House, a place where I placed pencil down and ran off to, where I saw the amazing story of Downton Abbey displayed. I found it incredible the ability of a show, through fashion alone, to display social change that came after World War I at an impressive rate. My taste for something more British was again satisfied seeing the romantic story displayed in front of me! At its winery I met an incredible woman from Germany, who has lived in the states for around 30 years now. She is a creative writer that whistled the same tune: it is hard to find the time to write! How I can empathize with her! And what advice did I give her? Create a blog!

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