Life; A Cumbersome Cloud at Times...

from the archives...28 October, 2008

I've been "getting my manuscript ready" for what feels like eons without moving ahead, but it just seems one excuse after another holds me back. Essentially, they are only excuses, but I really do need to prioritize my life right now. And my writing, much to my distaste, has taken a back burner. My family, my health and my kids have to come first, and for that I have no hard feelings.


So what does one do when your writing is put on hold?

As a writer, you want your literary works to be your entire life. It is how you title yourself when anyone asks, 'what do you do?' or 'tell me about yourself'. At least, in the back of your mind it is: "I am Tara...Awesome Writer PhD!" even though your actual job is what comes out, followed by anything else you feel obligated to list. But we all know, it is the writer pushing to stand forward, so bold and arrogant. It is, after all, the only chance for true arrogance when the rest of you, the actual you, isn't so in-your-face at all.


A writer wants to be submerged in their thoughts, facing a monitor or the pages of a notepad at all times; you want to suck in the essence of your character's thoughts and ideas, manipulate their lives into a story--a bit like a puppeteer, I suppose. Perhaps the control-freak side of me? (I'll ponder that another time, perhaps from a couch in a fancy office.) But so many times, it is all fiction, as much as the books you write are.


If only we were all Stephen King's and Nora Roberts's. But alas, so few writers--even good and published one's--do not make a living off their creative soul. So it is onto other things and life must continue around us.


In my case, some things do not. My house suffers the worst. The dishes practically cry from the sink, 'wash me!' and the laundry, well, let's just say I don't care how high the mountain gets or if we more than occasionally live out of the dryer; at least the priorities are there for everyone else. And, sorry, last night's lasagna pan (let's be realistic; more likely three night's ago...), but you'll just have to wait for Guide camp to finish, cookie sales to settle, school trips and homework and volunteering to end, and of course, my health to resolve when it rears it's head. Not to mention my job. Remember? The one that actually pays. Even then, the writing comes next in the line of priorities, after all of that and before the housework. It's the writing I have a hard time saying "no" to.


These are just my thoughts, my rant on waiting for life to catch up with my own set schedule, which is just never going to be wide enough to engulf all I want it to. With a sigh, I set the words of creativity aside with a promise that I will return. And to my loyal fans (oh, they are 'endless') the book will get published in time.


So, in lieux of preparing my manuscript in these few spare moments, here I sit, typing frantically at a blog...(about my writing)...and not working on the writing itself. Just doesn't make sense, does it?

But the dishes are now screeching.

And I ignore them still.

A Place of Magic

from the archives...8 February, 2008

This is the opening chapter to one of my books in progress. It is a stray from the romance, drama and humour I typically write, but something I thought I would share; a little escape from our realm to one best understood in the minds of children. Enjoy!

Tom and Lily: A Tale From the Fairy Wood

Do you not feel around your brows a softer and sweeter air than you ever breathed before? Do you not perceive, in spite of the obscurity that veils your sight, a light more brilliant, and penetrating, and delightful …you seem to be enveloped by the universal harmony, as in one of the concerts which we hear in our dreams-and this is the breeze which sighs, murmurs, plays, and sings some melody to every flower… We are now in the domains of the Flower Fairy.’

from ‘the Flower Fairy,-The Flowers Personified’ or ‘Les Fleurs Animee’--JJ Grandville, 1847.

*translated by N. Clevand, Esq. as an ebook.

Chapter One: "Someone New in the Forest"

Far, far away, past the cities and tall buildings, away from the pastures and fields, beyond the lakes and rivers, lies a dense forest of tall trees, green leaves and bright bushes.

This is a place of wonder and imagination. A place that lives forever as long as you believe. Open your ears to the sounds, and your hearts to the whimsy and wonder, and you, too, shall see it. Now look down to the wet grass below, still covered by the early morning dew.

If you look deep beneath the green moss and quietly listen; peek between the tall blades of green grass and concentrate with all your heart, you might just see a whimsical fairy poke her head around a toadstool with wings aflutter. She floats in the air above you for a moment then in a wisp… she is gone!

Follow her now, quickly, as she flies through the air just above the tall grass. She moves above a winding pathway made of tiny pebbles and cobblestones, lined with toadstools of brown and red. She twitters among the dragonflies and laughs softly with the fireflies that light up the darkness below. Sparkling dust of silver and gold drops silently from her wings, brightening the grass and leaves beneath her. But wait…what is that along the side of the path? A small shrub, no taller than the tops of your shoes.

It moved, I am as sure as you are. It almost seemed to be reaching to catch the sprinkling of fairy dust. She is winking at you, and waving now with her tiny hands and you hear her whisper, ‘hurry up’. Follow her. She is calling you into her enchanted world.

This is the Fairy Wood. A place full of magic and wonder where fairies frolic and play; a place where the laughter of fairy younglings fills the air. Deep within the Wood is a tiny land where some fairies make their home. This land is the Hidden Forest. There are many stories to tell, and we will learn of the Forest soon.

But first we must understand how the Fairy Wood lives and breathes, how it functions without sunlight from above. It is dark here, lit only by the light of the fireflies. The dense leaves high up in the trees cover the Wood with a thick layer like a heavy warm blanket, blocking out the rays of the sun and the human world as we know it to be. Magically, beneath the covering of leaves of the tallest trees, the flowers and plants thrive, the trees stay lush and beautiful, and the forest remains a happy place where animals, bugs and creatures of all sizes have made their home. Life continues on with all of the substance of warmth, love and hope.

How does the land survive without sunlight? Without human touch? Ah, there are many mysteries here, but this one is simple. Magic. The fairies tend to the gardens of the wood, caring for every leaf of every branch, and every petal of every flower, magically with their fairy dust, they give the forest a voice. The forest becomes alive. As the fairies work, their twinkling dust falls silently from their wings, enchanting everything it touches in the Fairy Wood. The wood awakens; living, breathing and talking just like you and I. Just like the fairies.

In return for their kindness, the forest bestows upon the fairies a safe shelter and warmth that forever protects them from danger lying beyond the highest of high trees. The fairies call these ‘enchanted beings’ of trees and plants, and flowers and leaves, the Green.

The fairies that live here are many; their families have lived here since the beginning of time, which, as you know, is about as long as forever. They are very small. The smallest younglings only just a little bigger than a butterfly, and the eldest just a little smaller than a blue bird. They have double wings like a dragon fly to help them fly far and graceful, to hover in the air, carrying them wherever they wish to go. They radiate childish qualities of beauty and innocence with a devoted heart and true soul. Each fairy has a song, and if you listen carefully, you may hear them while you are in the Fairy Wood!

The ground here is covered by spongy moss, trailing through the pathways, winding between rocks and tree thick trunks. If you look closely at the ground, under the trees, between the flowers and vines, you may see patches of moss raised from the ground, bare of plants or flowers. Now look even closer where the moss falls over the knolls. Do you see the twinkling dust lingering in the valleys? There is an entrance through a doorway to each little hill, opening to a fairy home.

Take a peek inside. Don’t be afraid. This is where the fairies of the Hidden Forest dwell. Tiny chairs and beds, a small bedside table and a wash basin, all made from the fallen branches, old sticks. Dried leaves, moss, and flower petals adorn chairs and beds for softness and comfort. The ceiling is decorated by bunches of hanging flowers, and dried fruit, and vines wrap intricately through out the walls and floor, giving life to even these little knolls of homes. A tiny tree stump sits in the middle of the room, a table set a top it with napkins, rustic dishes and a pitcher of sorts full of nectar. It seems to be waiting for a family to rise and take of it a feast. But who?

A cozy bed in the corner looks welcoming and warm, covered with a quilt; a potpourri of dried lavender and apple blossoms, bound by soft fabrics all hand woven and colorful. If you look closely, the bundle of blankets rises and falls with an even rhythm. Someone sleeps here, waiting for the morning to call. Quiet now, don’t wake the sleeping treasure as we leave.

But look closely. There is another bed beneath. But it lies empty and quiet. Someone is already out exploring.

Listen...a rustle in the trees now. There she is again! Follow her trail of fairy dust to the tree stump, and around the corner where the pathway bends. Peek with her around the willow tree. Fly with her through the patch of green and purple clover and listen to the rustle. Husshh. She stops. Quietly now.

Crack! Crraack! She hears a rustling in the tree tops from up above and tilts her head in wonder at the sound. It is a dull and heavy rumble, like thunder droning from afar. The ground shakes slightly, and the flowers and shrubs brace themselves below. The sound echoes through the air with more cracking and breaking, booming and rumbling, but the small fairy smiles and her eyes sparkle. It is a familiar sound, and kind.

Follow her up along side an old knotty tree trunk, and now you see.

The leaves shake, and the branches far above bend down toward her, drawing slowly closer. The Old Oak Tree stretches from his sleep and watches down below with his tired, withered eyes. It is morning in the Fairy Wood. And the Hidden Forest is waking up…