A busy week with a writers group workshop and working on my WIP. I have particularly enjoyed re-working my Northern California chapter. I love research and the area I have set my story in is particularly beautiful. I will finish editing this chapter today. So not a lot to write about re my own writing as I have my head down and my fingers are typing as fast as they can. The main thing is that I have written or edited something everyday so as not to get away from my story.
An excerpt: It was a place where a hundred generations of feet had padded across the soft brown pine needles. She imagined gold-bearing rocks beside dry trails, meadows and wild bees and the smell of wood-smoke laced with maple branches.
I like the way Americans call pastures ‘meadows’ and small towns ‘villages’ part of their English heritage I guess. I was wondering if Americans use the word ‘pastures’ as well? Perhaps one of my American readers could let me know and also do you ever use the word ’track’ rather than ’trail’?
As promised some more thoughts about Aprons
When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids, And when the weather was cold grandma wrapped it around her arms,
Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brown, bent over the hot wood stove, Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron, From the garden, it carried all sort of vegetables, After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls, In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees, When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds, When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men folks knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner. It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that ‘old-time apron’ that served so many purposes. REMEMBER Grandma used to set her hot baked apple pies on the window sill to cool. Her granddaughters set theirs on the window sill to thaw. They would go crazy now trying to figure out how many germs were on that apron. I don’t think anyone ever caught anything from an apron but love.
When she was searching for inspiration, she would study drawings sent to her by fans, sit on the floor and sift through personal photographs or walk outside to listen to mockingbirds. ‘Their melody is important to my work and life here,’ she said in a 1973 documentary. ‘I want my writing to levitate.’ Sometimes, she would bring a hand-held tape recorder to capture their songs. If all else failed, she would swim.
Have a good writing week, Elise