My Blog: Artful Fiction

I’m pleased to share that an essay of mine has been included in the UK-based anthology, Stay Home – A Year of Writing Through Lockdown, out now. I wrote the essay what seems like a long time ago.

My thanks to the editors at Chasing Driftwood Writing Group for including my essay. Re-reading it, I’m remembering those days in the backyard, drink in hand, listening to Barry play guitar, having him home all the time, which I loved. (As a matter of fact, my husband is mowing said yard as I write. But there will be no drinks tonight, only work for me. And that’s okay.)

Alas, the good times we tried to focus on during the lockdown were not all good. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned here that I lost my sweet Aunt Dorothy to COVID-19 a few months ago. She was my mother’s last surviving sibling, and thankfully I was able to see her four years ago after not having seen her for years (due to distance).

When I was a child, she took me to my first dental appointment and she was a great comfort to the apprehensive child I was that day.

She was fashionable, gorgeous, and funny, despite having the lifelong sorrow of having lost her daughter, Jennifer, when my cousin was just a toddler.

Of course, I am not at all alone in having lost loved ones to this horror of a pandemic, but it sucks.

In the future, this anthology I was lucky enough to be included in could well be research material for those who come after us who haven’t experienced this time.

Proceeds from the sale of this anthology go to fund future projects of the CIC. I, for one, am pleased to have been included in it. The initial essay I wrote that ran on their website caused me to pause mid-pandemic and reflect, and I’m grateful for that opportunity.

How are you doing with Delta, and I don’t mean Burke? The crew at my favorite coffeeshop has been hit by it, leaving only one intrepid employee who was away on vacation and so was spared infection, to manage the whole place this past week. This stuff is no joke! Try to stay well.

By the headline, can you guess who I’m listening to? Bobby Vinton, of course! You can listen to him here, if you’re feeling the arrival of fall and aren’t quite ready for it. (I’m not either!)

Unfortunately, recently Barry and I had to say goodbye to the dunes, at least for now, because of the cooler weather moving in. (Since we have a season pass I am tempted to campaign to return for my birthday, even if it will be November. I mean, the beach would still be beautiful, right?)

Knowing me and my extreme dislike of the cold (winter really effs me up, with its dreariness and my inability to get outside as much, though I do have a HappyLight I use when I need it), I doubt I would enjoy the beach in November. But maybe?

Below are pictures of our beachy selves and miscellany. I tend to pick up things along the beach and bring them home, but you can only fill so many jars with rocks, sea glass (lake glass?), and only litter so many window ledges with driftwood and shells. I’m trying to take pics instead nowadays, so here, let me share.

(I don’t think you can tell, but the footprint photo is of a tiny foot. The lone print reminded me of the footprint in Robinson Crusoe!)

Also, the sand castle was apparently from the day before, and I liked imagining the flurry of children who must have made it. I thought they would be pleased, if they knew, that someone paid it attention.

The beach, ah, the beach. It’s the one place I can be carefree. We read. Write. Take pictures. We swim. I watch Barry feed the gulls. We snack. I get some much-needed color. I walk. We observe people. I exercise. (Someday I will join the Sunday morning yoga class!)

We also mediate, as much as my monkey mind will allow me to meditate. There is barely any cell service, and I don’t bother with it at all because who needs it?

And, because we are beach regulars, we have also inevitably made (sort of) acquaintance with the other, regular, locals. The Kindles (Lisa and Rod who bring Kindles; that’s not their real last name), Joe and Grandpa, Lady with the Umbrellas, Sisters with the Chairs, the Paralegal, the huge family with the grill that produces such yummy scents that I want to ask to buy a plate of food from them, and so on, are the rotating cast of characters.

“See you next weekend?” they ask. Alas, too often the answer is no.

As much as I adore our current beach (in)activities, I want to buy a Freewrite so I can write on the beach, more than my by hand, more casual writing.

My dream is to live with the beach right outside my door. I would slather myself in sunblock, set up a standing desk about ten feet from the water under our cabana (with the option of taking it down when not needed), and just let the waters speak to me. I would take a break for lunch and get right back on it. Evenings would find us with drinks on the beach. (Yes, I’d love to live outdoors. I’m not even kidding. I so want to live in a treehouse by the beach — that makes no sense, but so?)

Now, the Freewrite (this is NOT a sponsored post, but I’d advertise the HELL out of it if they gave me one!), from what I understand, is made for first drafts, not revision, because it only displays a small portion of text at a time. But since I’ve often taken binder clipped manuscripts onto the beach with no mishaps, I could just print (sorry, my beloved trees) the first and subsequent drafts. (I already print drafts of my novels in progress periodically because there’s only so much I can do on a computer. And final revisions should ALWAYS be done with pen in hand.)

Maybe I should explain: a Freewrite is something between a typewriter and an old-school word processor. The beauty of it is that it allows you to write and save a draft of your work to upload to your computer later, but without the paper and ink hassle of typewriters (or the pounding noise), AND without the distraction of the internet. It’s purposely created without a cursor or arrow keys so you will write, ah, freely, without editing. (Though rumor has it that the Traveler has arrow keys!)

Here’s an article from 2016 on whether or not these things are “pretentious hipster nonsense” or not. Wow, have I been coveting one of these since 2016? (The Traveler sounds right up my alley — quieter, with more screen display, and it’s less expensive… see it below!)

And since I loathe pretension and am decidedly not hipster (is that still even a thing?), I’d say it is not merely (I know I am digressing, but I have to talk to someone about this besides my long-suffering spouse who would buy me one in a heartbeat but I keep telling him I know I would only use it at the beach and only for first drafts so what’s the sense? For pete’s sake, he could buy another guitar for the price of one. Not that I’m suggesting he should. He recently welcomed a sweet SG into his family of guitars. But he paid for it out of money he earned from band gigs. I got to buy whatever I wanted with my book advance, so that seems fair, doesn’t it?)

P.S. Mr. Drudge, upon hearing of this post, has thoughtfully provide me with a photo of his latest love. But his true guitar love, his Les Paul, has a nameplate with my name on it, so why would I feel threatened? Spoiler alert: I don’t.

So anyway…yes, like it or not, I am saying goodbye to summer. I wish I were a Pumpkin Spiced Latte and sweater enthusiast, but nope. I find sweaters necessary and sometimes cute but I hate heavy clothing. Am I the only one who hefts a piece of clothing before buying it? I’ve gotten rid of many a sweater or blouse because they’re “too heavy” after I’ve worn them.

Not to bury the lede, but here’s some writing news I’m thrilled to share: Victorine  has been long listed for the 2021 GOETHE Book Awards for Post-1750s Historical Fiction. I’m thrilled! What an honor, being in the company of these fine writers, and I hope this helps Victorine Meurent, the artist, continue to regain her rightful place among painters.

If I weren’t chilling in a chair with my laptop, I would get up and take a picture of my charging station. Right now it houses my Kindle and mouse as they charge. After I finish this post, I will charge my computer. My phone, as it plays Japanese Breakfast, is resting on a charger.

Side note: I am so uncool that I just discovered Japanese Breakfast while reading Michelle Zauner’s memoir, Crying in H Mart. I embarrassed myself when I finished reading it by texting a friend who goes to Bonnaroo every year: “Hey, it says in her book she played at Bonnaroo. Did you hear her there?” His polite reply? “Possibly. :-)” I take that to mean I am hopelessly musically challenged.

He and I have had conversations where I told him that I am dead serious about literature and art, so I cannot be expected to do a deep dive on music or movies, both of which he does. I wouldn’t know anything about music if it weren’t for my hubby. And my taste in movies is definitely towards pop culture.

So Sundays, I was saying. I usually use them for prep: Is my laundry done? Dishes? Do we have food in the house? Do I want to cook ahead? Is everything charged? Have I made a to-do list? Do I have my week’s work schedule mapped out? Workout clothes ready? Water bottle washed? Does Barry have lunch stuff in case he wants to pack instead of eating at work? What are the three things I REALLY need to do for the week? What’s one thing I’ve been putting off? Can I squeeze it in?

Today I am recharging. The sun tea is brewing in the back yard. The dishwasher is emptied. While hubby is gone to music practice, I am writing this and enjoying some quiet time, despite the fact that I chatted the poor guy all the way to the door. There are things I probably should be doing, but I’m just not.

I’m also reading (awkward transition as I talk about a review of my book..) the latest issue, Issue 89, of The Louisville Review. It is now an independent publication, and it’s wasting no time in showing that it is every bit as good as it ever was and then some! From the cover art to the essay about it, and everything in between, this is a superb issue, especially during a time of transition for the journal.

There is a review of my novel, Victorine, in it by Bonnie Omer Johnson. Her review made me cry, in part because of this insight: “The character Victorine delves into relationships and fragile egos, leaving us with truths that cross centuries: ‘Idealizing people on canvas is another way of saying you love them, that they are even better than they imagine.'” Thank you, Bonnie!! I am so thrilled by your kind words.

I’m not sure anyone else has focused on this aspect of my novel, one that is of the utmost importance to me. My writing mama and I have often said to one another that we like a little ego in an artist, if it’s deserved. Victorine tweaks poor Manet’s nose, too, to remind him that he’s not the only one who has talent or opinions, but she is also aware of his influence on her own art, on the art community, and she seeks balance and to protect herself. She wants to remind him that she’s not just a source of ego food for him, that she is also his equal in many ways, something she believes, if he acknowledges, will be a source of growth for them both and for art. She desires his admiration and his friendship, his mentorship, but they aren’t absolutely necessary. They have collaborated in art, superseding the trivial (to her mind) personal, shrugging that off as juvenile, primal nonsense, contributing something greater, more lasting, to the world: art.

When he dies, it both devastates and frees her.

While we don’t know much about Victorine’s life at all, her story does go beyond Manet’s death, of course. There’s more I could tell. But for me, I wanted to stop just after his death. How does she survive and keep creating when the one who was her initial inspiration is gone? For all of their disagreements, they had an indestructible bond; they challenged one another, were inexplicably fond of one another. When he passes, she seeks solace in art, the one place she knows she can always hide. Though she feels his loss, she picks up that paintbrush and knows the fight for his art is over. She can no longer beg his work into the world, no matter how much potential she sees, because he’s gone. She’s been inching towards this resolve, but his death cements it: It’s time for hers to make its appearance, and though history, we know, forgot her for so long as anything more than just a body, she did just that: created art.

Bonnie also says: “Not only will Victorine be seen — Drudge’s intention for writing the book — but also the author herself creates a place to be seen in the literary world with this, her very own, work of art.”

She called it a work of art!! When you write something, you never know what anyone will think of it, but this is the ultimate compliment. I’m so honored by her deep dive. Thank you, Bonnie, for this wonderful, insightful review!

If you’d like to purchase either this issue or a subscription to support this fine journal, you can do so here.