It’s time for my Wednesday Wander and this week it’s to Pike Place Market in Seattle. I took this photo in the early evening, just after we arrived. The rain had cleared and our hotel was only a few blocks from the market, so we wandered down in search of dinner. As it was late, there were only a few people at the market and many of the stalls were packed up for the day, so I was able to get this shot from one of the halls looking out over Elliot Bay.
Seattle is a fairly young city, only 150 or so years old, and there is a vibrancy to the art and streets and music. Yet underneath it all there seems to be a green darkness, as though the forest that covered the shores for millennia is just waiting to come back and reclaim the land…
This view, framed like a picture by the window, seemed to capture this thought. A glimpse of what was, surrounded by what is.
So where did your wandering take you this week? Join the Wednesday Wander and let me know 🙂
I’ve been watching Miss Fisher’s mysteries for a little while now. I used to live in Melbourne, so it’s nice to see the familiar streets and buildings such as Rippon Lea, The Manchester Building, Como House and Melbourne Town Hall. And the fashion! If I could have anyone’s television wardrobe it would be Miss Fisher’s – in fact, it’s become so celebrated that Vanity Fair wrote an interesting piece devoted to the secrets of her wardrobe – you can read it here.
The other thing I love about the show is seeing the characters come to life. I first discovered Kerry Greenwood’s Phryne Fisher books about fifteen years ago and was instantly hooked. I loved Greenwood’s stories of 1920’s Melbourne, of wealthy Phryne and her devil-may-care attitude as she solved mysteries and set the world to rights. When I heard it was going to be made into a series, I was thrilled. And, so far, it has not disappointed (other than the fact that the divine Lin Chung was relegated to a one-episode lover). Essie Davis is perfect casting as the elegant Phryne, as is Ashleigh Cummings as Dot, Hugo Johnstone-Burt as Constable Collins, and Nathan Page as Inspector Robinson.
Luna Park, Melbourne. The iconic park is in St Kilda, home to the fictional Phryne Fisher
I had a recent conversation in the comments section on one of my posts with Kristin, from Pursuit Of A New Adventure. Kristin has read both Oak and Mist and No Quarter (thanks Kristin!), and she was talking about how she pictured the characters in her head, naming one celebrity in particular as her image of Deryck. This was interesting and really, really cool. I loved hearing what she thought, as I have a clear picture in my own mind of each character and how they look. And of course I have considered the idea that one day, if my books ever took off, they could be televised or made into a movie. In fact, if I’m being really honest, I might have even spent a bit of time googling images of different actors, assembling my fantasy cast should it ever come to pass.
Well, that’s not embarrassing at all, sharing that with you 😀
But it’s true, and I bet I’m not the only one out there. I didn’t base any of my Ambeth characters on real people (except for one, who looks like a friend of mine). But as they’ve come to life in my mind it’s been an interesting process to try and marry their physical appearance with someone in the real world. For reference purposes, you understand 😉 And while I’ve not yet ‘cast’ every character, I have a pretty good idea of who I’d like to play most of them.
So many stars to choose from 😉
It would be fascinating to see my work interpreted by somebody else, which is why I so enjoyed Kristin’s comments. I wonder how Kerry Greenwood feels, seeing her creation on the small screen. I also wonder if the cast match her original vision of the characters as she saw them.
So how do you feel about the idea of seeing your characters onscreen? And do you have a fantasy cast list already? (go on, you can tell me)
My posts might be a little bit Ambeth-centric this week. I’m immersing myself deep in the landscape, taking the path through the woods to the Gate and stepping between the trees…
Hills and Valleys is the third book in my Ambeth series. I’ve already written it and am now at the structural edit stage – however you’ll know, if you read the last book, that there are a few emotional paths I need to tread in the third instalment and so I’m keen to get them right. When I wrote the first three books, I really wasn’t doing much else in the way of writing. I didn’t have a blog, didn’t tweet, and my freelance work was a lot less regular than it is now. So my spare time was spend wandering the gardens of my imaginary world (a lot less creepy than it sounds) making it easier to focus on the story.
I’ve already written about re-reading the first two books to get myself back into the story. This has worked exceptionally well. My next foray into Ambeth involves creating images of the places I’ve dreamed to life. I’m working on a map, a floorplan of the Palace and some illustrations of key areas inside and out, concentrating on details already mentioned in the stories. And so far it’s been great. As I draw, I can see the characters starting to move about, like actors on a stage set coming to life after the director yells ‘Action!’
So what tricks do you use to get back into your imaginary worlds? Or are they already there, just waiting for you?
Sally is a great supporter of artists across the blogosphere, posting on a variety of topics every day. Yet somehow she’s also found time to write another book – Tales from the Garden is now available as an e-book, with print versions coming soon!
I was talking to my musician brother recently, about creative ideas and where they come from. I commented that sometimes, I didn’t realise where inspiration came from until long after the fact, when something or someone would jog my memory and I would make the connection. He said the same thing happened to him with his music, ideas coming from things he had seen or done without him realising straight away.
On my recent holiday I visited Hearst Castle, on the California Central Coast. I was last there about thirty years ago with family, and the visit we made to the castle is one of the standout memories of that trip. So to say I was looking forward to seeing it again is something of an understatement.
For those of you unfamiliar with Hearst Castle, it was built in the early twentieth century by a newspaper magnate named William Randolph Hearst. Originally intended as a holiday bungalow, the project, under the joint guidance of Hearst and his architect, Julia Morgan, grew into a main building, three guesthouses, a huge outdoor swimming pool featuring a real Roman temple, an indoor pool, extensive landscaped gardens and a zoo. Hearst was a great traveller, and during his frequent trips to Europe would buy antiquities and, on occasion, entire rooms from ancient buildings that were being demolished, sending them back to Morgan with instructions to ‘fit them in somewhere.’ Hearst lived at the castle with his mistress, the actress Marion Davies, and it became the place to be seen for Hollywood elite during the twenties, thirties and forties. So Hearst Castle is a fascinating and historically significant place to visit, not just for the architecture but also for the stories it holds.
I took quite a few photos while there and, when I posted some on Facebook, my cousin commented, ‘This is a bit like how Ambeth looks in my head.’
I don’t want to take away any of the mystery of my books, as Ambeth is inspired by many different places. However, the towered Palace surrounded by gardens does bear a slight resemblance to Hearst’s castle, set high on its hill overlooking the California coast. It wasn’t something I did on purpose – in fact, I was thinking more of Notre Dame when I was trying to describe the Palace – so it was an interesting realisation that a trip I took at fifteen was still resonating somewhere in my subconscious, helping to create a whole new world.
We are all the sum of our experiences, and that which we create reflects much of what we have done. However, you don’t need to travel to have a rich internal landscape – life experiences can happen in your own living room. It has been commented on many times that the Bronte sisters, despite their relatively sheltered existence, were able to write books of passion and emotion such as Wuthering Heights. I believe that true inspiration comes from somewhere beyond the confines of our existence, a process that can’t really be explained other than to say ‘it is.’
Still, it’s interesting to see connections like this. None of us create in a vacuum, after all.
Back when I was at university, I had to take a short photography course as part of my degree. I wasn’t very good at it, to be honest. I had my grandfather’s old Pentax complete with an awesome selection of lenses (which I still have), but it was quite a large and unwieldy camera to carry around. It did take nice shots, but in the days before digital it took a few rolls of film to get anything decent, and, as a student poor in both time and money, I often had to ‘make do’ with whatever turned up when I was developing the shots. Then the camera broke down halfway through the course and I lost a few weeks while it was being repaired, so overall I was lucky to pass.
One of the assignments we had was to take pictures of anthropomorphic inanimate objects – I particularly remember it as it was about the time my camera broke, so I’d only managed a few shots before I had to take it in for repair. Still, it was an assignment I enjoyed, simply because it was something different. I still like to take those kind of photos now, finding faces where there are none, and this week’s Thursday door fits in with this nicely. As a bonus, here are another couple of shots along a similar theme:
This leaf was smiling up at me as I walked home from school drop-off the other day – I couldn’t resist picking him up to take home.
And this is a rock on an Irish beach – I’ve used this photo several times on other posts.
Finally, here’s my door, for Norm 2.0’s Thursday Doors Challenge. I couldn’t resist taking a photo of it – not only because of the colour, but also the fact that the owner obviously has a sense of humour (and in a posh part of London, too!).
PS I’m back in Ambeth again! I started reading Oak and Mist and that was all it took – I was back in the park and through the Gate before I knew where I was 🙂
Over the past few weeks I’ve been doing ‘Wordless Wednesday’, where I posted a photo each Wednesday with no accompanying copy. However, ‘wordless’ just isn’t me, so I decided to come up with my own way to describe my images. I’ve settled on ‘Wander Wednesday,’ as most of the photos I take are while I’m out wandering around, whether just in my neighbourhood or farther afield. Plus, it also ties in with one of my favourite Tolkien quotes, ‘ Not all those who wander are lost.’
So here we are for the inaugural Wednesday Wander. Please feel free to join me 🙂
Two wizards, 350 years apart. Together they must save the realm of Paltria from Zarua’s dark past.
An ancient darkness haunts the realm of Paltria.
Apprentice wizard Paddren is plagued by visions of a city on the brink of annihilation. When his master Kalesh dies in mysterious circumstances, the Royal Order of Wizards refuses to investigate. Helped by his childhood friend, the skilled tracker Varnia, and her lover Leyoch, Paddren vows to find the killer. The investigation leads Paddren down a sinister path of assassins, secret sects and creatures conjured by blood magic. But he is guided by a connection with a wizard from centuries ago – a wizard whose history holds the key to the horror at the heart of the abandoned city of Zarua. Can Paddren decipher his visions in time to save the Paltrian people from the dark menace of Zarua’s past?
I bet you thought this post might be some sort of reflection on success and how it can change you, how sometimes we seek mediocrity because we aren’t brave enough to shine our light on the world or something like that 🙂
But it’s not. It actually is about flying. Because I really don’t like doing it. Yet I love to travel and visit friends and family all around the world, so I see it as something I have to put up with to get to all the wonderful places I want to see.
I’ve flown a lot, starting with a family trip when I was two to the Canary Islands. Apparently the plane before ours crashed on the runway and was still there when our plane landed, causing panic for family back in England who, for a brief time, thought the crashed plane was ours. Maybe this was a sign that, for me, flying would never be an entirely smooth journey.
The longest flight I’ve been on is fourteen straight hours from Melbourne to Dubai. Even the pilot sighed when he made his announcement at the start of the flight. The smallest plane I’ve been on is a four seater, with my father at the controls and my mother sitting next to him, me sitting in the back looking out the tiny window and wondering at the fact that a thin skin of metal was all that stood between me and eternity. I’ve flown business class a few times, including one time when I received the mythical free upgrade, and apparently I’ve flown first class once, though it was back in the eighties before they had all the reclining beds and doodads they have now, so I have no memory of it whatsoever, sadly. I do remember flying when there was a bar in economy class, a flight attendant standing there serving drinks to three businessmen who stayed there most of the flight, suit flaps spilling over the edges of the red leatherette stools. I also remember when you could smoke on planes – the smoking section was at the back with a haze hanging over it, and if you were seated just a row or two up from them, as my brother and I were on one flight, you left the plane feeling and smelling as though you’d just smoked a pack with them.
Me in the back of the four-seater plane – note the slightly panicked expression.
I’ve been on a flight where the pilot has pulled up just short of the runway, shooting back into the sky as passengers squealed, then coming on the intercom to apologise because he couldn’t see the runway due to a sea mist. When we did land, it was hard and fast and he shouted ‘Yeehah!’ I kid you not. On another flight we circled for a while above Sydney Airport, several other planes visible through our windows doing the same. Smoke from bushfires was obscuring the pilots’ view of the airport and there was talk of diverting to Canberra. Then the pilot came on. ‘We’re going to give it a try,’ he said, hardly reassuring words. So down we went, the cabin filling with the scent of burning eucalypt as we descended through billowing grey clouds, eventually landing safely, though not without me almost digging holes in the seat arms, I was gripping them so tightly.
The toughest flight I ever took was another long one, twelve hours or so from Melbourne to Dubai, flying through the night. We hit a large storm as we crossed the Equator and as the seatbelt light came on the pilot barked over the intercom. ‘Flight attendants to your seats now!’ That was the last we heard from him for eight hours as we bounced around the dark sky, all of us strapped into our seats and bracing ourselves as yet another bang buffeted the plane. The gorgeous child, four at the time, slept through it, but my husband and I gripped each others hands tightly, holding on, for there was nothing else to do. We landed, of course, the pilots coming on to apologise for our being twenty minutes late, as they had thought it best to fly around the storm, rather than through it. We all were happy to have landed safely.
I’ve had great flights as well, seeing the snow covered peak of Mount Rainier poking through clouds, the gleaming red Australian desert as the pilot flew above Uluru, circling around so both sides of the plane could see it. Palm fringed beaches golden with sand as we flew over blue ocean, northern lakes gleaming silver in a frozen patchwork below. On a flight from Vancouver to Los Angeles I watched coastal mountains stream away, the undulating landscape beneath me keeping me occupied as we flew south, green giving way to brown. I’ve also had, for the most part, great experiences with flight attendants including one who, on my most recent flight, modified a pair of first class headphones for me to use, as the earbuds they gave us in sardine class were too uncomfortable to wear. He didn’t have to do that, and I really appreciated it.
Apparently it’s a control thing, if you don’t like flying. For me it’s a ‘don’t think about where you are right now,’ kind of thing. Because, screw the laws of physics, it just seems unnatural to be in a metal tube several miles above the earth with nothing holding you up except some equation to do with weight x ground speed = lift or whatever it is that gets planes off the ground. Intellectually I get it, I know the statistics, that the drive to the airport is potentially more dangerous than the flight itself. So this is just something I need to overcome, rather than sitting through another flight with my heart lurching in my chest and popping Rescue Remedy pastilles like they’re going out of style. (I’ve been recommended to take something stronger but I personally think drugging yourself to the eyeballs while travelling with a child isn’t the best thing – however, to each their own, whatever gets you through).
Whew! This is a longer post than usual – however, this is something I’ve been struggling with for a while. I think perhaps I might try and write my way through it, a story about my worst fears while flying, exploring the emotions and everything that happens. I probably won’t share it with anyone – it will just be my own little piece of writing therapy, forcing me to confront my fears.
So how do you guys feel about flying? Any stories you’d like to share? For me, I’m glad to have my feet on solid earth for the next little while, that’s for sure.
It’s been nearly a week since I returned from holiday, and it seems to be taking a while for me to return to regular life. I still wake most nights wondering where I am, the familiar lines of my wardrobe and dresser taking several moments to register, as though I’ve been travelling far in my dreams and not yet quite returned.
This is somewhat unusual. I wonder whether it has anything to do with the busy nature of my time away, spending two nights here, one night there, waking each morning to realise where I was and where I had to get to that day. Perhaps in my subconscious I’m still travelling, my mind not having caught up to the reality of my body.
I’m not really back into writing yet, either. Sure, there are lots of ideas running around in my mind, as per usual, but I can’t seem to assemble them into any kind of order just yet. Flashes of story here and there, bits and pieces I know I need to add into the third Ambeth book, blog posts yet to write. I am doing a lot more reading than I was, though – I had gone from being someone who read several books per week to someone who hardly read at all, my time being consumed by writing. So I have made a conscious effort to include reading in my day again, having a backlog of books and work to catch up on. So far, so good.
Coming back to the third instalment of Ambeth, I have a question for those of you out there who write series: Do you find you need to go back and read your published instalments again before writing the next one?
I know Ambeth intimately, a world inside my mind. I know the characters and all their motivations, why they do what they do, why they will do other things and, for the most part, where they are going to end up at the end of the series. However. There are small details that I have to continue with, intricacies of the world I’ve created that must be adhered to, especially with the multiple storylines. So, even though I’ve already written book three and am at the structural edit stage, I’m considering reading my books again, just to make sure I haven’t missed anything. Plus it’s a nice way to get back into Ambeth and see the story moving forward.
Perhaps you’re all just shouting ‘Well, of course you need to!’ Or perhaps you’re just shaking your head. Perhaps I’m just stating the obvious. I’ve heard of writers keeping books of notes on all their characters so they don’t forget anything, but that seems far too organised for a Pantser like me. Plus, as I say, the characters live in my head, notes complete. It’s more the storyline details I need to check on, rather than the character motivations.
So I’m just putting it out there. Feedback appreciated 🙂
Helen Glynn Jones 