Eileen O'Finlan's Blog, page 2
March 2, 2020
Contest!
My publisher, BWL Publishing, Inc. http://bookswelove.com/ is hosting a contest now through March 17th. Find the 4 leprechauns hidden on the author pages and be entered to win. Prizes include a copy of Kelegeen, a tower of chocolate and a golden ticket for any 6 BWL e-books.
August 31, 2019
Many Thanks to Worcester Resident, Randy Bloom!
As mentioned in my last blog post, I’ve been researching Worcester history and the neighborhood in which some of the characters in the sequel would have worked and lived as domestic servants. Randy Bloom, a long time resident of the Crown Hill historic district of Worcester generously opened his 1856 home to me for a private two-hour tour.
Like the residents before him, Randy has kept the interior of his home true to its original. What a treat it was to meander through all those rooms – three floors in the main house plus a two-story carriage house – taking in the original gas lighting fixtures and coal burning fireplaces, reproduction wallpaper perfectly replicating the original, the floor-to-ceiling windows and the French doors leading from the parlor to a glassed-in porch, which in the 1850s was used as a greenhouse to lengthen the growing season and as a solar collector to add warmth to the porch and parlor in the colder months.
As I walked through the house and grounds, I was struck with inspiration for exactly how this house will fit into the sequel. I’m not telling, though – no spoilers here!
Again, my gratitude to Randy for his generous hospitality!
Like the residents before him, Randy has kept the interior of his home true to its original. What a treat it was to meander through all those rooms – three floors in the main house plus a two-story carriage house – taking in the original gas lighting fixtures and coal burning fireplaces, reproduction wallpaper perfectly replicating the original, the floor-to-ceiling windows and the French doors leading from the parlor to a glassed-in porch, which in the 1850s was used as a greenhouse to lengthen the growing season and as a solar collector to add warmth to the porch and parlor in the colder months.
As I walked through the house and grounds, I was struck with inspiration for exactly how this house will fit into the sequel. I’m not telling, though – no spoilers here!
Again, my gratitude to Randy for his generous hospitality!
July 3, 2019
Interview
Fellow BWL Publishing, Inc. author Stuart R. West interviewed me for his blog. It will be posted at https://stuartrwest.blogspot.com/ on Friday, July 5th.
Stuart is a talented writer. I especially enjoy his paranormal novels. He also writes humor and suspense.
Stuart's sense of humor is a little off-beat, but I love it. You'll see what I mean by his questions and comments in the interview.
I am honored to have been interviewed by him and I urge everyone to check out his books at: http://bookswelove.net/authors/west-s...
Stuart is a talented writer. I especially enjoy his paranormal novels. He also writes humor and suspense.
Stuart's sense of humor is a little off-beat, but I love it. You'll see what I mean by his questions and comments in the interview.
I am honored to have been interviewed by him and I urge everyone to check out his books at: http://bookswelove.net/authors/west-s...
June 20, 2019
Kelegeen is Book of the Week
Kelegeen is HERstory Connections featured Book of the Week: https://www.facebook.com/itsherstorym... … and https://herstoryconnections.wildapric...
January 5, 2019
The Pope Owns a Copy of Kellegeen!
There are unexpected benefits to working for the Church. One is that the office I work in, the Diocesan Tribunal, is across the hall from the Office of the Bishop. Our offices interact frequently and I see the bishop on a fairly regular basis. After my debut novel, Kelegeen, was released in March of 2018, I presented a signed copy to Bishop McManus. Since one of the main characters is a priest, I thought he might enjoy it.
Apparently, I was correct. For the next week every time I saw him he gave me an update about what was happening in the story. One day he even complained that he hoped he would finish it soon because it was keeping him up at night. “I was reading your book and I looked at the clock and was stunned to see it was four o’clock in the morning but I just couldn’t put it down!” he told me.
So when I heard that he would be traveling to Rome in October for a meeting with a group of cardinals at the Vatican, I asked if he would mind bringing a signed copy of Kelegeen with him to give to the pope and he readily agreed. I packaged it up nicely in a gift bag, included a short, personal letter to His Holiness and gave it to Bishop McManus to take with him.
Bishops tend to have extremely full schedules. Hardly a day goes by when he does not have to be at some event, celebrating a special Mass, attending a conference, or chairing one of many committee meetings. Immediately before his trip to Rome, he had a conference to attend in Texas. Everything was being done in the usual rush and flurry of getting from one place to the next to the next. Finally, the date I knew he was taking off for Rome arrived and I imagined my novel on its way to the Holy Father.
Shortly after his return, Bishop McManus appeared at my desk looking a bit sheepish. “I have a confession to make,” he said.
I resisted the temptation to voice any of the multitude of jokes that statement brought to mind.
I was so busy with all the things I had to do before leaving for Rome,” he continued, “that I completely forgot to pack your book.”
I tried not to appear as crestfallen as I felt, though I’m not sure I succeeded.
“However,” he continued, “Monsignor Kelly will be visiting from Rome in November. I will ask him to take it with him when he returns.” Well, I thought, patience is a virtue. I’ll just have to wait a bit longer.
Perhaps the bishop’s forgetfulness was an act of divine intervention. You see, Bishop McManus was not expecting to see the pope in person on this particular trip so he would only have been able to hand the book to someone in the Vatican with the request that they make sure it got passed on to the pope. Heaven only knows what long chain of relays that might have involved. However, Monsignor Kelly works at the Vatican and has access to the pope on a regular basis. This could work out even better.
And so it did.
In mid-November the bishop informed me that Monsignor Kelly had indeed taken the book and my letter with him upon his return to Rome and had emailed him to say that he had brought the book directly to the pope’s residence. I could not have hoped for better than that!
In early December a letter arrived in the mail. Upon opening it, I was delighted to note the Vatican letterhead. It was a thank you letter written by Monsignor Paolo Borgia on behalf of Pope Francis.
In my letter to the pope, I had written: The character of Father Brian O’Malley is based on a composite of the many wonderful priests I’ve had the good fortune to know and work alongside. It was my intention to embody the sincere holiness and humanness I see every day in the dedicated, faith-filled priests of our diocese. I hope I have accomplished that in the character of Father O’Malley.
Apparently, His Holiness was pleased by this affirmation in a time when the Church is beset by the evil of the sex abuse scandals, an issue I am sure tears at his heart every day. But my words were sincere. I have worked for the Diocese of Worcester for over eleven years and have been very active in my church and in Catholic education for even longer. My own experience with the priests I’ve encountered and worked alongside has been overwhelmingly a witness of very good, dedicated, devout men who, though imperfect, strive to give their best to God and their fellow human beings.
As an added blessing, the date at the top of the letter reads 26 November 2018. November 26th just happens to be my birthday. A good omen, I’d say!
I realize that English is not one of the languages in which Pope Francis is fluent, though watching him on television when he visited the United States, I thought he held his own with it quite well. I do hope he will be able to read Kelegeen. I am thrilled just knowing he owns a copy of it. I would be tremendously honored to know he found enjoyment in reading it.
https://www.eileenofinlan.com
Apparently, I was correct. For the next week every time I saw him he gave me an update about what was happening in the story. One day he even complained that he hoped he would finish it soon because it was keeping him up at night. “I was reading your book and I looked at the clock and was stunned to see it was four o’clock in the morning but I just couldn’t put it down!” he told me.
So when I heard that he would be traveling to Rome in October for a meeting with a group of cardinals at the Vatican, I asked if he would mind bringing a signed copy of Kelegeen with him to give to the pope and he readily agreed. I packaged it up nicely in a gift bag, included a short, personal letter to His Holiness and gave it to Bishop McManus to take with him.
Bishops tend to have extremely full schedules. Hardly a day goes by when he does not have to be at some event, celebrating a special Mass, attending a conference, or chairing one of many committee meetings. Immediately before his trip to Rome, he had a conference to attend in Texas. Everything was being done in the usual rush and flurry of getting from one place to the next to the next. Finally, the date I knew he was taking off for Rome arrived and I imagined my novel on its way to the Holy Father.
Shortly after his return, Bishop McManus appeared at my desk looking a bit sheepish. “I have a confession to make,” he said.
I resisted the temptation to voice any of the multitude of jokes that statement brought to mind.
I was so busy with all the things I had to do before leaving for Rome,” he continued, “that I completely forgot to pack your book.”
I tried not to appear as crestfallen as I felt, though I’m not sure I succeeded.
“However,” he continued, “Monsignor Kelly will be visiting from Rome in November. I will ask him to take it with him when he returns.” Well, I thought, patience is a virtue. I’ll just have to wait a bit longer.
Perhaps the bishop’s forgetfulness was an act of divine intervention. You see, Bishop McManus was not expecting to see the pope in person on this particular trip so he would only have been able to hand the book to someone in the Vatican with the request that they make sure it got passed on to the pope. Heaven only knows what long chain of relays that might have involved. However, Monsignor Kelly works at the Vatican and has access to the pope on a regular basis. This could work out even better.
And so it did.
In mid-November the bishop informed me that Monsignor Kelly had indeed taken the book and my letter with him upon his return to Rome and had emailed him to say that he had brought the book directly to the pope’s residence. I could not have hoped for better than that!
In early December a letter arrived in the mail. Upon opening it, I was delighted to note the Vatican letterhead. It was a thank you letter written by Monsignor Paolo Borgia on behalf of Pope Francis.
In my letter to the pope, I had written: The character of Father Brian O’Malley is based on a composite of the many wonderful priests I’ve had the good fortune to know and work alongside. It was my intention to embody the sincere holiness and humanness I see every day in the dedicated, faith-filled priests of our diocese. I hope I have accomplished that in the character of Father O’Malley.
Apparently, His Holiness was pleased by this affirmation in a time when the Church is beset by the evil of the sex abuse scandals, an issue I am sure tears at his heart every day. But my words were sincere. I have worked for the Diocese of Worcester for over eleven years and have been very active in my church and in Catholic education for even longer. My own experience with the priests I’ve encountered and worked alongside has been overwhelmingly a witness of very good, dedicated, devout men who, though imperfect, strive to give their best to God and their fellow human beings.
As an added blessing, the date at the top of the letter reads 26 November 2018. November 26th just happens to be my birthday. A good omen, I’d say!
I realize that English is not one of the languages in which Pope Francis is fluent, though watching him on television when he visited the United States, I thought he held his own with it quite well. I do hope he will be able to read Kelegeen. I am thrilled just knowing he owns a copy of it. I would be tremendously honored to know he found enjoyment in reading it.
https://www.eileenofinlan.com
September 2, 2018
Writing the Seasons - Winter
As may be obvious from my previous three posts, winter is my least favorite season. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t find anything to like about it. For one thing, after slogging through a long, tough New England winter, the first signs of spring make me positively giddy. Summer is a magical dream come true. Autumn makes me a little sad because I know it means we are heading into another winter, but it is one of the most beautiful times of the year. Without winter, I might not feel so overjoyed by the other seasons.
Winter has some great things about it besides making the other seasons all the more enticing. The first snowfall is always delightful. Kids are mesmerized by the first snow of the season. As an adult, that feeling, though not as strong as it once was, has never really left me. The night sky is clear, allowing for a better view of the constellations than at other times of the year.
Winter has some of the best holidays – Christmas topping the list for me. There is also New Years, Valentine’s Day, and, St. Patrick’s Day. That last one feels more like a spring holiday to me, but technically it falls at the very end of winter.
One nice thing about winter is if the weather is really bad, the office I work for closes so I get a day off. If I pay someone to shovel or snow blow my driveway, I can spend the bonus day writing!
Okay, so winter isn’t just a boring white slate. Letting our senses discover winter’s treasures redeems the season.
SIGHT:
• Color – Compared to the other seasons, not much. However, what I refer to as “winter blue” is one of my favorite colors. Look at any painting of a winter scene and you’ll see it. Of course, there’s white, too, and plenty of it. Sun or moonlight glinting off freshly fallen snow produces the most beautiful sparkles as if the snow is covered in tiny diamonds. Unfortunately, that pristine white gets awfully dirty and grungy once the plows and sanders have been through. There are also the traditional green and red Christmas colors and reds and pinks of Valentine’s Day. A bright red cardinal against winter’s white backdrop.
• Snowmen. Maybe not as many as when I was young, but sure enough folks still build ‘em! The occasional snow fort may pop up as well, laden with snowballs ready for a fun fight. Definitely don’t see as many as when I did when young. Do kids still do this?
• As the song says, “ski trails on a mountainside” if you happen to be in ski country. (From “Moonlight in Vermont.” Lyrics by John Blackburn.)
• Everything (trees, bushes, electrical wires, drain pipes, virtually everything outdoors) encased in ice after an ice storm. The morning after a nighttime ice storm is positively gorgeous, assuming of course, that it did no serious damage.
• Skaters on frozen ponds leaving blade etchings in the ice.
HEARING:
• Howling wind during a Nor’easter and the creaking and groaning of trees being swayed by the wind.
• The dripping of melting icicles.
• Christmas carols and cheery exchanges of “Merry Christmas!” Happy Hanukkah!” “Happy Kwanzaa!” “Seasons’ Greetings!” and Happy Holidays!”
• The countdown to the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve followed by shouts of “Happy New Year!” and the blaring of noisemakers.
• The crunching of snow underfoot.
SMELL:
• The rich woodland smell of evergreen trees.
• Wood smoke from the neighbor’s fireplace or woodstove.
• Spices associated with winter baking – allspice, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg to name a few.
• As richer foods are prepared, the scent of soups, stews, and roasts fill the house.
• Scented candles or potpourri.
TOUCH/FEEL:
• The cold, wet feel of snow. Sometimes it feels like cold, soft powder. Other times there is a crusty layer on top, but dig beneath that and it feels as though you’ve stuck your fingers in a icy marshmallow.
• Bitter cold on any exposed skin, especially one’s face turns it almost numb. Crinkle your nose after being out in the cold for a while and you’ll notice the strange sensation of your face moving in slow motion.
• The melting wetness of catching snowflakes on your tongue.
• The itch of wool and the dampness of sweat under layers of clothing are some of the less pleasant sensations of winter.
• The soft security of flannel sheets, down comforters, and fleece blankets are treasures in wintertime.
TASTE:
• The sweetness of a steaming cup of hot chocolate.
• All those harvested veggies saved for winter – squash, potatoes, carrots, turnips – made into pies or added to stews.
• Gingerbread, eggnog, rum balls, champagne (to welcome the New Year)
• Delicious chocolates in a heart-shaped box on Valentine’s Day.
• Irish soda bread and corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick’s Day.
In historical settings, winter was often a tough time to get through. Depending on the time period, they could not go to the store for food so had to make the harvest last. If the growing season wasn’t good, there might be a lot of growling bellies during the winter. No central heating meant layers of clothes, often the same ones worn day after day with infrequent bathing. The only heat came from the fireplace (later wood or coal burning stoves). Some rooms were closed off to conserve heat. Often the closed off rooms were used for food storage especially for pies since they would stay frozen or nearly so if kept in a pie safe or hope chest.
A simple head or chest cold could be deadly if it turned to pneumonia. There were no antibiotics, though midwives and herbalists might know of natural remedies that could help. Still, death from diseases associated with winter was more common in the winter.
There were no plows, but some folks got around by horse-pulled sleighs. Others had to walk no matter how deep the snow. Days were short and nights long. In agricultural societies, care of animals continued all year, but there was no planting, tilling or harvesting in the winter which meant more time indoors, longer hours for sleeping and…um…other things (more babies were conceived in the winter than any other time of year), and more opportunities for socializing. Parties and weddings occurred more often since there was more free time.
In early New England, Christmas was not celebrated. Even after the Puritans were gone, their distaste for Christmas remained. It wasn’t until the mid-19th century that Christmas began to make inroads in New England. New Year’s, however, was a popular holiday – a time for parties and exchange of gifts.
These last four posts have conjured up a handful of seasonal sensory images to enhance your writing. What others can you think of? I’d love to hear from you in the comments section.
https://eileenofinlan.com
Winter has some great things about it besides making the other seasons all the more enticing. The first snowfall is always delightful. Kids are mesmerized by the first snow of the season. As an adult, that feeling, though not as strong as it once was, has never really left me. The night sky is clear, allowing for a better view of the constellations than at other times of the year.
Winter has some of the best holidays – Christmas topping the list for me. There is also New Years, Valentine’s Day, and, St. Patrick’s Day. That last one feels more like a spring holiday to me, but technically it falls at the very end of winter.
One nice thing about winter is if the weather is really bad, the office I work for closes so I get a day off. If I pay someone to shovel or snow blow my driveway, I can spend the bonus day writing!
Okay, so winter isn’t just a boring white slate. Letting our senses discover winter’s treasures redeems the season.
SIGHT:
• Color – Compared to the other seasons, not much. However, what I refer to as “winter blue” is one of my favorite colors. Look at any painting of a winter scene and you’ll see it. Of course, there’s white, too, and plenty of it. Sun or moonlight glinting off freshly fallen snow produces the most beautiful sparkles as if the snow is covered in tiny diamonds. Unfortunately, that pristine white gets awfully dirty and grungy once the plows and sanders have been through. There are also the traditional green and red Christmas colors and reds and pinks of Valentine’s Day. A bright red cardinal against winter’s white backdrop.
• Snowmen. Maybe not as many as when I was young, but sure enough folks still build ‘em! The occasional snow fort may pop up as well, laden with snowballs ready for a fun fight. Definitely don’t see as many as when I did when young. Do kids still do this?
• As the song says, “ski trails on a mountainside” if you happen to be in ski country. (From “Moonlight in Vermont.” Lyrics by John Blackburn.)
• Everything (trees, bushes, electrical wires, drain pipes, virtually everything outdoors) encased in ice after an ice storm. The morning after a nighttime ice storm is positively gorgeous, assuming of course, that it did no serious damage.
• Skaters on frozen ponds leaving blade etchings in the ice.
HEARING:
• Howling wind during a Nor’easter and the creaking and groaning of trees being swayed by the wind.
• The dripping of melting icicles.
• Christmas carols and cheery exchanges of “Merry Christmas!” Happy Hanukkah!” “Happy Kwanzaa!” “Seasons’ Greetings!” and Happy Holidays!”
• The countdown to the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve followed by shouts of “Happy New Year!” and the blaring of noisemakers.
• The crunching of snow underfoot.
SMELL:
• The rich woodland smell of evergreen trees.
• Wood smoke from the neighbor’s fireplace or woodstove.
• Spices associated with winter baking – allspice, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg to name a few.
• As richer foods are prepared, the scent of soups, stews, and roasts fill the house.
• Scented candles or potpourri.
TOUCH/FEEL:
• The cold, wet feel of snow. Sometimes it feels like cold, soft powder. Other times there is a crusty layer on top, but dig beneath that and it feels as though you’ve stuck your fingers in a icy marshmallow.
• Bitter cold on any exposed skin, especially one’s face turns it almost numb. Crinkle your nose after being out in the cold for a while and you’ll notice the strange sensation of your face moving in slow motion.
• The melting wetness of catching snowflakes on your tongue.
• The itch of wool and the dampness of sweat under layers of clothing are some of the less pleasant sensations of winter.
• The soft security of flannel sheets, down comforters, and fleece blankets are treasures in wintertime.
TASTE:
• The sweetness of a steaming cup of hot chocolate.
• All those harvested veggies saved for winter – squash, potatoes, carrots, turnips – made into pies or added to stews.
• Gingerbread, eggnog, rum balls, champagne (to welcome the New Year)
• Delicious chocolates in a heart-shaped box on Valentine’s Day.
• Irish soda bread and corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick’s Day.
In historical settings, winter was often a tough time to get through. Depending on the time period, they could not go to the store for food so had to make the harvest last. If the growing season wasn’t good, there might be a lot of growling bellies during the winter. No central heating meant layers of clothes, often the same ones worn day after day with infrequent bathing. The only heat came from the fireplace (later wood or coal burning stoves). Some rooms were closed off to conserve heat. Often the closed off rooms were used for food storage especially for pies since they would stay frozen or nearly so if kept in a pie safe or hope chest.
A simple head or chest cold could be deadly if it turned to pneumonia. There were no antibiotics, though midwives and herbalists might know of natural remedies that could help. Still, death from diseases associated with winter was more common in the winter.
There were no plows, but some folks got around by horse-pulled sleighs. Others had to walk no matter how deep the snow. Days were short and nights long. In agricultural societies, care of animals continued all year, but there was no planting, tilling or harvesting in the winter which meant more time indoors, longer hours for sleeping and…um…other things (more babies were conceived in the winter than any other time of year), and more opportunities for socializing. Parties and weddings occurred more often since there was more free time.
In early New England, Christmas was not celebrated. Even after the Puritans were gone, their distaste for Christmas remained. It wasn’t until the mid-19th century that Christmas began to make inroads in New England. New Year’s, however, was a popular holiday – a time for parties and exchange of gifts.
These last four posts have conjured up a handful of seasonal sensory images to enhance your writing. What others can you think of? I’d love to hear from you in the comments section.
https://eileenofinlan.com
August 31, 2018
Writing the Seasons - Autumn
Though summer is my favorite season to experience, autumn is my favorite to write about. It’s so full of vivid colors, pungent odors, crisp air, and delicious, tangy foods it’s like a cornucopia for the senses. Autumn offers itself as a bountiful gift to the writer who wants to incorporate all of the faculties.
Autumn, to me, seems to be broken into three phases that correspond with the three main months of the season. Labor Day weekend at the start of September marks the unofficial end of summer. Kids return to school. The days grow noticeably shorter. The weather here in New England is still warm, but for the most part, the oppressive heat and humidity are gone. The nights are quite cool – usually superb sleeping weather.
October brings a chill to the air. Leaves turn brilliant shades of red, yellow, orange, and purple setting the trees ablaze in color. The leaves “turn” earlier the farther north one goes. Here in central Massachusetts peak season is around mid-October. As the month progresses, strange sights appear. What was once almost solely a children’s holiday has grown ever more popular with adults. Elaborate Halloween displays rivaling those for Christmas in their size and intricacy haunt many a front lawn. As All Hallows Eve approaches, the veil between the material and spiritual worlds grows thin. Those sensitive to such things can tangibly feel it. By the end of October most of the leaves have fallen from the trees leaving the branches bare, eerie against the backdrop of a full moon.
November brings even colder temperatures. Depending upon which New England state one is in (or just the weather whims of New England, for that matter) it may also bring the first fall of snow. Local farmers have finished harvesting their crops. Warmer clothes make their way to the front of closets. Preparations for winter begin in earnest as do those for the great feast of Thanksgiving. Once that grand holiday has passed, thoughts turn almost immediately to getting ready for Christmas. The holiday season has begun!
Autumn encompasses three different and uniquely beautiful months each brimming over with sensory delights.
SIGHT:
• Color – like summer, there is lots of color, but it is different. Autumn is filled with reds, yellows, golds, browns, and purples. They are in the trees, the flowers, our clothes – everywhere. The perfect fall day includes a brilliant blue sky, white puffy clouds, and colorful leaves swirling in the wind.
• School buses return. Better get up a bit earlier for work in case you get stuck behind one.
• Pumpkins, apples, haystacks (which these days look more like giant shredded wheat than the conical shapes of my youth), corn stalks, mums, and sunflowers take over the landscape.
• Ghostly cemeteries, ghoulish monsters, and creepy critters suddenly appear where before there was simply a well-manicured lawn.
• Beloved faces, some that haven’t been seen in a while, surround a long table laden with a sumptuous feast.
HEARING:
• The swish and crunch when walking through ankle-deep leaves scattered along the roadside.
• The honk of geese in V-formation as they depart for the warmer southern regions. I always wave goodbye and wish them a safe trip.
• “Trick or Treat” repeated over and over on one special night.
• The sounds of baseball replaced by those of football.
• Prayers of thanksgiving from grateful hearts.
SMELL:
• Autumn in New England carries a particular scent on the air. Tangy and pungent, it is actually the smell of decaying vegetation. Sounds yucky – smells great!
• Apple orchards with country stores selling freshly baked pies and turnovers.
• When I was young, everyone burned their raked up leaves in a burn barrel. It’s no longer legal to burn leaves here. Oh, do I miss the woodsy smell of burning leaves. The memory of that mixed with the scent of my father’s pipe tobacco is enough to bring tears to my eyes.
• Mulling spices wafting up from a mug of hot apple cider.
• The smell of a Thanksgiving feast, especially the turkey roasting in the oven and a freshly baked pumpkin pie along with all the other dishes is as much a bounty for the olfactory as the food itself is for the taste buds and tummy.
TOUCH/FEEL:
• The dryness of dying leaves.
• The increasingly cooler air as temperatures drop until it’s downright chilly.
• Blisters from too many hours spent with a rake in hand.
• The nubby feel of a football.
• Dry soil, prickly leaves, smooth veggies as you pick and carry in the harvest.
TASTE:
• The tang of real apple cider and the fizz and kick of hard cider.
• The perfect taste combination of cheddar cheese and apples or cider.
• Winter squashes backed with cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar.
• Soups and stews – the heartier foods that take over from summer’s lighter fare.
• Pumpkin and apple pies topped with whipped cream or ice cream.
In historical settings, autumn, especially in the earlier part of the season, was probably one of the more comfortable times of the year, the weather being neither oppressively hot nor freezing cold. It was an extremely important time of year for agricultural societies. Harvesting and putting up food for the winter was imperative.
Thanksgiving was a very big deal in early New England just as it is today. Though most of us wouldn’t think of it now, Thanksgiving was a very popular wedding day in Federal period (i.e. Victorian) New England. Traveling any distance was a real undertaking so combining the two when families and friends would be gathering anyway made sense.
In any time setting, autumn overflows with ways to add sensory details to your writing. How appropriate that is for this bountiful time of year.
https://eileenofinlan.com
Autumn, to me, seems to be broken into three phases that correspond with the three main months of the season. Labor Day weekend at the start of September marks the unofficial end of summer. Kids return to school. The days grow noticeably shorter. The weather here in New England is still warm, but for the most part, the oppressive heat and humidity are gone. The nights are quite cool – usually superb sleeping weather.
October brings a chill to the air. Leaves turn brilliant shades of red, yellow, orange, and purple setting the trees ablaze in color. The leaves “turn” earlier the farther north one goes. Here in central Massachusetts peak season is around mid-October. As the month progresses, strange sights appear. What was once almost solely a children’s holiday has grown ever more popular with adults. Elaborate Halloween displays rivaling those for Christmas in their size and intricacy haunt many a front lawn. As All Hallows Eve approaches, the veil between the material and spiritual worlds grows thin. Those sensitive to such things can tangibly feel it. By the end of October most of the leaves have fallen from the trees leaving the branches bare, eerie against the backdrop of a full moon.
November brings even colder temperatures. Depending upon which New England state one is in (or just the weather whims of New England, for that matter) it may also bring the first fall of snow. Local farmers have finished harvesting their crops. Warmer clothes make their way to the front of closets. Preparations for winter begin in earnest as do those for the great feast of Thanksgiving. Once that grand holiday has passed, thoughts turn almost immediately to getting ready for Christmas. The holiday season has begun!
Autumn encompasses three different and uniquely beautiful months each brimming over with sensory delights.
SIGHT:
• Color – like summer, there is lots of color, but it is different. Autumn is filled with reds, yellows, golds, browns, and purples. They are in the trees, the flowers, our clothes – everywhere. The perfect fall day includes a brilliant blue sky, white puffy clouds, and colorful leaves swirling in the wind.
• School buses return. Better get up a bit earlier for work in case you get stuck behind one.
• Pumpkins, apples, haystacks (which these days look more like giant shredded wheat than the conical shapes of my youth), corn stalks, mums, and sunflowers take over the landscape.
• Ghostly cemeteries, ghoulish monsters, and creepy critters suddenly appear where before there was simply a well-manicured lawn.
• Beloved faces, some that haven’t been seen in a while, surround a long table laden with a sumptuous feast.
HEARING:
• The swish and crunch when walking through ankle-deep leaves scattered along the roadside.
• The honk of geese in V-formation as they depart for the warmer southern regions. I always wave goodbye and wish them a safe trip.
• “Trick or Treat” repeated over and over on one special night.
• The sounds of baseball replaced by those of football.
• Prayers of thanksgiving from grateful hearts.
SMELL:
• Autumn in New England carries a particular scent on the air. Tangy and pungent, it is actually the smell of decaying vegetation. Sounds yucky – smells great!
• Apple orchards with country stores selling freshly baked pies and turnovers.
• When I was young, everyone burned their raked up leaves in a burn barrel. It’s no longer legal to burn leaves here. Oh, do I miss the woodsy smell of burning leaves. The memory of that mixed with the scent of my father’s pipe tobacco is enough to bring tears to my eyes.
• Mulling spices wafting up from a mug of hot apple cider.
• The smell of a Thanksgiving feast, especially the turkey roasting in the oven and a freshly baked pumpkin pie along with all the other dishes is as much a bounty for the olfactory as the food itself is for the taste buds and tummy.
TOUCH/FEEL:
• The dryness of dying leaves.
• The increasingly cooler air as temperatures drop until it’s downright chilly.
• Blisters from too many hours spent with a rake in hand.
• The nubby feel of a football.
• Dry soil, prickly leaves, smooth veggies as you pick and carry in the harvest.
TASTE:
• The tang of real apple cider and the fizz and kick of hard cider.
• The perfect taste combination of cheddar cheese and apples or cider.
• Winter squashes backed with cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar.
• Soups and stews – the heartier foods that take over from summer’s lighter fare.
• Pumpkin and apple pies topped with whipped cream or ice cream.
In historical settings, autumn, especially in the earlier part of the season, was probably one of the more comfortable times of the year, the weather being neither oppressively hot nor freezing cold. It was an extremely important time of year for agricultural societies. Harvesting and putting up food for the winter was imperative.
Thanksgiving was a very big deal in early New England just as it is today. Though most of us wouldn’t think of it now, Thanksgiving was a very popular wedding day in Federal period (i.e. Victorian) New England. Traveling any distance was a real undertaking so combining the two when families and friends would be gathering anyway made sense.
In any time setting, autumn overflows with ways to add sensory details to your writing. How appropriate that is for this bountiful time of year.
https://eileenofinlan.com
August 17, 2018
Writing the Seasons - Summer
In my previous post, I wrote about spring in New England. Now we’re on to summer. Summer is my favorite season. I wait the rest of the year for summer. When it finally arrives, it feels like magic. During the winter when the land is thick with snow I imagine summer. Sometimes it seems like it is only imaginary, as though summer is just an illusion. Will it really return? Will I see lush, green grass, trees in full leaf, or gardens bursting with vegetables ever again? How can this frozen white landscape change into that warm, colorful world? Summer must be only a dream. This is what I often think in the winter.
At the moment, I am sitting in my living room typing this post at almost 10:00 p.m. The windows are open, the fan is on full blast and sweat is running down my body. I am quite sure that summer is NOT imaginary. I guess when something we love is absent we only remember the best things about it. I still love summer, though, no matter how much it makes me sweat and frizzes my hair!
And now for summer and the senses:
SIGHT:
• Color – lots of it, everywhere – the greens of the fully leafed out trees and well-manicured lawns, parks and ball fields, the sky like a big blue globe, puffy white clouds floating by in a variety of shapes, patriotic red, white, and blue showing up everywhere throughout July.
• The ice cream truck as it trundles around town.
• The woods are right behind my house so little (and some not-so-little) creatures are a common sight – rabbits, squirrels, and chipmunks during the day and raccoons and possums at night. The occasional deer makes an appearance. A few years ago, the whole neighborhood gathered on my neighbor’s porch to watch a bear eating from their birdfeeder.
• Fireflies – now they really are summer magic!
• Fireworks light up the sky in a brilliant array of colors. Not much gets my heart pounding (in a good way) more than a great fireworks display.
HEARING:
• The nightly symphony of crickets is a soothingly soporific sound.
• Thunder storms roll in after a hot, humid day. You know an ear-splitter is coming when it’s preceded by a few electric cracks, or as my sister used to call them, “the crackle, crackle boom booms.”
• The play-by-play from a TV in a nearby room: “The wind-up” thwack (ball slapping the catcher’s mitt) “A swing and a miss. Strike one.”
• Shouts, laughter, music – everybody’s outside and having fun.
• The lapping of the ocean as the waves roll in and out
SMELL:
• Salt air by the seashore.
• Sun tan lotion. I can’t smell Coppertone without it taking me back to childhood summer vacations on Cape Cod.
• The smell of chlorine rising from the town swimming pool.
• The smell of charcoal burning and burgers, steak or BBQ chicken sizzling on the grill.
• The rich smell of cream as you approach the window of the ice cream stand to place your order.
TOUCH/FEEL:
• The soft prickle of grass on your legs while sitting on the ground (maybe while watching those fireworks).
• The slide of sand beneath bare feet on the beach.
• The cooling caress of water in the ocean or a swimming pool.
• Getting up from a leather chair while wearing shorts can feel like the skin is peeling off the backs of your legs. And speaking of peeling skin – what about that sunburn!
• The feel of warm soil and smooth or prickly leaves as your hands pick through the garden, pulling weeds or harvesting the summer veggies.
TASTE:
• Salt water taffy. Nothing tastes quite like it.
• Ice cream (Oh, and we could add the “ice cream headache” to the “feel” list.)
• Any vegetable straight from the garden.
• Water. When super hot and thirsty, nothing is more satisfying than a tall glass of cool, clean water. Ice tea and lemonade are high on the list as well.
• Anything you might include while dining outdoors – potato salad, deviled eggs, coleslaw, hamburgers and hotdogs, corn on the cob, watermelon etc.
When giving a story an historical setting, be mindful of what did and did not exist in your story’s time period. New England summers in time periods before air conditioning or electric fans were hot and sticky. Cooking over a fire in a small kitchen was particularly uncomfortable. People dependent on agriculture were far more sensitive to changes in barometric pressure, cloud formations and shifts in temperature. They could literally smell a storm coming. Those whose living came from the sea had a multitude of sensory input on which to rely.
No matter where your characters live – farm, ship, town, city – use what they would see, hear, feel, smell and taste to draw your readers into their lives and your story.
https://eileenofinlan.com
At the moment, I am sitting in my living room typing this post at almost 10:00 p.m. The windows are open, the fan is on full blast and sweat is running down my body. I am quite sure that summer is NOT imaginary. I guess when something we love is absent we only remember the best things about it. I still love summer, though, no matter how much it makes me sweat and frizzes my hair!
And now for summer and the senses:
SIGHT:
• Color – lots of it, everywhere – the greens of the fully leafed out trees and well-manicured lawns, parks and ball fields, the sky like a big blue globe, puffy white clouds floating by in a variety of shapes, patriotic red, white, and blue showing up everywhere throughout July.
• The ice cream truck as it trundles around town.
• The woods are right behind my house so little (and some not-so-little) creatures are a common sight – rabbits, squirrels, and chipmunks during the day and raccoons and possums at night. The occasional deer makes an appearance. A few years ago, the whole neighborhood gathered on my neighbor’s porch to watch a bear eating from their birdfeeder.
• Fireflies – now they really are summer magic!
• Fireworks light up the sky in a brilliant array of colors. Not much gets my heart pounding (in a good way) more than a great fireworks display.
HEARING:
• The nightly symphony of crickets is a soothingly soporific sound.
• Thunder storms roll in after a hot, humid day. You know an ear-splitter is coming when it’s preceded by a few electric cracks, or as my sister used to call them, “the crackle, crackle boom booms.”
• The play-by-play from a TV in a nearby room: “The wind-up” thwack (ball slapping the catcher’s mitt) “A swing and a miss. Strike one.”
• Shouts, laughter, music – everybody’s outside and having fun.
• The lapping of the ocean as the waves roll in and out
SMELL:
• Salt air by the seashore.
• Sun tan lotion. I can’t smell Coppertone without it taking me back to childhood summer vacations on Cape Cod.
• The smell of chlorine rising from the town swimming pool.
• The smell of charcoal burning and burgers, steak or BBQ chicken sizzling on the grill.
• The rich smell of cream as you approach the window of the ice cream stand to place your order.
TOUCH/FEEL:
• The soft prickle of grass on your legs while sitting on the ground (maybe while watching those fireworks).
• The slide of sand beneath bare feet on the beach.
• The cooling caress of water in the ocean or a swimming pool.
• Getting up from a leather chair while wearing shorts can feel like the skin is peeling off the backs of your legs. And speaking of peeling skin – what about that sunburn!
• The feel of warm soil and smooth or prickly leaves as your hands pick through the garden, pulling weeds or harvesting the summer veggies.
TASTE:
• Salt water taffy. Nothing tastes quite like it.
• Ice cream (Oh, and we could add the “ice cream headache” to the “feel” list.)
• Any vegetable straight from the garden.
• Water. When super hot and thirsty, nothing is more satisfying than a tall glass of cool, clean water. Ice tea and lemonade are high on the list as well.
• Anything you might include while dining outdoors – potato salad, deviled eggs, coleslaw, hamburgers and hotdogs, corn on the cob, watermelon etc.
When giving a story an historical setting, be mindful of what did and did not exist in your story’s time period. New England summers in time periods before air conditioning or electric fans were hot and sticky. Cooking over a fire in a small kitchen was particularly uncomfortable. People dependent on agriculture were far more sensitive to changes in barometric pressure, cloud formations and shifts in temperature. They could literally smell a storm coming. Those whose living came from the sea had a multitude of sensory input on which to rely.
No matter where your characters live – farm, ship, town, city – use what they would see, hear, feel, smell and taste to draw your readers into their lives and your story.
https://eileenofinlan.com
August 13, 2018
Writing the Seasons - Spring
No matter the setting, there is always at least one season in a story, often more. Granted in some locales it’s hard to notice a difference. Take Singapore, for instance. The weather is pretty much the same day in and day out. If you set a story in Singapore you don’t have to worry too much about keeping your characters in tune with the changing seasons. However, set a story in New England and there is a plethora seasonal shifts to navigate.
Having lived my entire life in New England, I am quite familiar with how each season presents its distinctive characteristics.
Writers are often told to utilize all the senses in their writing. Bringing a change of season into a story offers a treasure trove of sensory delights.
This and my next three blog posts will focus on the unique qualities of each season. One caveat – I’ll be using New England as my model as it’s the region I know best. When incorporating details about seasons in your writing, be sure you know the characteristics of seasons in your setting. And don’t forget that the months of the seasons are opposites in the Eastern and Western Hemispheres.
Let’s start with spring. Spring in New England tends to be slow in coming. At least that’s how it feels to folks who’ve endured a long, cold, snow-buried winter. The calendar may claim March 21st as the Vernal Equinox, but no one ever bothered to tell that to New England’s weather. We are rarely done with snow storms by mid-March. The best thing about them, though, is that no matter how many inches (or feet) we get, it doesn’t last long. The quick melting that creates rivulets of water streaming down the streets, ankle-deep pockets of slush, and the dripping of ice cycles on unwary heads are all welcome signs of spring.
It’s difficult to say in which month spring will actually arrive in New England. No two years are enough alike for that sort of accuracy. I remember a year when we had several days in a row of ninety degree weather in March followed by freezing or near freezing temperatures. It never really warmed up again until sometime in late May. However, that is a bit extreme even here.
Usually, by sometime in April crocuses, tulips, and hyacinth appear and forsythia begins to bloom. Those are the first sure signs of spring. That and the robins. I’ve been hearing for years that robins don’t fly south for the winter anymore (why that would be, I don’t know), but I sure don’t see them during the winter. My first robin sighting is always a moment of sheer joy.
By May the lilacs are in bloom. While we can still have chilly days and cold nights, usually May ushers in warmer weather. It seems each spring month in New England marks another step in the slow, arduous climb out of winter. The farther north, the longer it takes.
Let’s take a look at some ways the five senses can come into play.
SIGHT:
• Bursts of color – yellow forsythia, pink, yellow and purple tulips, and the purples hues of hyacinth and lilac
• Tufts of grass peeking through melted patches of snow
• The sky takes on a bluer shade as the “snow clouds” depart and the sun shines more brightly.
• While there are many birds that stay throughout the winter, the return of robins and other spring arrivals is a welcome sight. The return of geese is a true harbinger of spring.
• Insects have slept all winter, but now the air is alive with both beautiful and annoying bugs. Lines of ants try to march indoors. Bees get busy pollinating the blooming flowers. Colorful butterflies grace the air by the latter end of the season.
HEARING:
• As mentioned above, birds and insects increase in springtime. This means the trills and tweets emanating from our avian friends and the drone of pollinators fill the air.
• On relatively warm days following a cold snap or snow storm you can literally hear the snow melting. Often it sounds like a light, steady rain. Melting snow running into drains in the streets makes a gushing, gurgling sound.
• As the weather improves, windows open so that houses shut up all winter can air out. Street sounds that had been muffled are loud and clear with the windows open. In areas where homes are close together, neighbors’ voices are audible.
• April showers truly do bring May flowers. Rain is commonplace in the spring. The tattoo of raindrops on the roof and windowpanes can be either exhilarating or mesmerizing.
• The lawnmower’s motor, dormant for months, revs to life once again.
SMELL:
• Again we must return to the blooming flowers. The scent may be gentle or heady depending on the bloom. My personal favorite is the clean, fresh scent of lilacs.
• Clean. Is that a scent? For purposes of this post, it is. A house closed up all winter takes on a musty odor no matter how well kept it is. Once the windows are consistently thrown open and the breezes sweep through, the musty smell dissipates to be replaced by fresh air and floral scents.
• The ground itself emanates a rich, earthy smell as it prepares itself to accept the seeds gardeners will soon sow.
• Rain, too, has a scent. The smell just before the rain begins is actually ozone blown down from the atmosphere. When rain hits the ground a scent known as petrichor is released. It’s a bit oily smelling and comes from the rain hitting wet rocks.
• Fresh cut grass gives off a smell released by compounds in the grass. Many people love this smell. Personally, not my favorite as I’m allergic to it.
TOUCH/FEEL:
• Ever hold melting snow in your hand? Icy at first, it warms with your body heat, forms a small puddle in your palm and oozes drips between your fingers.
• Running your hands over the soft tips of new grass is sure to bring a smile.
• Ouch!! The sting of a wasp or bite of a Mayfly or mosquito are among the unpleasant feelings of spring as are the burning and/or itching left in their wake.
• Another less than pleasurable spring sensation is being splashed by cold water as a car passes by sending a spray of melted, road-dirtied slush your way.
• Allergies can be a problem in the spring. That constant tickling in the nose and throat may not be welcomed, but they are part of the feeling of spring.
TASTE:
• The earliest of the garden vegetables arrive in spring. First up – asparagus, peas, spinach, and some salad greens. Most have a snap and crunch and maybe hint of a splash when bitten.
• Pucker inducing rhubarb can be planted but often grows wild.
• The same can be said for strawberries, though they are sweet – no pucker with these gems.
• With the gentler weather, come lighter drinks be they alcoholic or not. Put away the warmth-inducing cocoa, eggnog, and hot buttered rum and break out the ice tea, grapefruit fizz, and good old clean, clear water – all refreshing!
• Maple syrup is a super sweet treat. Sap tapped from maple trees is boiled down in a process called sugaring off. It takes 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of delicious maple syrup. Oh sure, you can get maple syrup in the store any time of year, but I promise you, it’s got nothing on fresh maple syrup straight from the sugar shack! And if you have a serious sweet tooth, there’s nothing sweeter than maple sugar candy. The crystallize maple sugar crunches in your mouth and sets off the salivary glands like Niagara Falls. Sometimes thought of as “sicky-sweet” too much can make you a bit nauseated.
These are just a few ideas you can work with as you creatively weave the sensory particulars of spring into your writing.
Be sure to keep your time period in mind. If your story is set before electrification the lengthening of daylight hours is important and will have an impact on your characters’ actions. Agriculture with its sensory overload is also crucial to a story set in a time or place dependent on farming.
An urban or contemporary setting may see your characters less connected to the rhythms of nature, but they should not be ignored. The change in season (assuming your story is set in a place where the seasons actually change) plays a part in moods, outdoor vs indoor activities, clothing, and eating habits no matter the time period.
Don’t forget the holidays. For historical fiction you will want to be sure that a particular holiday was actually celebrated in the time and place your story is set. If it is, you’ll need to know how it was celebrated as it may be quite different from the contemporary celebration.
Including all the senses makes your writing sparkle. When readers can share the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and tactile sensations with your characters they will be totally drawn into the story. They’ll feel as though they are right there with the characters. Our senses are extremely important in processing all sorts of information in the world around us so for heaven’s sake don’t leave them out of your stories!
Just remember a little goes a long way. Just as you don’t want your readers to experience sensory deprivation you don’t want them on a sensory overload, either. Moderation is always the best strategy.
https://eileenofinlan.com
Having lived my entire life in New England, I am quite familiar with how each season presents its distinctive characteristics.
Writers are often told to utilize all the senses in their writing. Bringing a change of season into a story offers a treasure trove of sensory delights.
This and my next three blog posts will focus on the unique qualities of each season. One caveat – I’ll be using New England as my model as it’s the region I know best. When incorporating details about seasons in your writing, be sure you know the characteristics of seasons in your setting. And don’t forget that the months of the seasons are opposites in the Eastern and Western Hemispheres.
Let’s start with spring. Spring in New England tends to be slow in coming. At least that’s how it feels to folks who’ve endured a long, cold, snow-buried winter. The calendar may claim March 21st as the Vernal Equinox, but no one ever bothered to tell that to New England’s weather. We are rarely done with snow storms by mid-March. The best thing about them, though, is that no matter how many inches (or feet) we get, it doesn’t last long. The quick melting that creates rivulets of water streaming down the streets, ankle-deep pockets of slush, and the dripping of ice cycles on unwary heads are all welcome signs of spring.
It’s difficult to say in which month spring will actually arrive in New England. No two years are enough alike for that sort of accuracy. I remember a year when we had several days in a row of ninety degree weather in March followed by freezing or near freezing temperatures. It never really warmed up again until sometime in late May. However, that is a bit extreme even here.
Usually, by sometime in April crocuses, tulips, and hyacinth appear and forsythia begins to bloom. Those are the first sure signs of spring. That and the robins. I’ve been hearing for years that robins don’t fly south for the winter anymore (why that would be, I don’t know), but I sure don’t see them during the winter. My first robin sighting is always a moment of sheer joy.
By May the lilacs are in bloom. While we can still have chilly days and cold nights, usually May ushers in warmer weather. It seems each spring month in New England marks another step in the slow, arduous climb out of winter. The farther north, the longer it takes.
Let’s take a look at some ways the five senses can come into play.
SIGHT:
• Bursts of color – yellow forsythia, pink, yellow and purple tulips, and the purples hues of hyacinth and lilac
• Tufts of grass peeking through melted patches of snow
• The sky takes on a bluer shade as the “snow clouds” depart and the sun shines more brightly.
• While there are many birds that stay throughout the winter, the return of robins and other spring arrivals is a welcome sight. The return of geese is a true harbinger of spring.
• Insects have slept all winter, but now the air is alive with both beautiful and annoying bugs. Lines of ants try to march indoors. Bees get busy pollinating the blooming flowers. Colorful butterflies grace the air by the latter end of the season.
HEARING:
• As mentioned above, birds and insects increase in springtime. This means the trills and tweets emanating from our avian friends and the drone of pollinators fill the air.
• On relatively warm days following a cold snap or snow storm you can literally hear the snow melting. Often it sounds like a light, steady rain. Melting snow running into drains in the streets makes a gushing, gurgling sound.
• As the weather improves, windows open so that houses shut up all winter can air out. Street sounds that had been muffled are loud and clear with the windows open. In areas where homes are close together, neighbors’ voices are audible.
• April showers truly do bring May flowers. Rain is commonplace in the spring. The tattoo of raindrops on the roof and windowpanes can be either exhilarating or mesmerizing.
• The lawnmower’s motor, dormant for months, revs to life once again.
SMELL:
• Again we must return to the blooming flowers. The scent may be gentle or heady depending on the bloom. My personal favorite is the clean, fresh scent of lilacs.
• Clean. Is that a scent? For purposes of this post, it is. A house closed up all winter takes on a musty odor no matter how well kept it is. Once the windows are consistently thrown open and the breezes sweep through, the musty smell dissipates to be replaced by fresh air and floral scents.
• The ground itself emanates a rich, earthy smell as it prepares itself to accept the seeds gardeners will soon sow.
• Rain, too, has a scent. The smell just before the rain begins is actually ozone blown down from the atmosphere. When rain hits the ground a scent known as petrichor is released. It’s a bit oily smelling and comes from the rain hitting wet rocks.
• Fresh cut grass gives off a smell released by compounds in the grass. Many people love this smell. Personally, not my favorite as I’m allergic to it.
TOUCH/FEEL:
• Ever hold melting snow in your hand? Icy at first, it warms with your body heat, forms a small puddle in your palm and oozes drips between your fingers.
• Running your hands over the soft tips of new grass is sure to bring a smile.
• Ouch!! The sting of a wasp or bite of a Mayfly or mosquito are among the unpleasant feelings of spring as are the burning and/or itching left in their wake.
• Another less than pleasurable spring sensation is being splashed by cold water as a car passes by sending a spray of melted, road-dirtied slush your way.
• Allergies can be a problem in the spring. That constant tickling in the nose and throat may not be welcomed, but they are part of the feeling of spring.
TASTE:
• The earliest of the garden vegetables arrive in spring. First up – asparagus, peas, spinach, and some salad greens. Most have a snap and crunch and maybe hint of a splash when bitten.
• Pucker inducing rhubarb can be planted but often grows wild.
• The same can be said for strawberries, though they are sweet – no pucker with these gems.
• With the gentler weather, come lighter drinks be they alcoholic or not. Put away the warmth-inducing cocoa, eggnog, and hot buttered rum and break out the ice tea, grapefruit fizz, and good old clean, clear water – all refreshing!
• Maple syrup is a super sweet treat. Sap tapped from maple trees is boiled down in a process called sugaring off. It takes 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of delicious maple syrup. Oh sure, you can get maple syrup in the store any time of year, but I promise you, it’s got nothing on fresh maple syrup straight from the sugar shack! And if you have a serious sweet tooth, there’s nothing sweeter than maple sugar candy. The crystallize maple sugar crunches in your mouth and sets off the salivary glands like Niagara Falls. Sometimes thought of as “sicky-sweet” too much can make you a bit nauseated.
These are just a few ideas you can work with as you creatively weave the sensory particulars of spring into your writing.
Be sure to keep your time period in mind. If your story is set before electrification the lengthening of daylight hours is important and will have an impact on your characters’ actions. Agriculture with its sensory overload is also crucial to a story set in a time or place dependent on farming.
An urban or contemporary setting may see your characters less connected to the rhythms of nature, but they should not be ignored. The change in season (assuming your story is set in a place where the seasons actually change) plays a part in moods, outdoor vs indoor activities, clothing, and eating habits no matter the time period.
Don’t forget the holidays. For historical fiction you will want to be sure that a particular holiday was actually celebrated in the time and place your story is set. If it is, you’ll need to know how it was celebrated as it may be quite different from the contemporary celebration.
Including all the senses makes your writing sparkle. When readers can share the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and tactile sensations with your characters they will be totally drawn into the story. They’ll feel as though they are right there with the characters. Our senses are extremely important in processing all sorts of information in the world around us so for heaven’s sake don’t leave them out of your stories!
Just remember a little goes a long way. Just as you don’t want your readers to experience sensory deprivation you don’t want them on a sensory overload, either. Moderation is always the best strategy.
https://eileenofinlan.com
August 10, 2018
The Picture That's Worth A Thousand Words Can Be A Writer's Best Friend
Pictures are a tremendous source of inspiration. This has been true all my life. I distinctly remember flipping through a catalog (probably Sears and Roebuck) as a child and stopping at certain pictures that captured my attention. These were not pictures of toys I wanted for Christmas, but photographs that depicted a person or people using whatever item the catalog was selling. Not every picture intrigued me, but the few that did stopped me in my tracks. I can’t say what it was about a certain picture that had such a powerful pull on my imagination, but whatever it was, it caused me to spend endless time staring at it while a story took shape in my mind. I was too young to write it down, but it played itself out in my head nonetheless. I don’t remember the details of the stories, but I do remember this phenomenon happening. It was a most pleasant diversion especially if I was bored. I never sought it out, though, it happened naturally.
It didn’t stop after childhood, but continued with greater regularity as I matured. Sometime in my pre-teens I got hold of a clothing catalog that likely belonged to my mother. The models were posed in various “real life” situations – standing on a door step in the early morning ready to bring in the just delivered milk (this was the early 1970s so that stuff still happened) to advertise nightgowns and bathrobes.
Another picture showed a young woman striding a downtown sidewalk wearing a smart business suite.
The whole catalog was filled with various clothing styles and settings meant to coincide with them. Obviously the catalog’s intention was to sell clothes, but the clothes were the last thing that interested me.
Hopefully, Mom didn’t want to buy anything from that catalog because I took possession of it, keeping it in my bureau drawer for months. Often I would take it out and pour over the pictures. Almost every one of them conjured a story in my mind. The woman on the front porch wasn’t just bringing in the milk, she was waiting for her husband to return from the war.
Each time I meditated on the picture I went further into the story. I call it “meditating” because I did seem to become lost in a trance-like state while the stories concocted themselves in my mind. My physical surroundings seemed to disappear. It was just me, the picture, and the story. Still, I wasn’t yet writing them down.
It wasn’t just catalog pictures that provoked these meditations. Pictures from magazines, newspapers, book covers, family photographs (my family or others), calendars or virtually any source that had pictures would do it. I had a planner book with a lovely color photograph at the beginning of each month. Several of those pictures elicited the trance-like response that induced stories. Still it didn’t cross my mind to write them.
A bit over twenty years ago I joined the Worcester Writer’s Workshop run by poet and playwright Cynthia Kennison. Cynthia’s method of facilitating the workshop was to break it into sections of two writing exercises with a ten minute snack break between them.
The first, and longer of the two exercises, almost always involved pictures. When the writing group arrived she would have set out on a table a plethora of pictures. Writers were invited find one that spoke to them, take it back to their seats and write about whatever it evoked for them.
The pictures came from many sources – books of photography, calendars, art books, postcards, photographs, magazines – the supply was seemingly endless. Cynthia must have had an enormous treasure trove of photos. The fact that she didn’t seem to mind ripping pages from her books to supply the writing group week after week was a testament to her dedication to fostering inspiration for our writing.
Though some weeks the pictures were more evocative for me than others, I almost never failed to find one that worked. Obviously, for me, this was a writing exercise that was made to order. I think it was during this workshop that I first began writing about pictures that inspired me. So many stories, so many ideas came from those exercises. Some became finished projects while others remained unfinished exercises, but all were beneficial to the improvement of my writing skills.
The Worcester Writers Workshop is no longer in existence. I miss it terribly, both for the bonding and camaraderie that developed among the members as well as the great writing produced by all the participants. I had a drought in my writing life for a while, until a few years ago when I met up with another writer who loved the idea of a writing group, but had never been in one. Together we formed a group, initially made up of the two of us, her poet brother-in-law and a couple of enthusiastic novice writers.
As the only one who had ever been part of a writing workshop I became the de facto facilitator. Since the Worcester Writers Workshop had been so successful, I used it as my model. Pictures would, of course, play a prominent role. I started to collect books of photography collections and rip pages from magazines, calendars and download free stock photos to print – something unavailable to my old writing group.
A curious thing has happened since I started doing this. I find that most of the pictures don’t speak to me the way they used to. I believe it’s because I never went looking for them before. They just sort of found me. Apparently, consciously looking for pictures that evoke a story doesn’t work so well.
I can still create a story from a picture, but it doesn’t come as easily or flow as well. Except once in a while when I realize I have a gem. I’ve collected a small handful of pictures that not only provided fodder for an evening’s writing, but have continued to tug at my imagination long after that night’s workshop has ended. These are pictures I keep tucked away, the name of the character written on the back. A few feel destined to become novels.
Our writing group has grown since its early days, doubling in number of participants.
While being on the lookout for workshop pictures has had its disadvantages for me, I truly delight in the wonderful stories they inspire in my fellow writers. And when I do encounter a picture that conjures ideas for a full-blown novel, it is something extraordinary. It’s been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. That seems to be selling them short. For me, just the right picture is worth many thousand words.
https://eileenofinlan.com
It didn’t stop after childhood, but continued with greater regularity as I matured. Sometime in my pre-teens I got hold of a clothing catalog that likely belonged to my mother. The models were posed in various “real life” situations – standing on a door step in the early morning ready to bring in the just delivered milk (this was the early 1970s so that stuff still happened) to advertise nightgowns and bathrobes.
Another picture showed a young woman striding a downtown sidewalk wearing a smart business suite.
The whole catalog was filled with various clothing styles and settings meant to coincide with them. Obviously the catalog’s intention was to sell clothes, but the clothes were the last thing that interested me.
Hopefully, Mom didn’t want to buy anything from that catalog because I took possession of it, keeping it in my bureau drawer for months. Often I would take it out and pour over the pictures. Almost every one of them conjured a story in my mind. The woman on the front porch wasn’t just bringing in the milk, she was waiting for her husband to return from the war.
Each time I meditated on the picture I went further into the story. I call it “meditating” because I did seem to become lost in a trance-like state while the stories concocted themselves in my mind. My physical surroundings seemed to disappear. It was just me, the picture, and the story. Still, I wasn’t yet writing them down.
It wasn’t just catalog pictures that provoked these meditations. Pictures from magazines, newspapers, book covers, family photographs (my family or others), calendars or virtually any source that had pictures would do it. I had a planner book with a lovely color photograph at the beginning of each month. Several of those pictures elicited the trance-like response that induced stories. Still it didn’t cross my mind to write them.
A bit over twenty years ago I joined the Worcester Writer’s Workshop run by poet and playwright Cynthia Kennison. Cynthia’s method of facilitating the workshop was to break it into sections of two writing exercises with a ten minute snack break between them.
The first, and longer of the two exercises, almost always involved pictures. When the writing group arrived she would have set out on a table a plethora of pictures. Writers were invited find one that spoke to them, take it back to their seats and write about whatever it evoked for them.
The pictures came from many sources – books of photography, calendars, art books, postcards, photographs, magazines – the supply was seemingly endless. Cynthia must have had an enormous treasure trove of photos. The fact that she didn’t seem to mind ripping pages from her books to supply the writing group week after week was a testament to her dedication to fostering inspiration for our writing.
Though some weeks the pictures were more evocative for me than others, I almost never failed to find one that worked. Obviously, for me, this was a writing exercise that was made to order. I think it was during this workshop that I first began writing about pictures that inspired me. So many stories, so many ideas came from those exercises. Some became finished projects while others remained unfinished exercises, but all were beneficial to the improvement of my writing skills.
The Worcester Writers Workshop is no longer in existence. I miss it terribly, both for the bonding and camaraderie that developed among the members as well as the great writing produced by all the participants. I had a drought in my writing life for a while, until a few years ago when I met up with another writer who loved the idea of a writing group, but had never been in one. Together we formed a group, initially made up of the two of us, her poet brother-in-law and a couple of enthusiastic novice writers.
As the only one who had ever been part of a writing workshop I became the de facto facilitator. Since the Worcester Writers Workshop had been so successful, I used it as my model. Pictures would, of course, play a prominent role. I started to collect books of photography collections and rip pages from magazines, calendars and download free stock photos to print – something unavailable to my old writing group.
A curious thing has happened since I started doing this. I find that most of the pictures don’t speak to me the way they used to. I believe it’s because I never went looking for them before. They just sort of found me. Apparently, consciously looking for pictures that evoke a story doesn’t work so well.
I can still create a story from a picture, but it doesn’t come as easily or flow as well. Except once in a while when I realize I have a gem. I’ve collected a small handful of pictures that not only provided fodder for an evening’s writing, but have continued to tug at my imagination long after that night’s workshop has ended. These are pictures I keep tucked away, the name of the character written on the back. A few feel destined to become novels.
Our writing group has grown since its early days, doubling in number of participants.
While being on the lookout for workshop pictures has had its disadvantages for me, I truly delight in the wonderful stories they inspire in my fellow writers. And when I do encounter a picture that conjures ideas for a full-blown novel, it is something extraordinary. It’s been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. That seems to be selling them short. For me, just the right picture is worth many thousand words.
https://eileenofinlan.com
