L.C. Russell's Blog, page 3

Summer Solstice 2011

Summer solstice 2011

The annual ritual is celebrated at the world heritage site of Stonehenge on England's Salisbury plane.

Revelers surround the ancient Stonehenge monument prior to the summer solstice on Salisbury plain in southern England June 21, 2011. Stonehenge is a celebrated venue of festivities during the summer solstice – the longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere – and it attracts thousands of revelers, spiritualists and tourists. Druids, a pagan religious order dating back to Celtic Britain, believe Stonehenge was a center of spiritualism more than 2,000 years ago.

KIERAN DOHERTY/REUTERS   

A look inside NOVEMBER IN SALEM

This week's "peek" into the world of NOVEMBER IN SALEM is a look at old Salem Village.  Although it's now called Danvers, the original site of the Salem Witch Trials has not been forgotten by many in this coastal Massachusetts city.  Modern day Danvers is a bustling place, and the old Danvers State Hospital (the basis for the asylum in my novel) has been partially demolished and remodeled into a luxury condominium complex

But it was not always so scenic. The original hospital once sat on over 500 acres. It was built in the late 19th century as a place for those with "mental afflictions" to spend their days in a beautiful and peaceful setting. But as sometimes happens, over the years the asylum became a repository for the poor and indigent. Family members who no longer could care for, or who wanted nothing more to do with that member of the family who was "odd," placed them into the state-run facility to be forgotten. In fact, there were so many "forgotten" that the patient population ceased to exit. They lost their identity and became simply an assigned number. It is easier to dismiss a number. No need to show mercy to a statistic on a spreadsheet. And the population of Danvers Hospital remained thus even after death. Behind the great buildings, far back into the wooded grounds there lay oddly shaped markers with numbers on them. Hundreds of them. They are the only reminder of those whose lives held so little meaning they were buried in graves behind the hospital like so much refuse.  The asylum  closed in 1992 and for more than two decades the moody old buildings sat grinding their bones as vandals and urban explorers crawled through their veins and underground labyrinths.  It was to this that I was drawn. The grim old buildings, the spacious grounds, once so carefully tended–now overgrown with weeds. And the lonely graves sitting on the windswept hill. The Hill of Hathorne. The hill that once witnessed the hanging of more than 17 people accused of witchcraft in 1692.  The ghosts of all of those who linger -  watching and waiting.

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"So, how do you start a fantasy novel? I mean, where do you get your inspiration?"

"So, how do you start a fantasy novel?  I mean, where do you get your inspiration?" That is the first question people ask me when I'm at a book signing, or maybe at a restaurant where someone introduces me and then starts talking about my books. And I'm never quite sure how to answer them. I suppose that's because I don't get inspired per-se. My inklings and fancies live inside me—have always been there. Kind of like my spleen or my esophagus. In fact, the illusions and fantasies are probably more important than either of those body parts. Because the fantasy is what makes me…well me.

When I was small I had a terrific memory. I used to go around the house reciting all my immediate, and extended family's birthdays—including the year.  Our clan numbers well over one hundred. I would also drive everyone to distraction by spouting long poems. A particularly intense fascination with The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere caused the population of my household to duck into another room when they saw me coming. It caused a nervous tick in my mother's left eye for at least a month. And she forbade me from even reading The Raven ( a personal favorite) aloud.

She asked me once why I felt compelled to do it. My answer startled her. I told her I had a large storage room in my head with endless rows of tall cases comprised of many, many tiny drawers. Most of the drawers were empty then (after all I was only about seven years old) and I knew I needed to fill them—with stories, and poems and necessary tales that begged to be told. My "story- keeper" was a fellow named "Hob," who the family later came to call my invisible friend. Hob is still with me today—busy as ever, filing and storing the necessary tales. He is also the inspiration for the character Hob in my first novel November in Salem: the Bargain of Witches. So, that's my story and I'm sticking to it…   Now it's my turn…Where do you get your inspirations from..?