Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Forty Seven Roses

Forty-Seven Roses is a memoir with which I could connect because of what it has in common with my unfinished novel. In Forty Seven Roses, Peter Sheridan, in a very personal way, explores his parents' romance, which was dogged for forty seven years by another woman. In my novel, a teenager goes in search of his father whom he's never met. Ricardo's quest leads him to understand his parents (and the circumstances of his birth) in a way that liberates him from feelings of insecurity and the sense of having been abandoned by the two most important people in the world. Coincidentally, I've also recently read another novel- The Pursuit of Happiness by, Douglas Kennedy in which the protangonist comes face to face with the nature of the relationship between her parents.

Anyway, to the memoir at hand; the element of an adult snooping around (to me that's what Peter actually does) is interesting to me. He sometimes goes off (unbeknownst to his mother) to England to talk privately with Doris, to see what he could find out about what really went on with his now deceased father and this woman who travels across the sea to come lay forty seven roses on his father's grave. Why is it so important to Peter, a grown man with children of his own, to dredge up all this stuff that is in the past? Why not leave well enough alone, considering that his dad was with his mom all these years, not with Doris. And what difference does it make anyway?


Of course his father's life matters to him. He might have a half sister out there and that's got to be important. His mother's grief (and some guilt she's carrying around with it) is in some way related to forty seven years of competition with another woman. He shares his mom's grief, so it does help for him to understand it. And also tied up in all of this is his own grieving, and his ability to move on, to forgive where he must and forget where he should and be clear on the values he wants to shape his own life.


The novel is not at all centred around Peter Sheridan, as I have made it seem. It's just that it is Peter's story that caught my interest most. Strangely enough, the novel is not centred around his dad, nor his mom. The central focus of the novel as you can tell by the title, is the other woman, Doris. I know it's Doris' story because Sheridan allows her to tell large portions of the story herself. Something he does not allow Ma or Da; we only get their side of story through Peter.

Doris has the misfortune of falling in love with a man she cannot have- for two reasons, one, he's somebody else's and two, he is Irish (at a time when English and Irish did not blend). She further has the misfortune (or fortune?) of being so smitten, so obsessed, so possessed, that she cannot love another man. And so she remains faithful (in a manner of speaking) for a lifetime. I wouldn't say Forty Seven Roses is a novel I would read again, but it sure makes me want to read 44: A Dublin Memoir and Every Inch of Her by the same Dublin born author.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

I made it to one hundred!

As of sometime last night I've had three figures on my stats counter! So now, being pleased as a puss with milk on her whiskers, I'm displaying my stats on the site. Purr.

That being said, I know half of those people clicked in and then out immediately. A quarter of them scrolled down and then clicked out. Maybe ten percent read a post. Five percent are repeat visitors. At least one percent actually read my blog through! (Thanks Geoffery!)

For me quality is better than quantity- though you wouldn't guess by the way I'm preening. So I'm about to tweak my strategy for getting traffic so that I get readers not clickers. I'm not going to adjust my content; I'm bogging about books and writing. But I am going to try to make my posts more interactive starting now.

What about you, how do you balance getting quality and quantity in your readership?

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Oh, the places I'll go!


Today somehow I got the inspiration to do something about my writing. I started a novel last November and got undulated by the mundane. My job. House keeping. Fretting about the spiralling cost of living here in Jamaica. Sleeping. Tinkering with blogging. Et cetera.

Tuesday, after much planning to and intending to and hoping to, I had finally got around to pulling up my novel and a critique Donna Hemans had made of it. But that's all I did. I pulled it up on the screen. Browsed a bit and closed it again, making a mental note to print out a copy and start working on it again.

After that I thought about my state of mind, how not-fit-to-write it is. And I said to myself I do not want this to colour my novel grey, so maybe I'll wait around a bit. (This reiminds me of something I read in Dr. Seus' "Oh the Places We'll Go!" You should read that if you haven't already. How does he manage to embed all that profound philosophy into children's books?

Anyway, today, somehow I got the inspiration to do something about my writing. Was it the sweeping that did it? The washing maybe? I'm not quite sure but here I am doing something about it. I've printed out the stuff I need. I put some links to resources in my sidebar. I read "At the Barber" a short story by Anton Chekov. Oh the places I'll go!

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Write On Jackie!

I want to write. I mean, I want to do more than string words along in a sentence.

I will never paint. I will never play a musical instrument. I do not cook well. There is only one dance that I can do really well, and that probably doesn't count here. Ceramics, pottery, knitting, photography and singing are all out. Since there is no hope that I will have any other artistic acomplishment before I kick the bucket, I think I should write.

I must write.

This is why I started this blog. Actually I've had a few false starts. Each blog coughed and spluttered and ground to a halt after two months or so. Now that I have fairly reliable internet access, we'll see if it is an issue of commitment.

I want to write well. I want to write easily. Stylishly. I want my writing to be crisp, fresh, funny. I want to write with clarity. With candour. With finesse. With force.

To do this requires depth which comes from, among other things, a wide range of experiences. To do this requires practice.

I want to be true to myself. This is one space in which I can do that so I will. I will use my own voice. I will hone my craft and let writing be that creative expression of who I am.