Spring in January

January 30, 2014 — Pat Bertram

It seems strange that a time when the rest of the country is undergoing what must seem like eternal winter, here in my temporary abode in the high desert, spring has come. Yesterday was a lovely day, clear skies, still air, 80 degrees (just for a few minutes — it quickly dropped back to a frigid 78). Today was a bit cooler with cloudy skies and breezes strong enough to make me go chasing after my hat a few times, but still, the high of 65 was well within spring temperatures.

The forsythia are already blossoming

forsythia

And even a few narcissus are preening themselves in readiness for the glory of the coming days.

narcissus

There is a new moon tonight, ushering in a time of rebirth, so that even if you’re bundled up against freezing temperatures, know that spring will soon be peeking around the corner.

Until then, keep warm, enjoy what moments you can, and try not to be too envious of me in my weather bliss since that’s the only bliss in my life right now. (After ten days of cordiality and even friendliness from my dysfunctional brother, he is back in hyper mode, keeping me awake most of the night and making me as crazy as he is.)

I will use the power of this new moon to break free of the ties of bad relationships, liberate my mind, and hope freedom will follow.

Wishing you an early spring.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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The Next Big Step

April 10, 2010 — Pat Bertram

Yesterday when I was out walking, I finally got a sense of where my WIP needed to go. I wasn’t thinking about the story, but apparently it was thinking about me, and after all this time, there it was, the next big step. Grief. (Wonder where that idea came from!)

I always knew my hero was grieving the loss of the civilized world and everything in it, but I was concerned with his following the stages of grief — denial, guilt, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. It dawned on me yesterday that he had never actually felt the sorrow and devastation that accompanies grief. So my vision was of his crying. It goes to show that I cannot write what I do not know. Even though J. had been sick for so long, and I had gone through most of the stages of grief, like my hero, I had never actually gone through the emotion of grief. Could never even have imagined the feeling of amputation that accompanies such a life-changing loss. 

I’m not sure where the discussion is in this.  Perhaps: do you have to have experienced the emotions your characters go through to find the truth of the story? Perhaps: what’s the next big step you need to take in your writing, your life? Mine is a move — perhaps temporary — but a  total upheaval. The big challenge will be to find the energy. One of the problems with grief is the accompanying lack of energy. (Which I need to remember when I write my hero’s grief.)

On a more specific topic, the main impetus for my hero leaving the safety of the compound is his participation in a birth. (This story is a reversal of the hero’s journey — in the traditional journey, the hero dies, at least symbolically, and is reborn. In my story he is reborn first, then the person he used to be dies symbolically.) A nurse, his eventual love interest, actually delivers the child, but my hero must participate in some way. What could he do that would be significant enough to be a catalyst? Keep in mind, this is a totally primitive world. Is cutting the cord (with a flint that he found and has been sharpening) enough? Could there be a problem with the birth that he helps with? He owned a pet shop in the old world, selling used pets, but he probably has been around for the birth of puppies and kittens and perhaps even livestock, so he might have some knowledge. Whatever he does, it has to precipitate his next big step.

Posted in grief, life, writing. Tags: , , , , , . 14 Comments »