Sunday, November 9, 2014

Place Within Our Stories by Bev Prescott and Penelope Grey



The first time Bev Prescott caught my attention as a writer was through her amazing blog http://bevprescott.com/blog.html.  Taken with her forthright, thoughtful and honest worldview, I immediately read and loved her first novel and wait patiently for each new novel to emerge.  In the meantime, I eagerly anticipate her blog posts and I’ll confess I stalk her a little on Facebook too.  Bev loves Maine and New England, a place I’ve only dreamed of visiting.  I feel like an invited guest to what I like to call “her corner of the world”.  Bev’s novels, My Soldier Too, Step Into the Wind and Blowback, are well-crafted, riveting tales that plant the reader squarely in Bev’s beloved New England. You smell, hear, feel and touch that world with every page.  Bev recently asked me to join her in a conversation about place and how it factors into our work.  How exciting for me to be able to have this conversation with a woman whose work I so admire!  Learn more about Bev Prescott by reading her fabulous blog or visiting her website. And of course, if you haven’t read her books, do so!
Our chat is below.  Our respective initials mark our questions and responses to each other. 
BP:  One of the things that I love about your writing is the sense of place that you bring to your stories.  For example, in your novels “Infinity’s Song” and “Caught and Kept,” Whidbey Island in Puget Sound felt like a distinct character with its own part to play.  Did you intend for it to take on such a prominent role?  Or, did your love of the island simply color the story with its presence? 
PG: That was intentional.  I do, indeed, love Whidbey the Puget Sound.  They are the only places outside of Southern England that my heart feels at peace and I wanted the reader to feel that. http://bevprescott.com/home.html
For instance, in your “My Soldier Too” Boston was so vivid.  I could see the streets and the neighborhoods which had defined Isabella’s world as much as the people.  I felt as if in “Step Into the Wind” Alex was shaped not just by circumstance and emotional history, but by the place she grew up.    Maine, the town and the camp drove part of your story line, but it also wrapped around the reader and whispered in their ear.  So same question for you.  Intentional or just effusive love?
We are both women who found wild corners of the world but we came from vastly different places. What was it about Maine that seduced you away from your Midwestern roots?  How is the culture and life in Maine different or the same?  Can you ever see going back? 
BP:  It was definitely intentional.  The setting for those stories was as deliberate and important as the drafting of the characters.  Like your love of Whidbey, mine for New England runs deep.  I know that this “wild corner of the world” is where I’m meant to be.  I think place also drives the culture of the people who live there.  By having place take a prominent role in our stories, I think we help shape our characters more fully as well.
I ended up in New England by chance.  When I joined the military after high school, I was stationed at a base in upstate New York.  My pals and I used to spend a lot of time hiking in the Adirondacks and taking the ferry over to Burlington, VT.  I absolutely fell head over heels in love with the Northeast, New England in particular.  It’s almost as if all the cells in my body aligned with the rhythm of the place.  I also met my spouse in Burlington, VT.  Our first date was to climb Mt. Washington in New Hampshire.  She’s a New Englander through and through.  As for Maine, it’s my favorite of all the New England states.  I love the independence of Mainers, the rocky shoreline, the food, the North Woods, the rugged culture etc.  I could go on and on. 
The culture in Maine is very different from where I grew up in the Midwest.  It would be tough to explain fully in a short blog.  I don’t ever see myself going back to the Midwest.  In fact, I’ve said before that the only reason that I would no longer live in New England is if New England ceased to exist.  This is my home, and I hope that circumstance will always let that be the case.
I loved your questions and want to know your answers with respect to Whidbey and the Pacific Northwest.  Do you envision writing any stories in a different setting?  If so, how would you go about capturing the essence of that place like you’ve done so beautifully with the Pacific Northwest?  Also, please tell us more about your connection to Southern England.
PG: Your connection to New England and Maine are very similar to mine with the Pacific Northwest and Whidbey.  I grew up in Southern California with freeways, subdivisions, pavement and shopping malls. The most “natural” memories I have are of the beach.  When I was a student in the U.K. I had friends in Southern England I visited often.  Between the rugged coastline of the north where I was in school and the gentle moors of the south, Britain captured my heart immediately.  I had never seen so much green.  I learned to smell and sense the weather shifts (something I do still) and see life in all things around me.  It’s as if my feet had finally touched earth.  In Caught and Kept Dani tells Kai about arriving to the island and knowing instantly Whidbey was where she was meant to be.  That story is true and it’s mine.  Twelve years after leaving England I stepped off a ferry boat and felt that connection again.  It was immediate, unexpected and profound.  Being on an island is unique and special.  We joke that we have to be especially nice because we all, literally, depend on one another.  My new adventure to Portland is teaching me that the Pacific Northwest lifestyle is alive and well off the island too.  It is one of nicest cities (in every way) I’ve ever experienced.
I want to write about London and England but need to let my recent trips settle inside of me.  Bill Bryson’s, Notes From A Small Island chronicled his experience in England through a distinctly American lens.  I would like to bring a bit of that to a few of my stories but with more of the feminine voice.  The Midwest is also in my background.  My dad was a farm boy from Southern Illinois and I have a few fleeting memories of a couple of summers on my Aunt’s farm.  I visited again recently and it touched me deeply.  There is a rural cultural from which we are becoming disconnected in this country and that is sad.  Place is more than setting to me.  Like you, it shapes, informs and drives our characters, as it has the both of us.
Having said all of this, my current work in progress intentionally has very little sense of a specific place. I wanted and needed this story to be all about the connections and journeys of this group of women.  It has been extremely challenging to write from this perspective and root characters in only relationships and emotion without engaging too much in the external world in which they live.  Can you ever imagine writing a story that is “internal” and not dependent on place?  Do you think characters can become “place” in lieu of environment? If so, how do you think you would approach or tell that kind of tale?
BP: That’s a tough question, and my hat is off to you for trying.  I’m not sure I could write a story that is internal and not dependent on place.   I think of place like the roots of tree.  The roots ground the story and give it context.  That said, my next novel will take place in a dystopian future that has been dramatically altered because of climate change.  So, that place will be something I’ll have to create from scratch based on the predictions by scientists of how our planet will change.  But, the story will still be grounded in “place” in that it will be about how things look now versus in a very different future.  I’m excited for the challenge.  I’ve been reading lots about climate change.  Things like how it occurs naturally, how humans are changing the equation and scientific predictions for the future.  Taking a step back and thinking about my writing, I suspect “place” will always be a character. 
Your next story sounds really interesting.  Would you mind giving us a few more details?  I’m a big fan of your writing and look forward to your next book.  I’m one of those readers who will read everything that you write.
PG: I am so looking forward to reading your next book and seeing how you create place out of a dystopian future.  How fun to create completely from imagination (and good research too)!  My next book is an ode to the unique world of women.  From menses to childbirth, weight gain and weight loss, our shapes and sizes, disease and trauma, our bodies are the vessels that carry us through this life.  No woman I know is untouched by her relationship with her body.  With that as my “place”, along with a group of women I hope everyone will enjoy, I am exploring new love, rekindling love, and the unique love that female friendships bring to our lives.        

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Life Is Different Now



Wow!  Nearly a month since I last blogged!  Phew…well, my excuse is that it is autumn.  Autumn is the last nice-weather season before the long, dark, wet days of winter set in here in the great Pacific Northwest.  Don’t get me wrong, I adore the tradition of winter around here.  We layer up.  Fleece replaces linen.  Flannel replaces cotton.  Gortex replaces canvas.  Pedicures become all about moisturizing and less about fun-colored toes. (What can I say?  I’m a femme kind of lesbian…) But autumn is the last great season to  be outside.  And on days like today when it’s cool with scattered showers, my attention…no my very core of being…feels the need to can, to preserve, to freeze, to prepare for the coming months. 
When I go to the farmer’s market in the fall, my eyes scan and search for the root vegetables and squashes that will feed me through the winter.  I stuff down the panic that tomotoes will only come from my frozen sauce or the jars I can.  It will be months before I hold the fresh ripe fruit in my hands again.  Lettuce will be replaced by kale.  This has been my way of life for more than ten years— locally grown food and eating seasonally.  It’s innate in  me - this seasonal clock ticking away.  In my world this time of year is a quarter to the witching hour of winter.
With this ticking growing louder like something out of Edgar Allen Poe, on my last visit to the farmer’s market I stuffed my bag full of winter squash — acorn, butternut and spaghetti, to be exact.  It took control not to take every kind.  They’re so beautiful and edibly alluring. 
This morning I awoke intent on roasting these lovely vessels of vitamins. It will take me the better part of the day to finish this project. You see, I no longer have a country kitchen with a 36-inch double oven, 20 linear feet of counter tops, an extra freezer and a pantry.  I now live in an urban studio apartment that is the size of the average hotel room.  I possess 40 inches of working space. Nevertheless,  I cut and cleaned my squash this morning.  I am taking turns roasting them off, having stuffed them into the smallest oven known to humankind.  What I don’t eat tonight will be pureed and frozen.  My freezer is the size of a small cooler so between the squash, frozen tomato sauce and blueberries, I’m asking myself how important are the “just in case of emergency” ice packs in the door.  I won’t need ice cubes until summer.
I live in a city that is better than most about locally-sourced and seasonal foods.  I have connected with several farmers and have identified sources so that I can sustain my values around eating food from places and people I know.  Later today, when I serve spaghetti squash and homemade tomato sauce for the first time to my girlfriend (who watches this domestic explosion with varying levels of humor), I will be coming to terms with the fact that my life is different now.  And that’s okay.

Saturday, September 27, 2014

More than



One of my dearest friends is at the wedding of her God son today and it has me thinking a lot.  You see, we say God son because that’s what the world understands, but this relationship is more than that.  When I say I’m an aunt people know what that means.  There is a place in their brains for that relationship.  I’m not a mother, I’m an aunt.  My friend isn’t a “real” mother, she’s “just” the God mother.  This morning as I anxiously check my phone for pictures and excitedly text her, it is because she and I are part of another group.  One that is more private, less discussed and one that Hallmark doesn’t make a card for yet.  We are More Than.  We didn’t birth children and wouldn’t ever want to take away the role their mothers claim.  But we are more than our titles suggest to the children in our lives.  We are not just aunts or God mothers.  We are “other” mothers.  In both cases, mine and my friend’s, we walked the floor with sick children, tended to cuts and scrapes, cooked countless meals, did laundry and sat up late with homework assignments.  We have used up sick leave, financially and emotionally supported them and expect phone calls and texts from them regularily, all outside of a parental role.  These kids were raised by a village and we were second in command.  When my nephew married two years ago, my sister, brother in law and I stood together in the church.  When the church rose to watch the bride come in, his mother and I instictively turned to him and were so overcome my brother in law didn’t know which of us to give a tissue to first.  I know so many people think of us as “just” aunties or God mothers, but we are “more than” that.  So, I will be excitedly checking my phone all day because in the words of my friend, her  “baby is getting married today!”