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Rose and Vincent

As Inigo says, there is too much, let me sum up.

The summer here in Maine is so beautiful I want to revel in it, make every moment count. (Actually, that statement applies to life in general, but is particularly evident when the weather is splendid). So in my non-dayjob and non-writing time, I've been kayaking, picking strawberries, visiting friends and family, swimming, walking in the woods, and glorying in the summer fruits and veggies.

I've also been reading a lot and accumulating a long list of things I want to tell people about (books, blog posts, podcasts). I'll save most of them for later posts, and focus on just three, because they are connected in that strange and wonderful way that things sometimes are. In life, as in writing (and mathematics!) I love it when unexpected patterns suddenly blaze out into significance. It's like I can suddenly hear a tiny bit of the song the universe is singing.

This most recent unexpected pattern sprang out of a sorrow. My grandmother passed away last month. She had a long and rich and happy life, and it was not unexpected, but it was still a hard thing. When I was packing for the trip to New York for the funeral, I decided to bring two books.

One was non-fiction, a collection of letters by Edna St. Vincent Millay, which I had discovered via the wonderful Brain Pickings blog. I'm still working my way through the collection, but I already knew I wanted to own a copy after the first few pages. Vincent (as she calls herself) is a fascinating character, coming so early into relative fame as a poet, traveling to Vassar for college, maintaining vibrant correspondence with other poets and her beloved mother and sisters. I have a particular interest in Millay as she grew up in Camden Maine (very near one of my own childhood homes, in Rockport Maine). I also discovered that one of my favorite modern poets, Mary Oliver, was deeply influenced by Millay and even helped organize her papers, as well as also attending Vassar for a time!

I had only learned about Brain Pickings because a friend had posted a link to this interview with Maria Popova, who writes Brain Pickings. And the quote that made me go subscribe to Brain Pickings was what Ms Popova says here:

Brain Pickings began as my record of what I was learning, and it remains a record of what I continue to learn – the writing is just the vehicle for recording, for making sense.

That said, one thing I’ve honed over the years – in part by countless hours of reading and in part because I suspect it’s how my brain is wired – is drawing connections between things, often things not immediately or obviously related, spanning different disciplines and time periods. I wouldn’t call that “expertise” so much as obsession – it’s something that gives me enormous joy and stimulation, so I do it a great deal, but I don’t know if that constitutes expertise.


Drawing connections! Finding patterns!

The other book I brought with me was ROSE UNDER FIRE, a companion novel to CODE NAME VERITY by Elizabeth Wein, which I read and loved last year. You don't have to read CNV to follow the story of RUF, though RUF does spoil certain plot points in CNV so if you've an interest in reading that, you should probably read it first. I ordered my UK copy from The Book Depository because I couldn't wait for the US release on September 10th!

And I loved it -- perhaps even more than I loved CNV. I found it a hard book to read, because of the honest depiction of human cruelty and brutality. But it is full of such wonderful characters, such love, such true friendships. RUF is the story of a young woman pilot (American, this time), helping the Allied war effort during World War II. Rose is a poet, and it is poetry that helps sustain her (and the other women she meets) during some horrible, harrowing times. Her own poetry, but also that of one of her favorite poets-- Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Then, at the funeral, my uncle asked me to read a poem as part of the service. A poem by Millay. In fact, one of the poems that is quoted in ROSE UNDER FIRE.

I know some patterns are actually probably just coincidences. But I still love them, especially at a time when I am all too aware of death and endings. I think drawing-- seeing, finding-- connections is one of the best things we can do as living, loving creatures. It's part of the reason I write. Because to me, telling stories is also about finding patterns, understanding connections.

So thank you, Grandma, for helping me find patterns. For helping me love the world a little more.

~~~

One of my favorite poems by Millay:


I shall go back again to the bleak shore
And build a little shanty on the sand
In such a way that the extremest band
Of brittle seaweed will escape my door
But by a yard or two, and nevermore
Shall I return to take you by the hand;
I shall be gone to what I understand
And happier than I ever was before.
The love that stood a moment in your eyes,
The words that lay a moment on your tongue,
Are one with all that in a moment dies,
A little under-said and over-sung;
But I shall find the sullen rocks and skies
Unchanged from what they were when I was young.


~~~

And here's a question for the writers out there: if you're working on a draft of something, and you get maybe 75% done and then realize that you want to go back and substantially change some core element that may impact character motivations and subtle stuff (the WHY) in the last 25%, but won't necessarily change the actual events/plot points (the WHAT) do you power through and try to write the last 25% or do you go back and do the rewrite of the beginning first?

Comments

vdansk
Sep. 7th, 2013 12:05 am (UTC)
Millay and Despair
I did my Senior Honor's Thesis (English) on Edna St. Vincent Millay: Cyclical Imagery and Despair. I still have at least a dozen of her sonnets memorized, and that is one of my favorites.

So I played with the concept of despair, of how we can acknowledge that life goes on, seasons change, AND IT DOES NOT MATTER. Our grief considers this irrelevant. "What is Spring to me?" I played with this, and through this, Fall into Spring that last year of college, and finished it. And a few weeks after graduation my father died. And I understood...oh. Yes, this is what it meant.

So I grieve for your loss and rejoice in your patterns.

deva_fagan
Sep. 9th, 2013 11:44 am (UTC)
Re: Millay and Despair
Thank you H!

Your thesis sounds fascinating. I am reading Savage Beauty-- a Millay biography-- now, to supplement the letters, and I am hoping to read my way through her collected works as well. She had such an interesting and vivid (though sad) life, both internally and externally.