The Wonderful World of Creativity

This week, I received an e-mail from one of my readers who had just completed the third book of the fictional trilogy that I wrote. She typed: “I finished "Where the Muses Gather"....thank you.  It was a great trilogy!  Felt in many instances that I was there with Clarisse, David, Guy and all the others.” 

Her last sentence summarizes the goal I unconsciously achieved in the writing of the story that I consciously wrote. However, this is exactly what we, as readers, want in the books that we read and we, as writers, hope to achieve in our creative offerings. 

Allow me to clarify: The goal is conscious; how we achieve that goal in our own writing may well stem from the unconscious as we, the writer, identify with our own characters no less than actors playing a role on stage. However, unlike actors in charted and scripted waters, the writer opens new ground, new pathways creating what may one day be played out on stage. The writer creates the essence and being of the characters, their scenarios, and their settings.

People ask me often if I am Clarisse in my books. Clarisse is a writer and intuitive so therein may be the only real identity this character has with me. However, on a subliminal level, Clarisse took on aspects of my personality without any conscious effort on my part to cloak her in my garments. Her characteristics and reactions to problems in her life somewhat reflect me. With the passing of time, I can now reflect on many characters in my books and see bits of myself in their style, their expressions, their emotions, their reactions to life. 

Is this the meaning Dr. Carl Jung taught us when he shared that the journey to the collective unconscious required us to go through our Shadow into creativity?  Yes, I can identify with one of the characters who is addicted; I too have an addictive personality and both of us paid a price for our addictions, his being gambling, mine being smoking.  Mary, the joy of all who knew her, life of the party goes through failing health into a transport chair and ultimately death. Yes, I can identify with Mary. One character found dead on the kitchen floor…oh yes, I can identify with that experience also!

My point is that as writers we may utilize personal experiences and even our own traits while in the process of developing a character who may take on a life of its own. Several of my characters qualify. It is an amazing process both to see bits of oneself in the creation, and to meet new aspects unplanned that simply reveal dimensions undreamed.

So reading the few words of my reader being drawn into the midst of the characters in the trilogy obviously has given me pause for thought and reflection as to what brought this about.  While I strive to live by my own motto of being true to myself, this carries over to every character in my writings!  Believable characters with virtues and vices provide us identifiers as do their mini-dramas of everyday lives.

Isabelle, the prequel to the trilogy is being written after-the-fact!  She is unfolding a very strange wrinkle to the total, the setting being Marblehead, Salem, Boston and Cambridge, Massachusetts and her move to Walden, New Hampshire. (Walden cannot be found on any map)!

I wonder how many novels we’ve read that like my reader’s experience, drew us into them, allowing us to live their lives page after page until we closed the covers for the last time.

Writers of fiction such as Diana Gabaldan, Susan Howatch, Anne Siddens, Richard Paul Evans come to mind as those who kept me up many nights well past bedtime, unable to close the covers of their books that held my attention and gripped my emotions!   

In my opinion, these are the true storytellers!  These are role models to emulate!  Meanwhile, back to my keyboard!  Wait, do you have authors or fiction titles you wish to recommend? 

The Makings of a Trilogy

On December 20, 2008, I typed the first sentence of the first chapter of my first novel, The Siamese Silver Pendant, the first of a trilogy.  Admittedly, the first chapter was a struggle. I would eventually transform Chapter 28 into Chapter 1, a flashback of the elder protagonist, Clarisse Lapointe, telling the story from a different perspective.

Such joy I experienced in writing this first novel. Indeed, I was experiencing a daily dose of enjoyment as the story unfolded. From start to finish, 12/20/09 to 1/18/09, the first draft was completed, sixty-one chapters.
On 1/19/09, I decided to write an epilogue to assure the reader of the ongoing life of our protagonist.

I was well into my second novel, The Odyssey of Love, when the Pendant appeared on Amazon on May 9, 2009.

Amazon posted the following book review for The Siamese Silver Pendant::

"The saga of youth and the sojourn of elders, The Siamese Silver Pendant is the story of young, passionate, and forbidden love that crosses the threshold of time into eternity. It is a heart-wrenching story of secrets and revelations that are life altering as young people grapple with adulthood and its responsibility. The story unfolds in Walden, New Hampshire on a summer's eve when four young people's paths cross in a unique and astounding way. Is it Kismet? Is it the story of soul mates who reconnect? If so, is it good karma or bad karma to process in this lifetime? Is this in Divine Plan, a meeting of people who would assist one another in maturing, in spiritual growth, in maturation? Is this a chance meeting, a coincidental encounter that filled the lives of four young people for an entire summer? Whatever the conclusion this is a bittersweet story of joy and sorrow, of betrayal and revelation - a story of love for all ages."


The second in the trilogy, The Odyssey of Love, proved to be an unfolding drama of the lives of the characters met in the first novel and no less enjoyment in the recording of events.  Yes, at times I felt like a journalist reporting a scene unfolding before my eyes! Deep into the creative well, I was in awe of the ideas that surfaced in the daily freshly drawn bucket.  I finished the first draft of Odyssey on 2/4/09 that I began mid-January.The final product was submitted to the publisher mid-summer but would not be published until  11/2/09.

The Odyssey of Love book review on Amazon reads:

"The Odyssey of Love reveals the ongoing life of those that you met in The Siamese Silver Pendant together with the introduction of new characters. As Lakeland paintings begin to draw millions of dollars at auctions, the dream of Clarisse and David Maguire expands to enfold a living art institute in New Hampshire; a place where classes across the art spectrum would be made available to everyone. Guy Lakeland's sons, young Guy and Trevor, agree. The "Ole Bradford Manor", as it was known in Walden, New Hampshire, comes to the fore in its dilapidated state of ruination, crying out for restoration and with it, a one- time resident who makes her eerie presence known. Love, joy, sorrow, mystery and intrigue -- Walden, New Hampshire will never be the same given the thumb prints of the Maguires', the Lapointes', the Lakelands', and the Buckhannons'. The Odyssey of Love is a journey that will grip your heart."

The third book in the trilogy, Where the Muses Gather soon  followed and completed on 9/27/10, off to the copy editor, Robert Way who was my gift amidst some rough seas! On 2/21/11, I managed to obtain release from book contracts with the original publisher and moved my work on to Lulu Publishing with my professionally edited mss of the Muses.  Available for purchase at Lulu Publishing and directly from me, Amazon is out-of-stock but will be selling in the future.

Amazon's book review for Where the Muses Gather:

"Where the Muses Gather, the third in the trilogy,preceded by The Siamese Silver Pendant and The Odyssey of Love, is the culmination of dreams of a family to provide a unique art institute in a small New Hampshire town. The book's prologue will introduce you to the families involved, but nothing can prepare you for the events and surprises that beset this community and the institute. Enter the criminal element and witness how good proves victorious in battle. Lakeland paintings bring in millions of dollars, a natural magnet for art thieves. Love, mystery, intrigue, faith, the paranormal, genealogy, travel throughout New England all play a part in this page turner. You may laugh, you may cry but the Muses will entertain you to the last page.

My fourth novel, Isabelle, a prequel to the trilogy, is well underway. This elegant lady crossed centuries in her existence from Marblehead, Salem, Boston, Cambridge and on into Walden, New Hampshire. I expect to introduce Isabelle when the irises bloom, her favorite flower. She planted many beds on New Hampshire soil.

I hope you enjoy the reading as much or more than  I've enjoyed the writing of this trilogy! Welcome to my world.

ANNOUNCEMENT

It has indeed been several months since I blogged on this site for many reasons. However, I've returned to announce the good news to all!

I have completed the three books in the trilogy as committed; all are printed and ready for sale directly from me or from Lulu Publishing.  Yes, I was fortunate to be able to cancel the contract with the original publisher on the third novel before we had gone to press.  I chose to take the book to Lulu. The same became true for the contracts on the  first two books, effecting cancellation within three months of the mutually agreed decision. 

Lulu tells me the books will be on Amazon within 6-8 weeks. I don't know the reason for the delay but meanwhile, the books are available, as I noted, from Lulu or from me directly.

The trilogy includes  The Siamese Silver Pendant, The Odyssey of Love, and Where the Muses Gather.  A fourth book, a prequel to the trilogy,  Isabelle, is in process. After you read the third in the trilogy, you'll appreciate why Isabelle had to be written.

You may go to my web site: http://www.claudettelkiely.com/ to learn more about the books and how to order.

In the meantime, I'll post additional information here about the books at another time.

"OMG" - NEW RELEASE

NEW RELEASE:  Christian Country Western singer, Gayla Earlene has a new album, "OMG" that you may hear at her site. I am humbled to share with you that I am the co-writer with Gayla on #7, "Let Me Love You Through Eternity". www.gaylaearlene.com

I wrote the original poem nearly fifty years ago, knowing it was music but I couldn't write music! So there it laid in my poetry collection. I had made a couple feeble attempts to show it to local musicians to no avail.

Thanks to an avid CW fan and relative, the dust collecting days on that poem have ended. My cousin handed this to Gayla at a CW week-long concert in 2008 in Manhattan, Kansas. My business card was stapled to the paper. Within months Gayla asked my permission to use this. She did some rewrite to better suit her and her music style. The rest is history.

She will release this song as a single after the first of the year. She wrote to me of the heightened expectations for the song. In her e-mail this weekend, she shared: "The compilation disc company that I've been going out on thought this would be one of my biggest songs, we'll cross our fingers and see.  I told him, well for Claudette's [sake], I hope it goes to number one!!!  Anyway we hope it will touch the heart of somebody and make a difference in the world."

The Human Spirit.......

This week I received a lovely note from my recently found cousin in California. She praised me for my undertakings. Always nice to be appreciated but before I had time to puff up and spread my feathers, I looked upon the art work of her note folder.

The lovely cover of her folded note card depicts a peacock peering into a lush garden of many colors while the background displays a covered part of the walkway, the roof supported by doric columns. Given my appreciation of Greek pillars as well as peacocks, much less a beautiful garden, I stared into the art a few minutes,shades of lavender, purple, rose, reds, white, yellow, greens, etc.

I mused at the irony that while the peacock could strut his stuff, here is this gorgeous garden giving challenge to color display but the peacock's tail is closed! He was not competing, he was appreciating and sensing wonderment, without a doubt!

I turned to the back of this folder and much to my amazement, I discovered that the artist,Elodie Cazes, is a mouth painter! What a realization, yes a shot of reality I felt staring at her name: Elodie Cazes, Mouth Painter. Immediately I saw a survivor, one who triumphed over great odds to create works of beauty!

At the bottom of the card was the name of the group to which she belongs: The Mouth and Foot Painting Artists, their address in Georgia. I immediately googled and found myself lost in a world of artists with with brush in mouth and between toes, creating works of art!

I'll copy and paste their history for you to make your own discovery or perhaps purchase greeting cards, calendars, etc.

The Mouth and Foot Painting Artists' history

The roots of the MFPA go back to 1956, when Erich Stegmann, a polio-stricken mouth painter, gathered a small band of disabled artists from eight European countries. Their ultimate goal was to make their living through their artistic efforts, and to obtain a sense of work security that until then had eluded them.

Coupling his creative abilities with business acumen, Stegmann established the MFPA as a co-operative organization that reproduces its artists work mainly in the form of cards, calendars and books.

From the small group he gathered for the inaugural meeting of the Association of Mouth and Foot Painting Artists, the group has now grown to represent approximately 700 members, from over 70 countries around the world.

One of the main themes of Stegmann’s credo was that the MFPA must never be regarded as a charity simply because its members are disabled. To Stegmann, the word "charity" was as abhorrent as the word "pity." The Association maintains that it is not a charity and does not qualify for charitable assistance.

To this day, the MFPA’s motto in the United States remains: “Self Help – Not Charity.”

Truly, this is an uplifting site to explore in the sense of appreciating the survival of the human spirit against some pretty tremendous odds.

THE MAKINGS OF AN IMPOSTER

Events this week on Senior Friend Finder as well as the world beyond struck a chord with me. The death of actor, Tony Curtis, prompted recall of one film in which he starred, playing the role of Ferdinand Waldo Demara. The film “The Great Imposter” (1960) reveals an extraordinary life of an actor who played his roles well beyond Hollywood in the real world of everyday life and people.

In coming to Blogspot with my prepared blog, I have noted my last post was "Gift From the Sea" and Demara was mentioned in it re: my visit to North Haven, Island, Maine. This blog will expand upon his masquerade!


Born in Lawrence, Massachusetts, December 21, 1921, Demara left home young and began his career of masquerading as a civil engineer, Benedictine and Trappist monk, teacher, assistant prison warden, psychologist, editor, cancer researcher, and naval surgeon, among others.

His talents included phenomenal memory and intellect demonstrated while serving as a surgeon on the HMCS Cayuga. According to the CFB Esquimalt Naval & Military Museum document, their article opens: “He was an audacious fake and master deceiver and he remains one of the most intriguing figures in Canada’s naval history. Not bad for a man who was neither a sailor nor a Canadian citizen.”

Demara joined the Royal Canadian Navy in March 1951. He used the name of Joseph Cyr and offered his services as a professional physician when he entered the recruiting office in Saint John, New Brunswick. Demara aka Dr. Cyr was commissioned as Surgeon-Lieutenant and assigned to a naval hospital in Halifax before his service on the HMCS Cayuga headed for Korea.

As Dr. Cyr, Demara performed numerous minor surgeries, including dental work on the infected tooth of Cayuga’s commander, Captain James Plomer. Demara studied texts and learned techniques that he applied as well as tapping into the Sick Berth Attendant, together with “generous supplies of anesthetic antibiotics”.

The referenced article states, “Following a commando-style raid off the west coast of Korea, three seriously wounded casualties – all South Korean guerillas – were brought aboard Cayuga. Cyr aka Demara is said to have removed a bullet from a man’s chest and amputated a foot. His patients not only survived, but Cyr’s fellow offices were so impressed with his coolness that they planned to put his name forward for a medal. Talk of such an award, and the attention surrounding his Korean exploits, turned out to be Demara’s undoing.”

The real Dr. Cyr’s mother read the news of the award. Her son, Dr. Cyr, practicing in Grand Falls, New Brunswick realized that Demara, while posing as Brother John, a novice monk, who befriended the doctor had actually stolen his medical credentials.

“The RCN, thoroughly embarrassed by the entire affair, declined to prosecute Demara”, notes author Edward C. Meyers in his book about the RCN in Korea, Thunder in the Morning Calm: The whole episode, Ottawa decided, was best forgotten as quickly as possible. On his return to Canada, Demara was very quietly, and honourably, released from the service, issued re-hab and back pay plus active service credits in the amount of just under one thousand dollars. He was then driven to the border and turned over to the United States Immigration Officer at Blaine, Washington. The Americans had nothing against him in the way of outstanding warrants so, after a few routine questions, they let him go his way.’”

Demara’s masquerades were not over. He went on to become a law student, cancer researcher, deputy sheriff and teacher. North Haven Island, Maine welcomed him as Latin Master in their high school. The kids and parents loved him, and when I visited the Island, I heard nothing but accolades about Demara and what he brought to these young people. The people actually went to court en masse to represent him. The bottom line was that authorities escorted him from Maine and told him never to return. He had been instrumental in the junior college, Notre Dame Normal School in Maine where he also taught, being accredited as a four-year institution. He also taught in Point Barrows, Alaska.

His varied career includes Deputy Warden at Huntsville State Penitentiary, maximum-security lock-up in the Texas prison system. Added to that, he became auditor of Lamar Hotel in Houston.

Ferdinand Waldo Demara, Jr. explained his motives as, “Rascality, pure rascality.”

One thought to have a genius intellect with a photographic memory, his final role was that of Baptist minister, a visiting counselor at Good Samaritan Hospital in Anaheim, California. He also lived at the hospital. In spite of his uncovered past, two doctors, Chief of Staff, Dr. Philip S. Cifarelli and Dr. Jerry Nielson, his friends, personally vouched for him and he was allowed to live at the hospital until his death.

Demara, a diabetic, had both legs amputated. He died June 7/ 8, 1982. Cause of death is listed as cardiovascular disease. He was sixty years old.

Ref: Wikipedia
Life Magazine July 6, 1959 “Uproarious Trip with the Master Imposter”
Time Magazine Dec. 3, 1951 “Medicine: All at Sea"
CFB Esquimalt Naval & Military Museum "Ferdinand Waldo Demara: The Great Imposter
Academic Dictionaries & Encyclopedias
Socyberty, "Ferdinand Waldo Demara, Jr. The Remarkable Imposter
Robert Chrichton wrote a book about Demara: The Great Imposter

Note: His date of birth is sometimes given as 12/12/21 and 12/21/21 and his date of death as 6/7/82 and 6/8/82. I've been unable to verify to-date.

A GIFT FROM THE SEA

Reflections from 1957

We left our New Hampshire offices mid-day Thursday and eagerly headed for Maine. I was quickened by the prospects of what lay ahead of us, a totally new adventure for me. My co-worker’s parents owned a summer home on North Haven Island, twin to Vinalhaven Island, approximately fifteen miles out to sea in Penobscot Bay, Maine. Her parents had suggested she invite me to join them for a weekend, an invitation which I excitedly accepted.

It was imperative that we arrive in Rockland, Maine in time to catch the last ferry going over to Vinalhaven and North Haven Islands. There was no time to stop for dinner so we had sandwiches packed ahead and coffee from our thermos.

“Do you get seasick?” my friend asked as she drove. “Seasick?” I replied, “have no idea, I’ve never been to sea.”

I would soon learn whether or not the sea would make me sick as we drove our car on to the ferry more than six hours later. A few miles out, this landlubber took to the seas like a pro, my tongue licking the salt spray from my lips, the sea’s winds blowing through my hair, and I stood in awe of the beauty of it all. My friend smiled as she glanced over at me standing near the rail; a smile of seeming relief and amusement. I smiled back, happy to have come this far without incident that bore the undesirable label “seasick”.

The summer home at North Haven was large, accommodating her large family. My scant memory of its interior is one of a very neat and tastefully decorated but rustic home, complete to visible rafters. The atmosphere was made for the red and white checkered tablecloths that covered a very long picnic table in the kitchen. The unpretentious living room was equally comfortable to curl up on the sofa, in a chair, read one of the many magazines lying about. Upstairs, double beds, bunk beds, cots, stacks of bedding piled high, the guest was invited to pick her spot and make her bed.

In the morning, we awoke to sunlight streaming in through our windows. Today, we’d discover North Haven and Vinalhaven Islands. The scent of breakfast being prepared was followed by a call from mother to join her. Over freshly ground and brewed coffee, Mom shared with her daughter all the latest island news and gossip. She also had a way of including me in the conversation that had no relevance for me but such was her gracious manner.

It was 1957 and among other tidbits was the news that kept the island buzzing for a long time. Ferdinand Waldo Demara, alias Martin Godgart, who was later known as “The Great Imposter” had been arrested at North Haven for “cheating”. He had claimed he came from Brooklyn and no one had checked his teaching credentials. He had endeared himself to students and parents alike as a teacher in the Island’s school. He involved the children in Sea Scouts, and other activities. He was so loved, that a contingent had gone from the Island into the court at Augusta where he stood trial. They went to plead for his release and return to the Island to teach their children. The court released him but only to leave the State of Maine and never return.

We toured the Island, driving around although cycling is the usual mode of transportation which we also undertook later. Vinalhaven is eight miles long with miles of paved roads. North Haven has paved roads but at the time, were mostly inland, nothing along the beach.

We took the 16’ boat out to tour around the island. This was also a new experience for me; although the waves at times seemed threatening, my friend seemed unabashed, encouraging me to relax. With a laugh she encouraged me to use the available large tomato can to scoop water that had entered the boat.

However, our boating would soon turn into a major struggle against a squall that whipped itself up fast. We were too far out to return to shore quickly or easily. The skies had turned very dark and the winds were whipping us about, causing heightening waves as it stirred and churned the waters. The sea had turned angry and dark before my eyes.

Water was now coming into the boat in a quantity greater than I was capable of scooping although working as fast as I could to lower the level while realizing I was losing. It was clearly evident the captain of this sixteen footer, however skilled, was now clearly showing stress and her “scooper” was nearing panic stage. At last, she steered us to calmer waters and we headed into shore, relieved to dock. She then assured me that the Coast Guard were just over there, pointing in a direction that seemed not too distant. Had we been thrown overboard or capsized, they would have come to our rescue! As they say ‘down east’, “Ayuh!”

Well, that night at the much anticipated dance, we met the Government’s “would-be saviors of the damsels dumped into the deep”. A group of them had a good laugh at our expense. They had the glass on us, watching our every move and claimed to be ready to rescue if need be but we were their entertainment that afternoon. This landlubber had been duly baptized in the Maine waters and was now ready to dance the night away as we did.

The next day was clamming day. When the tide went out, we donned the hip high rubber boots, grabbed the clam digger tools, the mesh bags in which to put the delicacies after we dug them, drag the bag and let them wash out. I found myself sloshing about in the muddy bottom of Penobscot Bay, sometimes face down having slipped and fallen into the shallow water pools that covered the mud. We were laughing uproariously, having a grand time, and digging where ever a clam would spout and bubble under the mud. We filled our sacks and by that time, happy to trudge back to the dock and remove the boots. We were quite the sight; tosseled, wet and stringy hair, mud smudged faces, our arms streaked with mud traces. Vanity had taken a holiday!

My first time digging them but clearly, I had no intention of eating those clams! I was raised to eat whatever I was served but how could anyone expect me to eat these creatures? Much to my horror, this was all there was for dinner! French bread and butter for those who wanted any and I was about convinced that would be my dinner!

Tubs of melted butter and tubs of clam liquor,water from the steaming used for bathing the clams, were strategically placed about the table. It was evident some type of ritual was unfolding. We were served large dinner plates heaped with clams! No one surmised my discomfort fortunately.

I stared at my plate not having a clue how to go about this culinary adventure. I stared a few moments too long. It became noticeable as I studied the actions of those around me, hearing, “Yummmmmmmm” first from one then the other. My friend began to laugh and asked, ‘Haven’t you ever eaten these before?”

It was unheard of in Maine not to have eaten steamers! Well, I opened one, bathed it, buttered it and placed it in my mouth. It was too big to simply swallow, I was forced to chew. Soon I could be heard joining the "ymmmmmm chorus", and adding, "Wow." I went through more than one plate of steamers at that meal and have eaten many bushel of steamers since.

After cleaning the kitchen, prepared to go out for the evening to a beach party for which plans had been made at the dance the prior night. It was agreed all would meet at the Morrow’s place for the party.

Well, the Morrow’s place was exactly that, The Morrow’s Place! -- the summer home of Dwight Morrow, U.S. Ambassador to Mexico, father-in-law of Charles Lindberg and father to Anne Morrow Lindberg. Anne had written ‘GIFT FROM THE SEA, completing it that year as I recall, while sitting on the beach where we were about to party.

The guys gathered twigs and wood, made a rock enclosure pit for the bon fire. They managed to have it glowing brightly when within minutes the estate’s caretaker arrived! Yes, our party time at the Morrow’s place was shorter lived than had been anticipated. However, nothing, to this day, erased the awe of this young woman, to have shared the beach of this fine writer, Anne Morrow Lindberg, much less the proud boast to have been tossed off the Morrow Estate! My one and only time of being tossed out of any place; therefore, nice to go in style!

We regrouped and located another party spot to carry out our plans. The nightcap on one of the most unique adventures of my youth would end too soon and it did.

Following a long night of sound sleep, we awakened late in the morning. We made a light breakfast. Today was to be another clam digging day; not just for the house but for me to take home a peck to my dad who loved them. I felt like a pro out there in my attire, managing the digger tool much more skillfully as well as realizing I was staying on my feet longer in my hip boots.

We managed to complete our task, return to the house, shower, pack and ready for the seven hour trip home. Admittedly, I didn’t want to leave and would have been happy to eat clams daily! We were career women and commitment called us both back to work on Monday.

As I stood silently on the deck of the ferry, my gaze remained fixed on the island that I was leaving behind, perhaps forever. It faded from view but not from memory.  It is filed among memories of those experiences
that enrich body, mind, and Spirit.