A Father's Belated Gift...

After I wrote the blog entry yesterday, I found the airport piece that I had referred to.  I wrote this story years ago, capturing what I personally felt.  Here's a bit of it...

"People milled around, waiting to board a flight leaving for Los Angeles from my sister's arrival gate.  One group stood right in front of me, an older man saying goodbye to his daughter and her family.  I tried not to eavesdrop, but something in their body language drew me to their conversation. 

 “I’ll miss you Dad.”

“I’ll miss you too, my darling.”  He hugged his daughter tightly, closing his eyes.  He pulled back and touched her shoulder length brown hair. 

 “I really wish you would think about flying out to see us this summer.  It’s not a long trip.  You can stay a month or longer if you like.”

“I’ll think about it.”  Her father smiled a placating smile that only a parent can pull off.  I had seen that look on my own father’s face.

“Think about it, please.  We are hoping to come back for the holidays,” she added, trying to make him feel better.

“That will be wonderful.”  The sadness in his words said it all.  For him, being alone, it was a long time from May to the Christmas holidays.

An announcement to board their plane interrupted the conversation.

“Oh Dad, I hate to leave you.  Please fly out and visit us.” She hugged him, tears filling her eyes.

“I’ll think about it, my dear.  Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he whispered, the grief of her leaving etched in his lined face.

“We have to go.”  She kissed him, touched his cheek, and then, grabbed the hands of the children while her husband embraced the older man.  Seconds later, the family ran down the passage way, waving back to where he stood.  They were gone, the door closed, and he and I were there alone, in what felt like a total vacuum.  The life and vitality that filled the room only moments before had been sucked out.  Even I felt it.

The plane taxied away from the door.   He stood in front of the large plate glass window.  I sat behind him.  He watched for his daughter’s plane to take off; I waited for my sister’s plane to arrive, both lost in our own thoughts.

A few minutes later, the huge LA bound airplane lifted off the runway in front of us.  He knew it was her airplane.  Without thinking, he reached up his hand and touched the aircraft through the glass as the plane fought its way up, higher and higher - a final contact, the final embrace with a child as she flew away. 

In that one moment, the poignant tableau of a father trying to connect with his daughter one last time touched me so that even though he had been in my presence for all of ten minutes, his words and actions stayed with me to this day.  I often wonder if his daughter knew how much her father loved her and missed her as soon as she was out of his sight.  Did she know how much her leaving hurt him, how he couldn’t let her go, yet did?

The sorrow of the loss of my own father surfaced.  I have learned over time to keep the sadness of living without my Dad locked away.  Yet, this day, this father and daughter interchange unlocked it all.  I yearned for one last goodbye moment, like the one I had witnessed.  I hadn’t had that.  One minute he was there – the next minute he was gone. 

I wanted him to see me like this father saw his daughter, a grown woman with children of her own.  I craved to see the love on this stranger’s face for his daughter on my father’s face for me as he touched my face and hair – once more.  I wished for things I couldn’t have."

I don't think that I can add much to this... till,

Judi

Novel still coming along!!

My novel is going through the process... still some time before it's to be published.  I'm in the queue waiting for an editor to be assigned.  Once I have an editor to work with, it should go quickly.  I'm still thrilled to be moving from "writer to author" as an article by Joni Cole states in  'The Writer' magazine .  It is exciting, yet a bit overwhelming.  Since this is my debut novel, I can't wait for it to be published.  And time seems to have slowed down, which normally I would appreciate, but now... not so much. :-)

Speaking of 'The Writer' magazine, there was another interesting article in the July 2017 issue (yes, I'm a bit behind in my reading) titled "This Week on Extreme Hoarders: Dr. Victor Frankenstein" by Susan Perabo.  She talks about how, when she was in college, she was writing and writing until her professor finally said, "I think you are about done with this material."  She didn't understand until he said, "I think you should write another story."  What he meant was that she was telling her story over and over again.  She states that she felt free, it was her "Get out of Jail" free card until it dawned on her, where was this new material going to come from?   She said she had gotten very good at imagining herself in different situations, but someone new?  Haven't we all been there?  You know yourself, your feelings, your life, situations you've been in, places you've visited, people you've met... good and bad, that have made you happy or sad.  But it was always you as the character.  Now he wants you to build someone else.  How??

Susan recommends that you build an extreme hoarder house filled with stored experiences, people you've seen, etc. and begin to build your character, "your character who is not anyone, until you make him someone."   She recommends you sit quietly, close your eyes and go into your "extreme hoarder" house and see what's there... she made me remember an older man I saw at the airport who was seeing his daughter and her family off.  They were going back to CA and he was on the east coast.  He was so brave until they boarded their flight.  He stood watching for their flight to take off and then, there it was... rumbling down the runway, lifting up , up.  His hand traced that plane along the window like he was trying to touch them as they left... it happened years ago, but that scene stayed with me and still hurts my heart.  What was their story?  His story?  That's what she was talking about... a woman sitting on a bench, crying... why?  You build her story, what she feels, what she had been through, look around your life and your hoarder house and find other things you have seen... different from you.  Look for baggage she says, just not your baggage.  It's hard, I know, since we are always told to write about what you know, but that can be the location, etc, but the character has to be anyone but you.  He or she has to be complete, she says, when the character emerges from the house.  And then, she drives the story... let her go.  You follow her as she starts doing her thing.  Follow her and let her tell the story in the first draft.  Susan says, at this point you, the writer, never ask what she calls "workshoppy" questions... like, "what am I trying to say."  You are not telling the story, your character is.

I thought that Susan's article was intriguing.  Follow her advice and see where your character takes you!

Will be back when I have more news about my novel or something new to discuss.  In the meantime, I'm working on three other manuscripts - and doing many other things.  Never a dull moment for me.

Keep writing,
Till,
Judi

Publication of my novel is coming along...

Cover for "She's Not You" novel

Well, the front cover is finished.  I don't have a release date yet, but here's a peek at the back cover blurb:

"A small, isolated fishing village on the tip of Cape Cod, a place where the town’s jail has one cell with a broken lock and the police force consists of the chief and two deputies, seems an unlikely spot for dead women to be washing ashore. And yet, so far this summer, two bodies have been discovered on the morning tide, both resembling each other and Jamie Janson.

Jamie returns to Oyster Point to clean out and sell her grandaunt Pita’s Cape Cod cottage, a place filled with family memories—when there had been a family. Her homecoming is marred by the discovery of a woman’s body during her morning run along the beach. Huddled around the seaweed encrusted form is a group of men, including Oyster Point’s Chief of Police, Jack Hereford. Is their meeting destiny, chance, or orchestrated by Pita? Jack soon realizes that Jamie’s emotional fragility belies her inner strength and courage—unspoken qualities by Pita when she asked him to watch over Jamie. That deathbed promise will turn out to be the toughest part of his job and maybe the best part of his life.

As Jamie settles into her life on the Cape, an unknown male with camera in hand shadows her everywhere—on the beach, around her cottage, even at Jack’s sister’s house. With her life spinning out of control, Jamie’s visions resume, dreams she hasn’t had since her parents were killed when she was sixteen. Making a vow to confront the stalker and keep him from forcing her to live in fear, she and Jack devise a plan to entice the suspected stalker out into the open. The scheme backfires and Jamie’s gone…"

You'll be holding your breath as you follow this adventure to the end.

I love the way that Jamie and Jack play off of each other using their very different skill sets and backgrounds.  Will they have more 'cold case' solving escapades together... you bet.   

As soon as I have a release date, I'll let you know.

Till,
Judi