I was now somewhat settled into my family home at West Harbour having been wined and dined by Arthur Reid, the family lawyer and executor of my father’s estate.
That dinner spent with Arthur raised more questions than answers in my mind. There were subtle non verbal indicators that Arthur strove to camouflage but I perceived those nonetheless, being handicapped only in my memory, not in terms of my mental acuity and powers of perception.
I always seemed to posses an ability to intuit others’ motives, a facility someone once told me was close to psychic, but I can’t recall who that person was.
You have an innate ability to read people, Marcus, I was told by someone close to me, I think—it’s frustrating because I can almost recall the situation but just can’t picture a face.
Anyway, It’s not that I suspect Arthur of harbouring sinister motives, it’s just a feeling or impression that whispers inside me, a case of there being more in the garden than the gardener knows—and where that saying originated, I also haven’t a clue.
But to return to the matter, revenons a nos moutons comes to mind although again, I don’t know from where, I am beginning to settle into Sunnyside–that’s the name engraved on the cornerstone of the family house.
It’s a fine old house really, solidly constructed sometime in the mid-nineteenth century, “pre-Cofederation” Arthur tells me, which if my memory of Canadian history serves me correctly was 1867. Thus, the house was built in the 1850’s. A grand old dowager, to be sure.
And the most satisfying aspect of the house from my perspective is that the rooms are laid out in a centre hall plan so everything seems intuitive. Yes, there’s that word again–intuitive, which keeps recurring because I sense I’ve been here before but can’t say where or when and unfortunately, that at the moment is the story of my life.
Thinking such deep thoughts seems to have tired me out so I lock the doors, turn off the lights and wend my way upstairs to the back bedroom overlooking the harbour.
The house is big–too large for just me, I suppose.
I had the choice of five bedrooms but settled on the room with a view and a small balcony, not much larger than a Romeo and Juliet balcony but it also probably doubled as a widow’s walk.
The thought of loss depresses me so I push it from my mind and fall into bed intending to stare at the stars a while through the uncurtained window, but within moments am fast asleep.
I dream the same dream I always do. It’s a recurring dream with its own particular landscape Always the same people and same mysterious girl. I refer to her as “the girl I can never meet*. But she’s there, nonetheless and the icy tinkle of her laughter sends shivers up my spine—a frisson born not of fear, but longing.
She’s the magnet and I’m the iron and each night in the shadow land of dreams I willingly fall under her spell.
And tonight she’s casting her spell with me alone in the house.
Thanks, @poshbot
You don't mind?
In part 2:
I'm. starting over and perhaps I'll discover
This part:
corner stone - I think it is meant to be cornerstone, which means "A stone in the exterior of a large and important building; usually carved with a date and laid with appropriate ceremonies"
As for: revenons a nos moutons (let's get back to our sheep ) - is that a real French saying, or did you make it up?
:)
Again, thanks Alex. Yes, careless errors or mistakes made in haste to get the story posted in the time I have to devote to Hive. The French saying is not unique to me but an idiom, although it may not be in current usage. Mind you, I do the same thing in English and often use an antiquated word or phrase. And I don't always use Canadian English or spellings - Yes, there is such a thing - I used to teach it and was a real stickler insisting upon it, but now that I have my poetic license I do what I please, lol
A silly question if I may?
About 15 years ago, I cam across a site which also had a few pages for helping writers. One of the pages was a list of volunteers who are willing to proof read stories - they mostly would specify what kind of fiction they enjoy. Plus they would specify the number of hours they are willing to dedicate per week.
Most of them were either professors or students of Literature, while a few were people whose job was writing text for the advertising industry.
Do such people still exist?
Apart from the deep philosophical question of whether there is intelligent life on Earth, I doubt such animals exist anymore. I spent more years than I care to recall teaching unwilling minds how to write, and yes, I spent hours proofreading and correcting grammar etc. We're in a post-literate world, my friend, peopled by those who would advise me to dumb down my style and simplify my word choice. Better yet, to pitch my novel in a 30 second sound synopsis they called an elevator pitch. I guess what I'm saying is the deep editing you're seeking is sparse...very sparse, my dear Alex. I hope this doesn't sound jaded but oftentimes there's a fine line between reality and cynicism. Most writers nowadays are self-publishing, self-editing and self-promoting because there's no room in traditional publishing for unknown authors. I had an editor who contracted herself to major publishers who edited A Familiar Rain - After she was through, I had to go back and re-edit her work. Okay, call me jaded...maybe that's my middle name, lol
I have noticed that some of the newer fiction books I buy/read have very basic mistakes. For instance, American writers seem to love (overdo) the splitting of their sentence with a dash '-' instead of a comma...and they insist it is the correct way to write.
If had made oodles of money, I would create a home with a reinforced basement library and buy all the books I can and store them there (fact and fiction) so that if they day arrives when people appreciate good writing (or the truth), there will still exist a copy of two for them.
I say this as the local libraries here place tables outside with books on special sale, giving them away for very low prices. I asked and was told they do so as they need the space for new books. Not how I had thought libraries serve their community.
Anyway, thanks for answering my question
:)
I make liberal use of the em dash myself which I never did when I was teaching in an academic setting but like Dorothy in Oz we have to accommodate to our times and setting, not to mention our reading audience. I spent most of my career in a suit, but now formality has all but disappeared in everyday society and reading and writing along with it. I used to believe there was 'correct' English - I now concede there are clocks of usage and that includes everything from urban slang to criminal argot and yes, even ebonics. The world has changed and that came home to me one day when Deb and I were visiting a school from the 18oo's. Many of the texts on the grade 6 curriculum I was teaching in my pre-university course. In addition to a challenging level of readability, the formatting and text size was daunting, even for me. All those block paragraphs simply overwhelmed. Modern ovels read more like plays, in my opinion.
Sorry for some of the typo's above but Hive wouldn't allow me to edit bc of HBD - whatever that is. GRRR!!
I cannot help thinking that it depends on where you look.
People, even young ones, still check out books from the libraries, classics and even fiction written fifty years ago.
At the bookstore, I find that the market has moved form slim 180 page books to most books being above 400 pages nowadays.
I have been looking for a young person who enjoys my kind of books so as to leave all mine to them when I die - and an acquaintance introduced me to his 22 year old daughter...who told me she loves big books, especially if they are more than one book. When she saw my books with a number of them being of 800 pages and maybe 8 volumes, she was thrilled.
I think our problem is we are being affected by spending so much time among those who live on the web.
I would rather write for those who live lives of their own.
:)