“Clover” in the the News

Our review for “Clover, A Literary Rag, vol. 2″ appears at NewPages.com.  The rag is accepting submissions until April 30th for “Clover, 3,” and we are having fun with all the wonderful material coming our way.  So if you wish to submit something, now is the time!

Norman Green and I created “Clover” with a mission in mind.  We want to promote the members of the Independent Writers’ Studio — whose writings are honed to a fine point around a red mahogany table once a week.  We eat chocolate share new writing and rewrites with equal enthusiasm.

A couple of these great writers were noted in the review — Janet Bergstrom and Stephanie Hopkinson.

Mike Yeager started writing in groups with me  more than 10 years ago.   He and his wife Katie now live in Arizona and he has a blog you can follow.  He was mentioned in the review, too.

Larry Crist was also noted.  Larry is a Seattle poet and I am happy he found us.

So thank you NewPages.com for the lovely review, and stay tuned for “Clover, A Literary Rag, vol. 3″  coming your way in June!

We are an Equal Opportunity Red Mahogany Table.  Join one of our groups.

Get your submissions in.

 

 

 

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Everything’s Coming Up Clover

IWS steered into 2012 with engines revved. 

 We just finished a fiction writing workshop courtesy of Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner.   Our first ever author-invitational.  He shook things up some.

We received boat passes on the schooner, Zodiac to participate in Bellingham Rendevous courtesy of IWS member Chris Wallace who is chief mate on the schooner.  I’ve never been on a tall ship before and the last time I was on a sail boat I was 15.  I am very excited about this!

Clover, A Literary Rag, vol. 3 is coming out in June in time for the Chuckanut Writers Conference.  Our prayer, at least!  The idea of the conference is to bring writers together, to share and maybe even inspire. 

Submissions are open for Clover, 3 until April 30.  If you have something to submit for this issue now is the time to refine and submit.

And to all friends of our studio, thank-you.  Special thanks to Norman L. Green.  Check out his dream blog.

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“The Mermaid in The Gherkin Jar”

Tony Seymour’s delightful “The Mermaid in the Gherkin Jar” is a story for children with cerebral palsy and their parents.  But wait — any child who has been bullied — any child who realizes his image in the mirror is not just like that of the boy in a department store advertisement will love this story. Any boy or girl will find a place in this new children’s story.

Christopher has mild cerebral palsy and discovers a mermaid in a highly unusual place — a gherkin jar! His Grandma told him about the possibility of such a thing — and now it is real.  Meanwhile the first day of school approaches for this eight-year-old and his twin brother, Oliver.  Christopher is an outgoing child who strikes up conversations with other children, and is startled when someone calls him a cripple because he cannot use his legs very well — Azalea the mermaid is not your ordinary mermaid and has some interesting suggestions for Christopher to try in response to the unkindness he meets.

Tony Seymour has mild cerebral palsy — I do too.  What a wonderful gift this book is — I highly recommend it.  On Kindle and .pdf downloads.

Follow Tony on Twitter, too! https://twitter.com/#!/tony_seymour

 

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Presenting Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner

The Independent Writers’ Studio is proud to present a fiction writer’s workshop led by author Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner. The workshop will be given in two parts on subsequent Wednesdays, March 21 & 28th at 7 PM at the Whidbey Island Bank in Fairhaven — Bellingham, Washington.

Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner’s first novel, Dancing Naked, is the sort of story that keeps the light on at 3 AM – it did mine. Poet David Lee calls Van Wagoner, one of the finest writers in America.  The awards given his writing and this novel speak for themselves.

Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner’s next two novels, Come the Stygian Night and Cautionary Tales debut this summer. The magazine associated with IWS, Clover, A Literary Rag will have a piece of Cautionary Tales in its next edition.

As an editor and as a teacher, I am overwhelmed with gratitude at Rob’s offer to do this workshop through the Independent Writers’ Studio. It is a fundraiser for Clover, A Literary Rag.

We have two or three seats left.  The cost is $80, and it is a commitment for both evenings. Contact Mary Gillilan at 360.961.4477 for your reservation.  Or email me at mary@independentwritersstudio.com with any questions.

Bio:

Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner’s first novel, Dancing Naked was awarded the Utah
Center for the Book’s Utah Book Award and the Utah Arts Council’s Publication Prize. His short stories have appeared in literary periodicals, ezines and anthologies, including The Best of Writers at Work and In Our Lovely Deseret, and have been selected for various awards, including Carolina Quarterly’s Charles B. Wood Award for Distinguished Writing, Shenandoah’s Jeanne Charpiot Goodheart Award for Fiction, Sunstone’s Brookie and D.K. Brown Memorial Fiction Award, and Weber Studies’ Dr. O. Marvin Lewis Award for Best Fiction, 1994-1997. Van Wagoner’s two forthcoming novels, both literary thrillers, are highly influenced by the traditions and landscapes unique to their settings: Cautionary Tales in Ogden, Utah, and Come the Stygian Night in the rural foothills of Washington’s North Cascades, on the banks of the mighty Skagit River. He and his family live in Washington State.

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Of Foxes and Peacock Blue Sea

The road on San Juan Island led through pastures with alpacas and fields of lavender. We turned toward a beach on the south side of the island and my friend Judith told me we might see a fox. The beach grass filled fields on both sides of the road and extended outwards.  The dun color played against the gray sky which lightened as the afternoon wore on.  Beyond us the sea.  It was peacock blue with white caps stirring, and out within it tiny rocky islands emerged with forests of fir trees.

Then outside my window I noticed him, but I’m sure he saw me first.  The fox was the color of the grass with a tail as wide as his body.  We stopped the car.  ”Well look at you,” I said to this creature whose bright black eyes returned my curious stare. “Oh God, Judith, look at him.”

We watched the fox as he hunted in the long grass.  He marked a bush which I guessed was his way of telling us his boundaries, and he was in no hurry to leave.

And so we sat, Judith and I, and belonged to the day of sea grass and foxes with peacock blue sea on the edge of all we needed to know.

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Citizen Oz Whenever, 2012

Our Citizen Oz Whenever pledge:

True reportage from a place where clown make-up does not come off, and pumpkins talk, where apple trees toss, and if you have a heart you wear it on top your chest.

Apple Protects Tree

Scientists discern that rogue apple trees produce lying fruit.  If your apple tree throws apples with creepy accuracy at no provocation it may be due to a sniper virus developed by the Underwater Witch Project.

Apples developed at the UWP act innocent when questioned.

“These trees must be quarantined,” said the Minister of Tourism, Jules J. Jumpin.  Minister Jumpin made his remarks from his hospital bed where he is recovering from an apple toss injury. “Apple trees showing aggressive tendencies can throw harder and longer, and must be fenced off accordingly.”

When asked what that meant, Mr. Jumpin said he did not know.

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Cloughmills — February 8, 2012 — Getting Unstuck

I dreamed I  went to a physical therapy appointment.  The waiting room was large and industrial, the way it is with big practices.  Cold.  Most of the patients making due with old chairs, that are unpadded.  These chairs hold the frailest of us.  My doctor’s office has such a waiting room, and I think, how unkind the chairs are, especially for old people who are expected to wait upwards for an hour.  I went up to the partitioned off appointment desk and I can see the treatment rooms and the therapists talking together.  They are waiting for me.  They tell me to not take anything personal with me because of the possibility of theft and their liability.  I have given my ring and earrings and wallet to my mother and dad who have come with me.  They sit quietly in those awful chairs. I try to get through to the therapy rooms where I see the therapists but the appointment lady tells me I have to go around. ‘Going around’ means going down a steep stairs without handrails.  I ask if there is another way.  They tell me to go out and clear around the facility to a door in back.  I agree to do that.  A maze of sidewalks and waiting rooms await me.  I go up and down and around, and I am worried I will miss my appointment.  I finally find a stairs under construction — it is wide and is just planks but it does have a railing.  So I look carefully and realize that it stops at a high arc with two planks leading on down.  The person in charge shakes her head because I hesitate.  So I go along the outside of the building which looks like Old Main on Western’s campus, and I wonder why they make it so difficult for people to get therapy.  I finally get to the therapists.  They remind me about the rings and wallet.

And this to me is about as clear a dream as I have had of late.

Been writing poetry and finally got my Irish story out of the mud.

Kudos to Norman’s dream blog.   And as I write I’m streaming lovely Hawaiian tunes courtesy of KKCR  from Kauai. (Hawaiian tunes make me feel like I’m on an ocean swim) I love giving the surf report to my daughter who lives there.  I am an ocean away.   Mahalo.

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Cloughmills — February 6, 2012

I’m stuck.  I learned long ago not to make pronouncements about the ease of visions when it comes to writing fiction.  Honestly, I did see the next kilometer on the road, but that was yesterday, or perhaps, the day before.

When I wrote Tibet, A Writer’s Journal, I knew certain things.  I knew Emmy Lasater was on a pilgrimage, one that she was afraid she might not be able to manage.  Fear and physical limitation make a weird brew and a mindset befuddled by black cloud.  As the writer, I walked every mile with Emmy, and I experienced her setbacks and her achievements.  The monk guided me all along.

Emmy Lasater is back in the Irish story, and it seems like I am writing  around her. And that is the problem.  I think I need to call on my monk, once again, because she would.

Emmy is someone who listens and who observes.  She reads people through her emotions, and when she is in social situations,  she loses words.  She says she is OK, because she does not want to consider the consequences of not being OK.  She still fights with ghosts, however many from the old battles have given up and gone.

She lives in the present, and not the past.  Her stubbornness and taciturn nature comes from a bevy of experience. She was born with cerebral palsy.  She measures her success in life by barriers she has removed.  These barriers were created by doctors  and parents who told her early on what she could and cold not do in life.  As a child of the ’60s she was a natural to disdain the establishment and question assumptions.  Her mother later called her a steel butterfly.

And now in 2013, Emmy is visiting Ireland.  Her list of maladies has increased.  She has a condition called deteriorating disc disease, overlaid with osteoarthritis and osteoporosis — what she calls the ‘osteos’ …  She manages.

I manage right along with her, for as much as the Tibet story was and is my story, so is the Irish.  In order to create the fiction I have to unmask the author.

Crap, I hate that part.  The writing continues.  I have to decide what this story is:  a field guide to Emmy? a field guide to Ireland? a love story? or a mystery?

The curious thing about my writer’s dilemma is the path to discovery.  The only way I know as a writer to figure this out is to keep writing.  The characters will tell me — eventually.   How true I am to each one will give breath to what I do.

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The Next Kilometer

Traveling again. As I write in my notebook the first draft of what I call the Irish story, I know that I am tracking all right when I envision the next kilometer on  a road I only saw pictured on the Internet.

I love the way the imagination fills in the gaps between what we see and what we have not seen but understand from a myriad of dream and a lifetime of introspection.

In the end it makes me brave, and it keeps the words and visions healthy.

 

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More from Cloughmills 1/15/2012

1/15/2011:  Snow falls on my Bellingham yard and yet it is May in Armagh.  The writing is going well, despite computer problems.  I wrote another 7 pages yesterday and worked on a scene in my drafting notebook when I woke up at 3:30 this morning.  I am reading The Paris Wife at the same time. A little Hemingway influence is a good thing — a true sentence — with strong nouns and verbs.   As I sit here the snowflakes have gathered strength and fall in tune to music playing in my living room.  It is a near perfect Sunday.  I never want perfect, and never struggle with perfection.  I do love the snow falling.  And I love the Irish story.  Happy Sunday writing.  Back to it.

 

1/13/2012:  The moon is waning and I have been away from my story, my Irish story for several days.  In the meantime, the story has gelled more.  As an editor and writer, I receive a lot of how-to information for writers.  My favorite advice is the simplest, simply write.  Write your way to the story and through the story, and listen to the story as you write it.  If it gels– prepare to have the gel make shapes you might not have imagined.

My Irish story is doing just that.  In the Cloughmills story, I have a painting that I put on a wall in a cottage in Armagh, Ireland.  I thought I was fleshing out a scene and giving more information about two of the characters. This morning, in the middle of fixing breakfast, it occurred to me that this painting was central to the entire story. Earlier on I drafted more notebook story, which gave me greater insight into the characters and I believe this is what inspired the insight.  Until things gel another way, I am moving in this direction.

I call these insights, writing-surprises. Writing-surprises are markers that tell you, as a writer, that you are paying attention.  As you listen to the writing, what you write and the characters you develop become whole and vocal and tell you more about the story and its direction.

1/7/2012 Cloughmills: I reread my pages and pages of story as delivered in my notebook, and I have decided that that a 1:10 ratio is about right.  These wonderful 3 in the morning free-writes give me great insights into the characters.  What I have to do as the architect of the story is provide a structure for all its many rooms.  I started that last night.  There is a natural love story in the mix, and since the story takes place in Ireland in the spring of the main characters later lives, this will be fun to follow.  Because it is Ireland, there will be some legends to play with too.  I think I will call the story. The Linen Maker’s Daughter.

1/6/2012 Cloughmills is on my mind as I write tonight.  I have a notebook in which I write scenes and I have filled over a 100 pages.  It is a chef’s kitchen of ideas — five gardens in one breath of imaginings.  For every five pages of notebook, I get one page of rewrites.  I am not used to writing in this manner, and I do not know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.  I do not know if I am leaving too much detail out or putting the right detail in.  I do love my characters, and I do not want to disappoint them.  So tonight my homework is to read the notebook, and embrace it.

1/4/2012  Cloughmills is a tiny village in County Antrim and 62 kilometers from Armagh the setting for my story. In Northern Ireland, UK, Clough, Cloughmills, and Clogh all exist.  Across the Irish Sea from County Armagh the little town of Slough may be found.  Part of my interest in cemetery research in this area comes from family documents indicating that part of my family came from one of these places; I do know they received permission to leave Ireland through Newcastle.  I am glad I am writing a novel — and my passion is in the story and not the dead-on accuracy of just where when and whom traveled this way or that.  For the sake of my sanity or until my facts are corrected next, my characters are situated in Armagh and travel to Cloughmills and Newcastle.  I am choosing Cloughmills because I like the Harry Hume oral history so much.  And now, on this truly blustery Bellingham afternoon, I am returning to my story.

1/3/2012:  Micah & Emmy have had a fine morning in Armagh.  I left them after a picnic on the way to Ballyweanie cemetery in Cloch.  They were on a stone bridge.  Emmy pitched pennies into the greenest valley she remembered ever seeing; the brownies Micah packed in the lunch had their own special punch. ‘There’s your rainbow,’ Micah said.

‘Oh look at it — just look at it.’ She stared into the sky until she began to giggle.  ‘We’re so old,’ she said.  ‘Isn’t it great?’

January is a great month for writing and this story wants to write itself.  I am definitely along for the ride.

So many changes: 12/3/11… I read a wonderful interview with Harry Hume, a Clogh local.  And it is ‘Clogh’ not ‘Clough’  according to Harry.  The full interview can be found at http://www.antrimhistory.net/content.php?cid=74  Harry took me on a walking tour of the very place my characters are in.  I found this photo of Slemish Mountain on the Antrim Plateau; a view from Ballyweanie Graveyard.

Slemish Mountain on the Antrim Plateau may be viewed from the Ballyweanie church yard.

Clough Update: 12-2-11:  I am at work on the Irish story, and I really don’t know where this one goes.  I write at night before I sleep sometimes, and sometimes I wake up and write.  In the morning I am somewhat surprised at the result.

“Clough” means “stone” in Gaelic. Wikipedia sorted this one out for me: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clogh,_County_Antrim

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a message board about 11 years ago, I found a woman holding papers from my family.  Among them was a passport for William and Anna Stewart and children.  The interesting part of this was the date: 1762.  The family planned to emigrate to Pennsylvania from County Antrim, Ireland.  Mr. Stewart was a lace-maker.  In County Antrim, it appears they lived in Clogh.

About a year or so after I received these papers,the Bellingham Herald had a story about a family named Stewart.  It was the same Stewart family.  The son of William and Anna had taken his ministry to California Creek here in Whatcom County, Washington.  The land was adjacent to that of a dear friend of my ex-husband.

Today I have tried to put some of these pieces together.  I looked at the passport and the names, none were familiar.  In my mind I had changed Clogh to Armagh (so certain I was I contacted an old friend who recently moved to Armagh for local information.) It felt as though I had created this out of whole cloth, to beg a phrase.

Today I took a look at the other papers and noted the woman who transcribed the Irish passport was named Jones. Her great grand father was William Stewart from Antrim. In the papers I pulled from the file I found my grandmother’s name: Edith Leone Jones Gillilan.  Her grandfather or great grandfather was the same William Stewart.

I thought my friend’s move to Armagh was serendipitous; but really the Whatcom County connection is mysteriously serendipitous.

Is my family trying to find me?  Is there a story here? I’m thinking, yes.

Documents below:

The Stewart Family at California Creek, Whatcom County Washington.

 

The passport was transcribed by Martha A. Jones Stewart related to my grandmother, Edith Leone Jones Gillilan.

 

 

 

 

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