Eileen Farrelly’s “Irish Washer Woman” is #278 in the never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

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*** The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished poets for BACKSTORY OF THE POEM series.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7

***Eileen Farrelly’s “Irish Washer Woman” is #278 in the never-
ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote that specific poem.  All BACKSTORY OF THE POEM links are at the end of this piece.(Right:  Eileen Farrelly in April of 2021.  Credit and Copyright by Eileen Farrelly) 

Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? The Irish Washerwoman is a popular Irish jig that my father used to play on the mandolin when I was a child. I also play the mandolin and decided to learn this tune because it reminded me of my father. It was while playing the tune all these years later that I got the idea of writing a poem about it.  

As I wrote I was able to tap into that childhood memory and could visualize the scene which seemed to get clearer and stronger as I wrote it. 

I considered making it more rhythmic and keeping it in the mood of the jig, but that made it feel forced and a little bit contrived and so in the end let it keep the fairly loose form that had come originally.

Click on the below link to listen to IRISH WASHERWOMAN.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92XLtAxSzS4 

Where were you when you started to actually write the poem?  And please describe the place in great detail. I was in the sitting room of my flat in Glasgow and jotted down some initial ideas and phrases before I transferred it onto the laptop.  I don’t have a particular place to write. I live alone so can write and play music where I like without being disturbed. I mostly write on the couch in the sitting room. I am not a very tidy person so am usually surrounded by books and half-empty coffee cups. I would have written some on the couch and some sitting by the window which has a wonderful view of trees, a river and a Victorian bridge which is always busy.

What month and year did you start writing this poem? September 2019. I only know this because it was my submission to my writers group that month. (Right: Eileen Farrelly in September of 2019.  Copyright by Eileen Farrelly)

How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) I wrote  a very rough initial  version, mostly ideas and key phrase that form the basic framework. I usually move on to the lap top quite quickly to move the text around. The first  ‘complete’ draft was a good bit longer than the final version. I tend to put in everything I can think of then whittle it down. By the third or fourth draft, I am usually just playing with line breaks and making small subtle changes here and there. Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of the early versions. (Left:  Eileen Farrelly's writing space.  Credit and Copyright by Eileen Farrelly)

Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version?  And can you share them with us?  There were some because the earlier drafts were a few lines longer, but I haven’t kept a copy. (Right: Eileen Farrelly's Twitter Logo Photo)

What do you want readers of this poem to take from this poem? In part, I hope they can see the washerwoman as clearly as I can, going about her work and perhaps remember the heavy labor that our grandmothers’  generation seemed to take in their stride. And also that it may help them to connect with music or other childhood memories that were particularly significant to them.

Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? The whole process was quite emotional but in a good way. My father died when I was 10 so those memories are cherished. He was a creative man and as well as playing music he loved literature and became an English teacher later in life. As I wrote, there was naturally the regret that he never got to read this, or any of my poetry. But there was also the thought that he would be happy that I was writing and also playing the mandolin.  (Right: Eileen Farrelly's mandolin on the left.  Her father's mandolin on the right.  Credit and Copyright by Eileen Farrelly)

Has this poem been published before?  And if so where? Not yet but it will be included in my first chapbook Somethings I ought to throw away which will be published by a small Scottish press called “Deich”, later this year. Dreich is a Scots word to describe a dull, miserable rainy day!

https://www.facebook.com/Dreichmag/ 

The Irish Washer Woman

When my father played,

I could almost see her

dancing her washer woman’s jig

through the steam, stepping

between the white sinks,

her basket piled high.

As his fingers skipped

across the strings

she tipped the week’s washing

into the bubbling tub.

Bow backed, bobbing

the smell of bleach on her hands,

swirling suds

as she soaped and scrubbed,

knuckling the washboard

in a steady rhythm

And when they were done

it was back to the start

all over again

never missing a beat

All of the Backstory of the Poem LIVE LINKS can be found at the VERY END of the below feature: 

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/02/will-justice-drakes-intercession-is-251.html 

****Christine Duts’s "Aurelie-Survival" is #230 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished fiction genre (including screenwriters and playwrights) for INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7 

****Christine Duts’s "Aurelie-Survival" is #230 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific excerpt from a fiction genre and how that fiction writer wrote that specific excerpt.  

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I started writing this book in 2011 and I finished it in 2012. 

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I was renting a house in San Jose Del Cabo, (Above Right) in the Baja, Mexico, but I have moved since then. I usually wrote at either the kitchen table or at the counter in the kitchen. (Christine Duts's laptop on her kitchen table. Credit and Copyright by Christine Duts)

What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I often listened to a mix of Yann Tiersen, I find his music inspiring. I also listened to other artists. I always wrote on a laptop. 

https://www.yanntiersen.com/ 

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.

Pages 1 - 3

The wind caressed my face gently despite the hard velocity of my flight. I didn´t feel any of it. I hardly noticed the cold night air as I soared through the sky, my black leathery wings spread out over six feet each. My dark blue-black cape was held by the wind and my long black dress filled with the icy air, but that didn´t bother me either. Why? Because I couldn´t feel. I had no idea what the cold could do to a human body. Flames were the only thing that could really damage but not necessarily kill me. Burning hot, devouring flames I could feel; that pain was too hard to ignore. But this winter breeze? It didn´t have any effect on me whatsoever.

I must have been a frightful sight to anyone passing by, but it was well past midnight, and nobody but night predators like me would prowl the woods in darkness. Owls fluttered away and rats scurried through the underbrush, trying to hide from the ferocious predator approaching in the sky. However, I wasn´t hungry, and even if I was, I usually didn´t feed on animals. Their flesh did not entice me, and I cared even less about their bones and hides. On occasions, their blood deemed appetizing to me; but my appetite was too big and demanding. Therefore, I preferred the blood of humans.

Often I´d slay the evildoer: the drug dealer, the rapist, the child molester, the animal abuser, the thief, and sometimes I even stumbled upon a murderer. The latter were my favorite. They always thought themselves so invincible and strong with a gun in their hand, not believing that I was what I was, until I sank my fangs in their feeble necks and slowly drank their blood. As I felt life drain from their bodies, I could see images of what they had done, and most of the time, they were horrible visions of people they had killed, children whose parents they had taken away. So, I was incapable of feeling pity for them.

Sporadically, I stumbled upon an innocent soul, and if my body could withhold itself, I would resist my urge. Nevertheless, if my hunger was too great, I attacked injudiciously.

I was an excellent hunter and my skills were known among my fellow vampires. The young ones feared me; the older ones respected me, although they knew that they still had the power to destroy me. There have been the random fledglings who thought themselves strong and invincible after they were given immortality.

Poor idiots, they never realized how much they still had to learn and that the path of immortality was a hard and tempestuous one. They usually didn´t last long, especially if they challenged me. I was stronger and better than they were. And I was older. However, I wasn´t as old as the elders, who have roamed the world for two thousand, even five thousand years.

Yes, the elders, the fount of us all. I cannot tell you my story without including the ancient ones, the ones who had launched our kind into existence, the ones our survival depended on, the ones who guided us. Their skin was alabaster white and nearly transparent, and they were a frightful vision to behold, especially if they hadn´t fed in a long time, which often occurred, since their ancient bodies didn´t require daily feedings anymore.

My skin was pale, but not pearly, nearly transparent white like theirs; and my eyes were a brilliant and radiant blue—a gift from eternal life.

As I draw you into this tale of blood and survival without even having started my story, let me tell you that I have been a vampire for a little over two hundred and fifty years. I was made during the tremulous times of the French Revolution. It was a period of great turmoil and little respect for human lives, despite the fact that the Revolution was fought for the freedom of men. Is it because of those days where blood flowed daily from the insatiable guillotine that I have become such a scrupulous vampire, such a ferocious killer? Or was it in my vampire genes? Either way, everything started back then, when I believed in liberty, equality, and fraternity—liberté, égalité, fraternité,” the slogan we called on the streets.

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? It was my first vampire novel. Before that, I had always written about adventure, but little fantasy. Creating this new world for my book was a beautiful process. As soon as I started writing the prologue, the whole story just flowed out of me. Creating the characters, feeling their thought processes, the inner turmoil and battle between the monsters they have become and the strings of humanity they desperately try to retain, it all became a part of me. 

Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt? I don't think there were any major deletions. I wrote this a long time ago, but at the time the story just flowed out of me as soon as I started writing. (Christine Duts. Copyright by Christine Duts)

https://www.amazon.com/-/es/Christine-Duts/dp/1618975749 

All of the Inside the Emotion of Fiction LIVE LINKS can be found at the VERY END of the below feature: 

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html 

Sue Moorcroft’s "Under the Italian Sun" is #229 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished fiction genre (including screenwriters and playwrights) for INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7 

****Sue Moorcroft’s "Under the Italian Sun" is #229 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific excerpt from a fiction genre and how that fiction writer wrote that specific excerpt.  

Name of fiction work? And were there other names you considered that you would like to share with us? My new book’s called Under the Italian Sun and is set in Umbria, Italy. (Right) It’s a book about identity, beginning with Zia discovering that not only has she never known her father but there are two birth and death certificates for her mother, Victoria Chalmers - bearing different dates. The working title was A Starry Italian Sky but I’m never precious about titles. My publishing team knows what will sell.

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? This is always such a hard question to answer because it’s been a spark in my imagination for a long time. I wrote notes in my Notes app a year before I began working properly on the idea. The first draft would have been written April-September 2020 but then there are a couple of rounds of edits. I finished proofreading queries in February 2021. (Left: Sue Moorcroft in March of 2020. Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work?  And please describe in detail.  And can you please include a photo? Two places, actually. Deprived of my usual writing retreat and writing week away because the UK was in lockdown, I wrote a bit in my back garden. (Right:  Sue Moorcroft writing in her garden.  Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

I made a lot of use of headphones because my husband was home, too, and was building a shed. Mainly, though, I wrote in my scruffy little study at the back of my house. It’s overcrowded and the only piece of new furniture is the chair. I’m supposed to be moving to a bigger room with new furniture but it hasn’t happened yet. (Sue Moorcroft's study.  Credit and Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I wrote as I write most things - onto my computer, between the hours of 7 a.m. and 6 p.m. I do like to scribble thoughts and plans in longhand on a pad or scrap paper, too. I took a break each day for a long walk. In more usual times, I take a break for a dance class or yoga. I drink a lot Redbush tea and my bin is always full of wrappers from cereal bars. My favourites are vegan bars but it’s not because I’m a vegan. It’s because they have good chocolate. (Right: Sue Moorcroft doing Yoga.  Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference.  This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.

Pages 13-16, the end of Chapter One:

The next letter was dated a couple of weeks later and Gran had taken up her pen again, beginning with anxious enquiries. 

Are you sure you’re managing? Do you need money? Are you getting enough sleep? It’s all very well burying your grief in the baby, darling, but tinies are exhausting. 

Then Zia gurgled a laugh. ‘Here comes Gran’s usual bluntness. “Exactly how long do you think you can keep this up? We thought you were flouting convention when you lived with that Harry Anstey but that was nothing compared to this current caper.”’ 

‘What caper?’ demanded Ursula.

Zia was already rifling the stack of envelopes. ‘Harry Anstey! There are letters here from him too, amongst some from Mum’s friends. I didn’t know they’d ever lived together. He visited us about once a year and it was like a mini-holiday. Mum would cook big dinners and we’d go on days out to parks or beaches but I don’t remember them acting relationshippy.’ She found the letters she wanted and pulled out the one with the earliest date. ‘This is January, ’92, around the same time as Pap’s letter.’ 

The letter read: 

Vicky, babe, I can’t bear it. I’d gladly take time off work to stay with you and help with Zia but I’m sure you hate me. Do you? Can you ever, ever forgive me? 

Zia met Ursula’s fascinated gaze. ‘Why would Mum hate Harry? They were mates.’ 

‘Old flame?’ Ursula suggested. ‘All that “babe” and “forgive me” stuff? And living together? Perhaps he did a Brendon and got caught with his pants down.’ 

‘Maybe.’ Zia read on, quickly. ‘But, no, this doesn’t sound as if Harry’s begging forgiveness for straying. Listen. “If only I could relive that time when Tori disappeared! I’d sit up with her all night.”’ 

‘Tori disappeared?’ Ursula breathed, eyes saucers of astonishment. 

Then Zia read the next few lines and almost stopped breathing. ‘“Lucia Costa has been here again. I wish Tori never gave her this address. I was in the front garden and suddenly she was there, asking about Tori, ranting that you should never have taken Zia-Lucia from her in Montelibertà. Nightmare! I was as gentle as I could be, repeating what I told her last time, that we’d lost Tori and you no longer lived locally. I do feel sorry for her because she was obviously fond of Tori but if it wasn’t for her sniffing around maybe I could bring you both home.”’ 

‘Jeez!’ yelped Ursula. 

Zia’s breath escaped as a gasp. ‘Lucia Costa! Who on earth was she? Why was she looking for me? And what the hell does he mean about taking me from somewhere called Montelibertà?’ She grabbed a discarded A4 envelope and turned it over, scrabbling for a pen. ‘Let’s list significant points and try and piece the story together.’ 

They spent the rest of the evening at the task, picking at their over-cooked meal absent-mindedly as they puzzled over the letters. By midnight their bullet points filled the back of an A4 envelope. 

Weary eyes burning, Zia ran her gaze down the list. ‘So, this is what we have.’ She used her fingers to mark the points. ‘Gran and Pap thought Mum was doing something wrong but shared her grief over Tori’s death.’ Another finger. ‘Harry suffered guilt over her death. Probably Tori is the second Victoria Chalmers. Mum had been to a place called Montelibertà in Umbria, Italy and fetched me from this woman, Lucia Costa.’ She reached the last finger on that hand as she came to the final point. ‘Just after Mum and I moved to the midlands, Lucia went to Exmouth looking for me but no one told her where I was.’ She paused to rub tired eyes. ‘This is like a TV drama.’ 

Ursula grabbed another letter and read aloud from it. ‘Then in 1999 Harry says, “Oh, Vicky, that bloody Lucia Costa turned up again after all these years! I told her I knew no more than I had when you first moved away. BLOODY woman!”’ 

‘And the last few letters from him are asking why Mum’s not answering his letters any more,’ Zia rounded out. ‘He sounds so sad. The very last says: “I didn’t tell Lucia where you live, Vicky! Why would I betray you now? I’ve kept your secrets all these years.”’ 

She laid down the letter, blood rushing in her ears. ‘Holy shit. What did Mum do?’ 

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write?  And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? It’s the real jumping-off point for the rest of the book, the moment when Zia finds a place to start unravelling the secrets that her family have kept from her. Part of the time, I was frustrated with Chapter One because it didn’t quite work. I knew what I wanted but failed to find the key to achieving it. Then, after the first draft was written, my editor (Helen Huthwaite, publisher ad Director of Avon Books, Harper Collins)  suggested that the writer of some of the letters should change. She was so right. After that, everything fell into place and I took on Zia’s emotions of astonishment and apprehension, overlaid with a compulsion to discover the truth. (Left:  Facebook logo photo of Helen Huthwaite.)

https://www.facebook.com/helengbolton 

Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt? The first draft is long deleted, I’m afraid … Here’s a screenshot of changes made during the line edit. (Screenshot of changes to UNDER THE ITALIAN SUN.  Credit and Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

Sue Moorcroft is a Sunday Times bestselling author and has reached the coveted #1 spot on Amazon Kindle UK as well as top 100 in the US. She’s won the Goldsboro Books Contemporary Romantic Novel Award, Readers’ Best Romantic Novel award and the Katie Fforde Bursary. Sue’s emotionally compelling, feel-good novels are currently released by publishing giant HarperCollins in the UK, US and Canada and by an array of publishers in other countries. Her short stories, serials, columns, writing ‘how to’ and courses have appeared around the world. (Left:  Sue Moorcroft's web logo photo.)

Born in Germany into an army family, Sue spent much of her childhood in Cyprus and Malta but settled in Northamptonshire, England aged ten. She loves reading, Formula 1, travel, time spent with friends, dance exercise and yoga. (Right: Sue Moorcroft in March of 2021.  Copyright by Sue Moorcroft)

Discover more about Sue at www.suemoorcroft.com

https://www.amazon.com/Under-Italian-Sun-Sue-Moorcroft/dp/0008393028/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr= 

All of the Inside the Emotion of Fiction LIVE LINKS can be found at the VERY END of the below feature: 

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html 

Ellen LaFleche’s “Prayer for Weeping” is #277 in the never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

*** The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished poets for BACKSTORY OF THE POEM series.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7

***Ellen LaFleche’s “Prayer for Weeping” is #277 in the never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote that specific poem.  All BACKSTORY OF THE POEM links are at the end of this piece. 

Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? I began writing this poem in the autumn of 2013 when my husband John was actively dying of ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease).  He was in the process of being weaned off a ventilator in preparation for leaving the hospital to receive hospice care at home. The emotional experience was so intense that I was unable to physically cry.  (Right: Ellen LaFleche's husband John Clobridge.  Copyright by Ellen LaFleche)

What was the point of tears? I was overwhelmed with fear and sorrow, relief that he was coming off the ventilator, anger at fate, anticipatory grief, hope for a comfortable death, and so on.  All emotions needed to be put on hold for hours every day so I could complete a slew of practical tasks: researching questions to ask the neurologist, preparing our house for home hospice, (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hospice) helping to soothe my 6-month-old grandson, comforting my daughter, traveling 50 miles back and forth every few days from the urban hospital in Central Massachusetts to our home in Western Massachusetts.  

I tried to spend a few minutes each day engaging in some way with writing. Sometimes, this meant just thinking about sitting down to write at some point in the future. Because I couldn't physically cry, I knew I wanted to write a poem titled "Prayer for Weeping," a way for me to weep spiritually and metaphorically; in other words, there are other ways to cry beside using the eyes.  I used my cell phone to send myself messages that contained an image or idea, a few words, even a line or two. Many months after John died, I started to consolidate these messages to myself into a cohesive poem.

Where were you when you started to actually write the poem?  And please describe the place in great detail? Most of the lines were written in John's hospital room or in a small sleeping alcove in the intensive-care waiting room. The room was overly bright with artificial light that pulsed in time with the beeping of machines. The window framed a close-up view of the hospital's emergency helicopter landing pad. John was rapidly losing the ability to speak because the ALS was causing an ascending paralysis that affected his tongue and speech muscles. But he managed to tell me - in a weak, halting voice - about how he'd watched an emergency heli-pad landing on the day I was at home defrosting a frozen pipe.  The heli-pad is my enduring memory of that room, overlaid with the sights and sounds of medical workers coming in and out of the room with startling frequency. (Ellen LaFleche with her daughter and grandson.  Copyright by Ellen LaFleche)

 

The poem is included in my book, Walking into Lightning, which explores the extended grief of losing a life partner. I wanted the book to acknowledge the physical and sensual losses that are specific to losing a spouse. 

What month and year did you start writing this poem? This poem began in November 2013.

How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) It underwent revisions for several months after that. It was pretty much written through the messenger app on my phone. The memory of writing and revising is hazy because of the extraordinary stress of the circumstances. I ended up cutting and pasting the completed poem into a word document. My phone crashed a few months after I completed the poem and I lost my contact list, a batch of photos, and the poem's revisions that were stored on my messenger app. So the drafts have been lost. (Above Left: Ellen LaFleche in 2013.  Copyright by Ellen LaFleche)

Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version?  And can you share them with us?  A few lines were transported into a poem titled "Prayer for Despair:"

* Because I bloom in your mouth like a carved radish in water

* Because the full moon is trembling inside its executioner's hood

Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? I'd like readers to appreciate that the imagery is often ironic, ie., "the breakable beauty of a hyoid bone," and to get a sense - within the context of the book - that weeping can be a metaphorical or concrete action. And that we need to think about the complex relationship between our actions and emotions. Consider this line:  "because a child is ripping a littleneck clam from its shell."  (Above Right: Ellen LaFleche in September 2020.  Facebook Logo Photo)

Perhaps the child has found a mollusc at the beach and is cruelly killing it. Perhaps the child is very hungry and is desperate for a bite of protein.  Perhaps the child is at a fancy restaurant with his or her parents, and is being taught how to eat a delicacy.

Each of these actions could be motivated by anger, desperation, a desire to please, etc. 

Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why?  I'd have to say that the entire poem itself was/continues to remain an emotional experience because of the extraordinary circumstances under which it was written. Each line carries for me the grief of losing my spouse. 

Has this poem been published before?  And if so where? The poem was published in 2014 in DASH literary journal 

http://english.fullerton.edu/publications/dash.aspx 

and in 2019 in my book, Walking into Lightning (Saddle Road Press). 

http://saddleroadpress.com/ellen-lafleche.html 

All of the Backstory of the Poem LIVE LINKS can be found at the VERY END of the below feature: 

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/02/will-justice-drakes-intercession-is-251.html 

Catherine Kullmann’s The Murmer of Masks is #228 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION

 *The images in this specific piece are granted copyright:  Public Domain, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law.

The other images are granted copyright permission by the copyright holder, which is identified beneath each photo. 

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

***The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished fiction genre (including screenwriters and playwrights) for INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7 

****Catherine Kullmann’s The Murmer of Masks  is #228 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific excerpt from a fiction genre and how that fiction writer wrote that specific excerpt.  

Name of fiction work? And were there other names you considered that you would like to share with us? The Murmur of Masks. The working title was Thalia. In Greek mythology, Thalia is the Muse of Comedy and Olivia, the heroine, attends a big masquerade disguised as Thalia. (Left: Thalia, Roman sculpture, 2nd century CE; in the Pio-Clementino Museum, Vatican City.)

This is a pivotal moment in the story. When I came to consider the underlying theme of the book as a whole, I realised it was masks—the different masks we all wear, both consciously and subconsciously, what they reveal about us, and what happens when we unmask—or are unmasked. (Right:  Catherine Kullmann in October of 2013. Copyright by Catherine Kullmann)

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I started it in August 2012 and finished it about February 2014. It was first published in July 2016 so the final tweaking would have been then. (Left:  Catherine Kullmann's study. Credit and Copyright by Cathrine Kullmann)  

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work?  I wrote it in my study at home. My study was then upstairs, in a spacious room with a bay window looking onto the street. I had two desks, an antique regency one, and a more modern on for my PC.  Bookcases containing my research library and period engravings vied for wall space.  I have recently moved my study downstairs, but the set-up is very similar. (Right: Catherine Kulmann's desk.  Credit and Copyright by Catherine Kullmann)

What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I was generally at my desk from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m.  and 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. each day.  I don’t listen to music while I write—it distracts me from the scene in my head. I write directly on my PC. I am very familiar with my chosen period of the extended regency (1800 to 1830) but frequently interrupt my writing to check something or do further research.  I might have a glass of water as I write but generally will take a short break for tea or coffee as otherwise I take two sips and then let it get cold.  (Left: Cathrine Kulmann's modern desk.  Credit and Copyright by Catherine Kullmann)

https://booksgosocial.com/2018/08/02/regency-period/ 

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as
reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer. Chapter Two, pages 17 to 19

England, 1803 The Treaty of Amiens has collapsed and the United Kingdom is again at war with Napoleonic France. Nineteen-year-old Luke Fitzmaurice is determined to join the army but his mother is against it. She considers that an illness he suffered some years previously may have lingering effects. In the end, she agrees that if his doctor has no objections, she will withdraw hers. We meet Luke at the doctor’s surgery.

“I am sorry, sir but I remain convinced that prolonged exertion might put an undue strain on your heart. I cannot in good conscience recommend a military career.”

Luke felt ill. He had been so sure the doctor would support him. “And if I were to join a volunteer corps at home?” he suggested hopefully.

“Not even that. Be grateful you’re as well as you are, sir. There were times we despaired of your life and you will recall how long it took you to build up your strength.”

“I see,” Luke said dully.

Unable to face anyone, he did not turn for home but headed towards the hills, picking up the pace as soon as he was free of the village confines. For some time he was aware only of the rhythmical surge of the big gelding between his thighs, the answering movement of his own body, the wind in his face. Leaning forward, he urged the horse into a gallop. ‘Don’t think, don’t think’, pounded through his head in time with the hoof-beats and then, ‘Useless, useless’. The ground grew steeper and he slowed his mount, patting its neck. “You shouldn’t suffer for my failings,” he said apologetically.

He continued more slowly, letting the horse pick its

way up an uneven path to a rocky outcrop that looked out over the surrounding countryside. A rough shelter had been built from grey stone to protect any wanderer or shepherd caught in a storm. Luke dismounted and loosely looped the reins around the branch of a bent and twisted tree. A little spring burbled nearby and he went to scoop up the fresh water in his hands, first drinking and then splashing more onto his hot face. He took a deep breath, drawing in the sun-warmed air, scented with grass and gorse. A skylark rose overhead, singing its heart out. He looked up at the tiny bird, a black dot against the blue sky. He had felt like that, ready to soar and be free. What now? He shook his head. A rough-hewn plank had been balanced between two piles of stones and he went to sit on the make-shift bench. Ignoring the wild beauty of the surrounding scene, he hung his head, frowning at the clasped hands that dangled between his spread knees.

He felt—un-made— was the only way he could

describe it. To be told he was more or less an invalid, infirm, not even an old crock, but a young one! And yet he didn’t feel unwell—he could ride all day and stand a bout as well as the next man. He was tired at the end of a day in the saddle and if his heart beat faster and he was out of breath after swordplay, well that was usual, wasn’t it? Everyone got out of breath when they ran a race or engaged in sports. It was part of the fun, to push oneself to the limit. But his limit was to be less than that of other men? He had never noticed it.

What was he to do? He felt aimless, purposeless, worse than when he had finally been permitted to leave his sickroom three years previously. Months of intermittent fever combined with aching joints had left him a gawky, gangling youth with pudding rather than muscles who had grown several inches during his forced bed-rest. It was Mr Adams’ head groom, a former cavalry sergeant, who had stepped in then to help him. Observing the boy’s struggles to regain his strength and revive his riding skills, he had suggested that a little sword drill might be of benefit. Fired by dreams of a commission in a cavalry regiment and gratified by the prospect of not appearing a complete Johnny Raw when this should come to pass, Luke had put himself in the hands of his instructor who, on occasion, had gone so far as to pronounce his prowess ‘not bad’. But it had all been to no avail.

Tomorrow he must travel to Dorsetshire for his sister’s betrothal party. Was that to be his future, to go from one engagement to the next as a society fribble, for ever looking on while others acted? (Below Middle:  The Italian version of THE MURMER OF MASKS.  Credit and Copyright by Catherine Kullmann)

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt?  I am more of a pantser than a plotter, or to put it another way, I develop my plot as I write my first draft. I chose this excerpt because writing it was one of those wonderful times when I felt I was really in my character’s head.  (Right: Catherine Kullmann in November 2014.  Copyright by Catherine Kullmann)

Writing can at times be arduous, but every so often something clicks and you and your character take flight. I still remember when the word un-made came to me. It was as if Luke and I were one, sitting on that rough bench, trying to make sense of what was happening to him.  

As you see, it comes at the beginning of the book and set down important markers that I later drew on to develop Luke as a character. These include his resentment at his infirmity, his mentor the drill sergeant, his love of swordplay and his despair at being condemned to a life as a society fribble, (Left: Catherine Kulmann in November of 2017.  Copyright by Catherine Kullmann)

Twelve years later, when Napoleon escapes from Elba, Luke will move heaven and earth to join Wellington’s army in Brussels, leaving everything he loves behind him. Even though I had always sworn I would not write about the Battle of Waterloo, he left me no choice but to accompany him there. (Right: Napoleon leaving Elba.  Credit, Josph Beaume)

Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt? Because I write directly onto my PC, I don’t keep track of changes as I write, so I cannot show you a marked-up rough draft.  I edit as I go, and will usually have 4 or 5 drafts. Passages like this one generally come almost fully-formed and just require polishing. (Left:  The Battle of Waterloo.  Credit, William Sadler)

Catherine Kullmann was born and educated in Dublin. Following a three-year courtship conducted mostly by letter, she moved to Germany where she lived for twenty-five years before returning to Ireland. She has worked in the Irish and New Zealand public services and in the private sector. Widowed, she has three adult sons and two grandchildren. (Right: Catherine Kulmann in August of 2019.  Copyright by Catherine Kullmann)

Catherine has always been interested in the extended Regency period, a time when the foundations of our modern world were laid. She loves writing and is particularly interested in what happens after the first happy end—how life goes on for the protagonists and sometimes catches up with them. Her books are set against a background of the offstage, Napoleonic wars and consider in particular the situation of women trapped in a patriarchal society. She is the author of The Murmur of Masks, Perception & Illusion, A Suggestion of Scandal, The Duke’s Regret, The Potential for Love, and A Comfortable Alliance

Catherine also blogs about historical facts and trivia related to this era. You can find out more about her books and read her blog (My Scrap Album) at www.catherinekullmann.com Her Facebook page is https://www.facebook.com/catherinekullmannauthor

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