Book By My Side

In line with my first post -- check out David Sobel's work.  One of his books, paged through but not read yet, Children's Special Places: Exploring the Role of Forts, Dens and Bush Houses in Middle Childhood.  It is great to be reaffirmed in knowing the nature of our connection to place.  Remember we all started in a small confined secure roundish softish darkish place unless we were bottle babies (need decanting ala Brave New World?).  And remember the urge to be rabbitish (ala Felix Salton and then later Watership Down).  And I'll never forget the autumnal games of gathering piles of leaves and being mama bird in the family nests. 

There will be later posts about maps, and my extensive use of maps in teaching, but I've got to back to my writing now, tucked down into my burrow.

Thanks to my friend Liz who gave me David Sobel's name!

Circus Tents, or Parts Thereof

This spring, as the snow melted, a large black and white striped piece of fabric revealed itself snugged under tons of Vermont winter in the wetlands that parallel the street at the bottom of my driveway.

As the winter thaw progressed . . .

a fragment of circus tent

flapping in the drainage ditch.

Since I know that most stories begin by someone leaving home or a circus or stranger coming to town I spend some time feeling lucky that such an auspicious sign has appeared on the part of my land that signals comings and goings, that connects me to the highway of the world.  Right about now you are probably thinking I am a really cheap date, right?  No, I'm just noticing what strikes me, what stays with me.  I'm picking at those little places that stand out, that feel different.  Is this the call to adventure [hero's journey]?  This little flapping flag that might have been part of a car wash awning, becomes a signal to me from a place of altogether magical otherness.

Here's a bit of story that came from the tent:

* * *

This isn't a book where dumb characters keep waiting for things to happen.  "The holes in the safety net," as my grandma said this morning, "are getting bigger everyday. . . so it's time to find a hole that fits and climb in again."  If I were a circus clown I'd know where to find the net . . . under the tight wire where the gypsy dancers play in the air, but here in my, lets face it, pretty sucky universe, I don't know what it looks like, where they keep it, or even how to begin.

I could start with how this afternoon Ellen just reappeared.  And she's really screwed up, worse than any one I've ever seen.  And I don't know what to do for her.  But she's coming over after dark so I can give her some food.  Grandma will be out with friends, playing cards I bet.  So probably I can let her in.

* * *

I'm thinking how a basic simple metaphor, like safety net, can be such an amorphous concept to a kid who hears grown-ups talk.  But wouldn't it be an absolutely crucial notion for a young person to grasp?  Especially when so many young'uns truly need a safety net.  So, I think like that and wait for stories to come.

What do you think?

Every Little Wonder

Small places that surround you, contain you, feel safe.  Think about this when you are working with descriptions of place in your writing.  I'm focusing on reading/writing/thinking about SETTINGS that literally envelope you, that evoke those cramped little hiding places you crawled into to observe without being seen.  The entire process seems to trigger powerful feelings.  It seems so strong to me, almost as if just imagining the place releases some type of survival instinct brain chemical.
 
How does this sound to you?