Sing Me That Story

Last October I had the pleasure of attending a storytelling in remote West Cork. The hostess, an accomplished storyteller, has an outbuilding on her property dedicated to these magical gatherings. As I entered the big sturdy shed, I easily imagined being in Ireland centuries ago. No electricity lit the room. Candlelight set the mood. A semicircle of chairs quickly filled with guests not only from the local area, but from France, Germany, and Australia. The rules were simple: whoever held the chunk of amethyst ore the hostess passed around had the floor. He or she could tell a story, sing a song, play a tune, or pass the stone and simply listen. The mystical atmosphere captivated everyone, and all participated.

This Boston native held her own. With that purple rock securely in my hands, I sang about a young man from County Clare who wooed and won the girl he loved. The song was a story, as were all the tunes performed that night, and I realized how much those old songs have inspired my own writing. Many ideas from the Irish lyrics I learned growing up have found their way into A Band of Roses.

Isn’t every song a story? Especially in the Celtic countries. Words spring from the Celtic soul like sparks from a roaring peat fire. Whoever first put those words to the tunes drawn from the bottomless well of traditional music spawned a wealth of musical tales that spans generations. Romance, rebellion, ghosts and magic, drinking, death and emigration are only the beginning.

The old troubadours who carried news far and wide used rhymes in their story/songs to help keep their facts straight. Little good that did. In the late nineteenth century, Harvard Professor Francis James Child toured the British Isles and collected 305 distinct ballads, each with so many variations, his collection filled ten volumes. Modern fiction has nothing on the Child Ballads. We find Scottish lords disguised as beggars, and abandoned ladies going to sea dressed as cabin boys. Stalwart patriots, lovesick soldiers, outlaws and enchanted animals abound in these sometimes gruesome but always entertaining narrative songs.

Periodically, new generations “discover” old folk songs. Modern folk singers like Jean Redpath and Andy M. Stewart have recorded many Child Ballads as well as the romantic and political poem/songs of Robert Burns. These talented Scottish singers are among many who round out the Irish "trad" repertoire of performers like the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, Planxty, Dervish, and Altan, to name a very few. Do you have a favorite?

Any writer experiencing “writer’s block” would surely find a cure in the venerable musical tales so lovingly presented by these artists. Of course, you don’t have to be a writer to enjoy them. Whether you read them, hear them, or perform them, they’re sure to fire your imagination.

Visiting Imaginary Friends

With all the information available these days, writing about places an author has never seen requires little more than clicking on real estate ads and vacation sites or opening one of the many geographical guides tailored for writers and armchair travelers. The Writer's Guide to Places is a good one. And did you know the CIA keeps a World Factbook online and updates it every two weeks? Country profiles, maps, flags, governments, and a wealth of other information are just waiting to inform and inspire.

With enough research, I can create the places my characters visit, even if I haven't been there myself. It isn't necessary to see the scene in person. Or is it?

During a recent visit to northern California, the Mendocino coast lured me to see if I'd done a good job describing the home temporarily occupied by the star of my alternate Irish history novels: Taillte Rosaleen Boru, the Crown Princess of Ireland. The house Talty shared with buddies Richard and Nick doesn't exist, of course, but the rugged coast of Mendocino certainly does.

Visiting John and Diane, my dynamic uncle and gracious aunt, is always a pleasure for Mike and me. Last week, they again installed us in the guestroom of their lovely Santa Rosa home. We spent a few days basking in their generous hospitality, touring Napa Valley and Bodega Bay before commandeering one of their cars and heading north. Vineyards and vineyards later, we hunkered down for the night in Fort Bragg and dined in Noyo Harbor watching seals frolic in the small sparkling inlet.

The next day, we invaded the town of Mendocino, an enchanting New Englandish array of houses, shops, and water towers situated on a scenic stretch overlooking the blue, blue Pacific. I pictured Talty strolling there, shopping for groceries, browsing in the bookstore. She might return from Ireland one day for a visit, I thought, and decided that seeing the setting for a story in the proverbial flesh is preferable to surfing the web for real estate ads "fer sure." Not long after, I found the site of Talty's house, cliffs, beach and all!

Well, not really. Only in A Band of Roses. I did imagine dropping in on Talty and the guys for tea, which was enough to make my visit to Mendocino more than worthwhile. That and the armies of redwood trees we passed on our way back to Santa Rosa and Diane's Chicken Osso Buco.