by Wendy Hawkin | Mar 31, 2017 | journal, writing and publishing
The last eight weeks, I’ve been engaged as a volunteer in a wonderful sleep clinic–testing out various videos, audio tracks, and techniques. Over the years, I’d created a hostile relationship with Sleep. We were enemies, engaged in a battle that I was losing. There were nights I feared that I might never sleep again. And other nights, I felt that I was wasting half my life sleeping. I fought Sleep. I resented Sleep. I craved Sleep.
And I justified my inability to sleep in several ways:
- I’m a crazy Vata. “Deepak Chopra says so: “Most Vata people are prone to worry and at times suffer from insomnia, the result of restless thinking. Normal Vata sleep is the shortest of any time–six hours or less is characteristic, growing shorter as one ages.” Deepak–as much as I believe in Ayurvedic healing–legitimized the problem for me. I’m not blaming Deepak, but as soon as I identified with this Vata hell, it became my reality. Or
- I’m an HSP (highly sensitive person). Any kind of stimulation in the evening will keep me awake all night. I need to curl up in a cave on the bottom of the ocean to get anywhere close to unconscious. Or
- I need the nighttime to process everything I can’t process during the day.
The list goes on.
One thing I realized over the last few weeks is that this “night” time does not have to be for sleep alone. I don’t have to fight with It. Night can be a time to meet my muses, and to descend into varying levels of consciousness. While I am asleep, I can go “on a date” with my characters, play out scenes, visit exotic locales and friends not accessible on this plane. Dreamtime is where and when I write. It’s a place of beauty and promise and magic. Sleep is my friend, not my enemy, and if I unleash a question, I can awaken with an answer.
Here’s an example. Now that books one and two are singing on the shelves, I’m back to writing book three. I actually started writing book three in 2014, then left it to edit and revise the other two. But now, I’m back on Creation Island with freedom splashing like a sea around me. It’s the place of shadows and surprises, of unexpected gifts and connections.
When I started drafting in 2014, I created a character named Leopold. I had photos and written descriptions. I knew his background story, his motivation; knew I had connected with him. Leopold is a key player in book three. But, when I searched for my notes a few weeks ago, they were gone–lost in the mire of new computers and lost USB drives. At last, I gave up and decided to begin again. I remembered the crucial bits of Leopold, and that would have to suffice. Still, I wanted it all. Leopold was my Sangria Niño, my Blood Child.
This afternoon, when I sat down to draft, I had an overpowering urge to sleep. I don’t usually nap, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Literally. You know that image of holding your eyelids apart with toothpicks? It was like that. So, I succumbed and went to bed imagining Leopold.
When I awoke, I knew where he was. I went to the computer, typed in his name and voila! The whole file emerged on my desktop, images and all. Now, when I searched several weeks ago, nothing came up. Perhaps, my fingers had not whispered his name. Perhaps, there were so many other voices in my head, I couldn’t hear his.
So, what I’ve really learned out of this sleep clinic–and I will post the results in a few weeks when they are released–is this. I must listen to my body and my spirit. I must venture into the silence and wander and listen and be still. I must appreciate this solitary landscape as a place of spirit and imagination. And embrace it.
When I finished embracing Leopold, I rummaged through my box of journals from 2014, and found this beautiful card: a gift from an old friend who saw me in the image.
In this moment of stillness, I need to do just one thing. Listen.
by Wendy Hawkin | Mar 27, 2017 | art, journal, mythology
Driftwood and BC artists embrace in the sands of time. In this article, Debra Bernier, a Canadian artist from Victoria, reveals goddesses among us. Her work is extraordinary…divinely-inspired. To see more click the link.
via 10+ Stunning Driftwood Sculptures By Debra Bernier Tell The Forgotten Stories Of The Ocean | Bored Panda
by Wendy Hawkin | Mar 25, 2017 | journal, writing and publishing
This morning I wandered at Buntzen Lake. I had not been there all winter as it’s a higher elevation and gets more snow. Actually, while I was wandering, the sun peaked out, and later hail came down in small white chunks. The main trail around the lake beside the dog beach is closed for repairs, but other trails are open. Not much of spring is showing yet; a few leaf buds on bushes, but things are slow this year and it’s been a long cold winter here on the coast. When we first moved here from Ontario, we camped beside this lake. It’s a treasure. It’s where Hollystone Coven perform their ceremonies. Here’s an excerpt from To Charm a Killer where Estrada and Sensara arrive for their Mabon ceremony:
Mesmerized by the forest, for a while he walked in silence. There was no death in this Pacific woodland; only transformation as the dying nourished the living. Miniature ferns sprouted from crooks and hollows of disjointed upper limbs. Mushroom colonies hovered in crevasses; thin stalks twisting like snakes as they competed for space, their rusty caps perfect circles.
Cocking his head like a raven, he flung back the long dark locks that tumbled across his eyes. “I love these shaggy tree folks.” He touched the soft hairy mosses that draped in fractured folds from the decaying tree limbs. Hearing no objection, he rambled on. “This forest could be Fanghorn. Maybe we could conjure up our own Treebeard. Befriend an Ent. Can you imagine all these trees ripping up their roots and marching off like Birnam Wood to Dunsinane, only true Canadian pines, rustling and dragging their—”
Sensara gasped and hugged her chest.
“What?” he whispered.
“Another—”
“Shiver? That’s three. What is it?”
“I don’t know, but I feel sick. Something’s wrong.”
Grounding himself, he shot imaginary roots from the soles of his feet deep into the earth’s crust. If there was one thing he trusted, it was Sensara’s radar. “We’re almost there. Come on. We’ll cast the circle.”
At the signal tree, they veered off a grass-flecked game trail between massive ferns. Buntzen Lake simmered below, a smoky emerald in the growing dusk. Ancient granite mountains encircled the water; their snow-tipped spires still harbouring scattered traces of last winter’s storms. Pine spikes jutted like slivers from the distant peaks, split only by immense mottled rock that gaped through the trees—faces of mountain spirits and Old World giants.
When she shivered again, the energy shot through the air and up his arm like a jolt of lightning. “Jesus. I felt that.”
“Something’s coming, Estrada. I don’t know what it is or how to stop it—but unless we do, people will die.”
by Wendy Hawkin | Mar 24, 2017 | journal, writing and publishing
This is a great article on how watching shows on Netflix can make you a better novelist. I totally agree with Andrew Lowe, not just for everything mentioned here, but for genre, history, and hooks. When you can’t turn it off because you just have to know what happens next, you know you’re hooked.
I’m currently watching “The Last Kingdom” (Wessex during the Viking raids) to explore history and how writers approach the cultural differences between tribes. Fascinating.
via 8 TV Shows That Will Make You a Better Novelist • Reedsy
by Wendy Hawkin | Mar 18, 2017 | journal, writing and publishing
I am trying something new. I’ve read about it. I’ve thought about it. And now I’m going to do it. It’s an online book launch through Facebook.
How did I do it?
I set up an event on my Facebook page: WL Hawkin Author Page
Then invited friends. Now, I’m inviting you. Please share this on social media.
The Details:
The event is set for Spring Equinox: Monday March 20, 2017 from 6-8pm Pacific time. I’m hoping that way, some of my friends in the East can come by too.
My Plan:
Being an INFP, I am not very good at rigid time frames and scheduling. I am much more comfortable with feeling my way. So that’s what I’m going to do. I will post every few minutes, and be online to reply to comments and questions. I’ll be launching my latest book, To Sleep with Stones, which goes on sale that day. This is Book Two in the Hollystone Mysteries, the sequel to To Charm a Killer. At the same time, I’ll be celebrating Spring Equinox. During the launch, we will explore locations in Scotland, learn about Hollystone Coven and their spiritual practices, and meet some of the characters. I can talk a little about my research and writing process with this book.
Anyone who comments or asks a question will be included in a random draw for three printed copies of the book. I will give people 24 hours to post, as I know that not everyone can make it to that two-hour Pacific time slot, so I’ll draw at 6pm on Tuesday.
Posts will remain up on my page, so if you miss the event, you can still come by and leave a comment or question.
Please do come by and say hello. Just click here to join the celebration.
Blessings ~Wendy
by Wendy Hawkin | Mar 17, 2017 | Ireland, journal, writing and publishing
Here it is St. Patrick’s Day, and me with no words from Faerie. Tragic and ironic, that is. I decided, under the circumstances, it was best to let my Irish witch speak.
This is a scene from To Charm a Killer. Maggie’s just been packed off to Ireland for safe keeping and met up with Primrose, her fey protector. The two girls are lunching at The Quays on Shop Street in Galway. And, wouldn’t I like to be there myself today. Enjoy the memory and the moment. Sláinte.
Primrose whisked off her cap as they settled into one of the wooden snugs and Maggie was startled to see that her shaved head was tattooed in colourful swirling symbols. Seeing her fascination, Primrose bowed forward to reveal the heart of the design—an intricately patterned mandala etched on the top of her skull. Three violet trees with intertwining roots formed the centre, while their branches connected in a circular knot. Between the trees were coiled spirals in emerald green. Another circle of knots wrapped around the first and split near the base of her skull into two trails that merged at the top of her spine.
“That’s amazing. Does it go all the way down your back?”
“Aye, and ends in a serpent’s tail. St. Patrick did not rid Éireann of all the snakes. A few of us survived.”
PS. I just received a beautiful email from a woman who finished reading To Charm a Killer this morning and loved it. My heart sings when I hear such kind and beautiful words. We are all entwined in the same Celtic knot, don’t you think?
