Mara Fields's Blog

I’m sure those that managed to slog their way through the novels Game of Thrones (or more likely enjoyed the cinematic version in all its bloody, lusty, much more engaging glory) are familiar with the notion of an author killing off one (or countless) main characters. But I am struggling with letting one of my characters who is important to the story, to the other characters in the book, and presumably to my readers, die.

Illus. in: The Pirates Own Book, 1842

I’m so torn by this, that I haven’t actually made my mind up yet if he’s dead. His wife thinks he’s dead. The people who saw him dragged off by a wild beast into the forest after being run-through with a sword think he’s dead. But there’s a chance, just a chance, that he simply has amnesia and that’s why he’s been missing for nine months. Hey, I even believe that’s a possibility, and I’m the one who had him mauled by a beast from some other dimension or something. (Truth be told, I don’t even know for sure what these creatures are, or where they came from, or why they hauled this character off into the woods so we’d all assume he was dead–I hope I figure it out before the end of the book.)

Is it better to kill off a character so that the survivors can learn to deal with the pain, or is it too much for the reader to lose someone they’ve grown attached to? How do you feel when an author kills a character you love?

Scene on a Grave, 1859 by Vasily Grigoryevich Perov (1833-1882, Russia)

 

 

 

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My newest novel, Dreams of Running, is now available in paperback and e-book. I’m glad to see it finally on the shelves. It was a long time coming.

It’s a good thing I completed all the editing and final bits before I discovered Masterpieces’s, Poldark, otherwise I might never have gotten it finished. Though I have NOT been binge watching (I like to drag out the pleasure of a good story, rather than wolf it down without tasting it fully), I have to say that I have been spending[image error] a lot of time with the two main characters in the show, played by Aiden Turner and Eleanor Tomlinson. They are SO much fun to watch. I mean, just LOOK at them!

But now I’ve completed the last episode in season 3, and have to wait months before I can dive into 1700’s Cornwall again, so perhaps I should spend my time productively in front of my computer, working on the final edits of my next book, Shadow of Power.

Or maybe I’ll succumb to the draw of enjoying someone else’s art again, and start watching The Crown. Hey, don’t judge. It’s educational.

 

Hi folks. I haven’t been up on my blogging this last year–grieving has taken so much of my energy that I’ve had little for art or creativity. But I have managed to finalize the novel I finished while we were in Costa Rica last year. Publication date should be mid-next month or so.

Though I started this speculative fiction novel more than a year ago, it’s release is rather timely in the face of the world-wide focus on the sexual assault and harassment of women in the work-place by those in positions of power. This book examines oppression from the point of view of a person who does not know there is another way of living besides confinement, violence, and fear. I based the oppressive elements of Cayda’s society on the practices and mores of cultures across our globe and across history, which I describe in the Afterword for those who want more details about the history of gender oppression.

If this sounds a little heavy, it is. BUT, the story is still an exciting, fast-paced read, (and warning, there’s some sex too) so don’t worry about it feeling like a text book or anything!

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I want to thank everyone who has helped me on this book–my valiant beta readers, particularly Trisha Morrissette Walker (who has been my friend and champion for more than 25 years), my family (immediate and extended, who support me like two cupped hands holding a fragile egg), and my editor David Beaumier (who has helped hone my stories for publication).

 

 

 

Every morning I get up, take the dog out to pee, then turn to my coffee maker. (Yes, I only drink decaf, but you know it does still have some caffeine, and the steaming cup, the bitter nuttiness–that’s what I’m addicted to.) [image error]When I lift the mini-blinds to get to my coffee-bean-canister sitting on the windowsill, I am greeted by my orchid. Its smiling blooms bob and say, “Good morning, love, here’s some beauty for you.”

Here’s the thing about orchids–it’s worth looking at nothing but four leathery leaves for six months to a year, because when they finally bloom, they are gorgeous, and the blooms last way longer than a bouquet of flowers. Some species bloom for one or two weeks, but flowers on one of the most popular orchids, Phalaenopsis, can last anywhere from 60-120 days! I only looked up that data a week or so ago when I began to think that my orchid had been blooming for a REALLY long time. Like, freakishly long. I also found out I’m supposed to be fertilizing it. Ooops.

My friend brought me the flower when the boys and I moved into an apartment after Alex died. We moved in on March 6th. Guess what? My orchid is still blooming, even without its fertilizer! That’s a little over 29 weeks. That’s 206 days.

You know what else? When I got the orchid, it was sort of a burgundy and yellow color. Sort of like this:[image error]

I liked it, but it wasn’t the purple and white ones I love. I thought to myself, When this one stops blooming, I’m going to Trader Joe’s and getting a purple one. Why have I never owned orchids before? I love them. Then, this summer, I noticed that the blooms were no longer as burgundy and yellow. In fact, they were turning purple. Let me show what it looks like now:

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Hum. Blooming for over 200 days, and still going strong, changing color to the one I really love, changing actually, to match the purple streak I put in my hair to mark my grief. You know what I think? I think my orchid is a celestial telephone.

I hear your message, my dear Alex, loud and clear, and I love you too.

I wrote something yesterday. Only 750 words or so, but it wasn’t an email message or a note to my sleeping teenage son saying I’d taken the dog for a walk so if he woke, get his own breakfast. It took me about twenty minutes to write the first sentence, but after that the words flowed more quickly, even if I was too tired by 10 p.m. to keep writing.

These last months have held little more for me and my kids than coping. I cry. I drag. I worry about the boys. I grocery shop only when absolutely required. We eat out when I have no energy or motivation, which is quite a lot. I walk the dog, walk the dog, walk the dog. I wonder if I should even bother to write any more. I wonder if I should go back to school and become a kindergarten teacher.

But yesterday I wrote. And today I read some reviews on my newest novel, The Weaver’s Light, and I felt a little hope again. Not a lot. No flash of brilliant, effervescent optimism or expectation, but a spark in the dark that at least I could pull another story together for the kids. Something they would like. Something that would make them laugh. We’ll see if I can nurture that spark into even a small flame that will stay lit until the heavy darkness of grief grows a little lighter.

Here’s the first sentence from what I’m calling Shanti and the Thieves (though I don’t know yet if there will be thieves in the story; who knows until I write it?).

“If Shanti had known the simple task of cleaning out her grandparents’ cluttered garage would turn her life upside-down and shake it like one of her grandmother’s snow-globes, she’d have stayed home and scooped cat poop from Tizzy’s litter box instead.”
If you’re interested in seeing any of the reviews (and a big thank you to the reviewers!):

Review on Barnes & Noble

Review on Amazon

Review on Goodreads

Tagged: bereavement, grief, recovery, writing

I know you all have been faunching at the bit, on pins and needles, waiting with baited breath and all that, for the release of The Weaver’s Light. Well trusty fans (all six of you), your desires are ready to be fulfilled–The Weaver’s Light is now available, in paperback or ebook, for pre-order, with an on sale date of April 18th!

I am thrilled with the cover and book interior done by Gwyn Snider, and endlessly grateful to my publicist Antoinette Kuritz at Strategies PR for all her help.

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Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

Tagged: books, fantasy genre, novel, pre-order, writing

I am living in the days after my best-friend /companion /confidant/ lover/ soulmate/ husband left his wrecked body behind, and moved into the the afterlife, joining his father and others he loved who had gone on before him.

Its an unbelievable, unreal place to be–living without his shining eyes, his smile, even his pain and suffering, which there was a lot of these last months. Instead of writing on a novel this morning, I was writing his obituary. Instead of going to a doctor’s appointment with him today, I will be going to a funeral home.

How can something seemingly small–the passing of one spirit–change the entire world?

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Tagged: death, loss, love

[image error]Folks, I’ve traveled a fair amount in my life. At age 12, I went to Canada with my band class and stayed with a host family for several days–my first trip out of the country. You wouldn’t think the language would be a barrier, but I swear to god, the host-girl and I struggled over the word ‘been’. I pronounced it like the male name, Ben. She pronounced it like the vegetable, ‘bean.’ It took us a surprisingly long time to figure out what the other was saying about “How has the weather been?”

At 16 I spent a month in France as an exchange student. At 22 I traveled with my hiking

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shoes, my backpack, and my cousin from England, to Wales, to Ireland, to France, to Italy, to Germany. A few years later, I went to Costa Rica on a belated honeymoon. My husband and I made it a priority to travel, though we barely made $22K in our first year of marriage–that’s combined income, people–and we also went to Belgium, Holland, France, Spain, and Italy soon after we were married. Then, after graduating from law school, my hubby and I did a central Europe tour–Czech Republic, Slovinia, Austria, Hungary.  At some point, I can’t quite remember when this was, we went to Belize and the Yucatan in Mexico. In this most recent trip to Costa Rica, we also had the chance to go to Guatemala too, which was great.

What’s my point of listing all this crazy traveling? It’s to say, that I love experiencing foreign people, culture, food, and sites. I like learning languages, even if it’s just enough words to say, “Another beer please” a.k.a. “Pivo, prosím” in Czech.[image error]

But there is another thing I like about travel–coming home. I find that spending time in someone else’s home, makes me appreciate my own in unforeseen ways. Examples: Being able to find a drinking fountain and drinking the water–I didn’t know other places didn’t really have drinking fountains, or that flavored, carbonated water is NOT thirst quenching when you’ve been hiking all over ancient castles; public toilets with toilet seats and toilet paper–very handy when you’ve been eating lots and lots of unpasteurized cheese.

Now that I am back in the states after four months in Costa Rica, the things I really feel grateful for, and appreciate in a new light, are not necessarily what I would have thought before I left. Example: self-wringing mops, or at least a bucket with a wringer on it. Do you know what it’s like trying to clean up after a Costa Rican toilet has over-flowed because it’s plugged, AND the flapper-valve hung in the open position for god knows how long without a good mop with a way to wring it? I also now notice and admire shoulders on roads. Wow! There’s room for pedestrians, or bikes, or at least it can accommodate 2 cars [image error]at the same time–I’m now really noticing the space that before I never saw. I am also so thankful for the ability to find decaf coffee at any shop/ cafe/ restaurant any time of day. The Costa Ricans would just look at me sadly and shake their heads when I asked for such a monstrosity.

None of this is meant to be a complaint of Costa Rica, or any other country I’ve visited. This is a recognition that when you go outside your norm, outside what you’ve grown used to over the countless hours of life in your own community, that if/when you come back, you can find a new gratefulness for small things that you might not have had before.

And gratitude, people, is a powerful, powerful thing.

Tagged: appreciation, culture, gratitude, traveling

I can’t write. Had a lot free time today. I wandered the house. I swept. I cleaned the toilets. I cooked a meal. But I couldn’t pick up the computer and write, though I did spend a lot of time on it…not writing. I picked it up to use iMessage, and look at Facebook, and look for rentals back in the states, reading reviews of used cars. Yesterday I was on the computer signing up on the Marketplace for health insurance for the family, and buying plane tickets.

But when you’re waiting, waiting, waiting for your loved one to come home from the hospital, I think creativity shuts down. And even though my husband is home now, I find myself vigilant, watching him for signs of too much fatigue (he sometimes doesn’t listen when I tell him to sit down and let me make the tea), worrying if he’ll be able to fly home in two weeks. When I’m not watching him, I’m watching my boys. Worrying about whether they’re burying their emotions, worrying how they are managing to cope.

It makes me wonder how amazing, tortured artists managed to remain creative when they were gripped by mental illness or sorrow or fear. What happens to your creativity in the face of emotional turmoil?

Beautiful cover for my novel being published by Cité & Folde Books in a couple of months. LOVE IT!

 

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Tagged: art, books, novel