A New Word and An Old Book

by Ruth Dell

Discombobulated has long been my favorite word, simply because I love the way it captures perplexity and confusion by its very sound and look. But then I came home from Ireland last week with a delightful new word in my vocabulary. Discombobulated now takes second place and my new favorite is vellichor.

Vellichor.  A magic word carpet, with its intriguing definition of being "the strange wistfulness of used bookstores",  flew out of cyberspace  How could I resist a word which caught me up and instantly transported me to my happy place—a used bookstore!

I soon discovered that this word, although gaining popularity in the digital world, was not in conventional dictionaries, although I suspect it may well be at some time in the near future. It was coined by John Koenig and its full meaning is given in his site, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, as follows:

"the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you'll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured."

Two days later I got to experience my new word firsthand when I visited Zozimus Bookshop in Gorey, County Wexford. And it was there that my sister bought a wonderful old book which we pored over once back home.

The Irish Press Cuttings Album

It's shabby and battered, but once opened it reveals a treasure—an Irish Press Cuttings Album c 1855 to 1865, including detailed reports of the laying of the Atlantic Cable. Unfortunately the dates of the cuttings and the names of the newspapers are missing.

Further examination reveals that book originally belonged to a painter, who hung wallpaper and installed windows in addition to painting. He used it to keep records of his clients, work and accounts. The days and months have been noted, but, in most cases, not the year, although I did find one entry dated 1846 and another 1911. The press cuttings have been pasted close together over the work records in the first part of the book. The font is very small and it seems white space was not an option in those days.

Painter's Record 1861

 The cuttings include opinions about many subjects, news, anecdotes, social events, funeral notices, obituaries, matrimonial matters and a wide range of trivia which capture a world very different from today's. Here are two excerpts which I particularly enjoyed and have earmarked for a novel. Note the spelling and punctuation are copied from the cutting.

THEORY AND PRACTICE.—A droll story of a discourse between a French barrister and his client is going the rounds of the Halles.  A man was recently accused of robbery, about which there was no mistake, and his advocat had an interview with him. At the end of it he said, "I cannot see that you have any defence. You had better, in my opinion, plead guilty at once; frankness is your only remedy."  The accused drew himself up with dignity. "Silence, sir!" he exclaimed.  "You may know the theory of the law, but I am acquainted with it practically. You have but read and pleaded, I have been many times accused and condemned."

Isn't that delightful?

Press Cuttings

Here's another gem:
 
OBTAINING HUSBANDS UNDER FALSE PRETENCES.—A law which passed the English Parliament in 1770, enacts, "That woman, of whatever age, rank, profession, or degree, who shall, after this act, impose upon, seduce and betray into matrimony any of His Majesty's subjects by virtue of scents, paints, cosmetic washes, artificial teeth, false hair, iron stays, bolstered hips, or high heeled shoes, shall incur the penalty of the law now in force against witchcraft and like demeanours; and the marriage under such circumstances, upon conviction of the offending parties, shall be null and void.

Oh my, doesn't this make you sit up and wonder? Isn't your imagination running wild with stories?

Now it's your turn. Please leave a comment telling me about your favorite words or any old books that you have come across.

A Spring Walk

by Ruth Ann Dell

Three days ago.

It's spring in South Africa. Damp earthy smells delight me as the rain soaks into the dry thirsty soil. Green grass shoots through the black remains of the winter's veldt fires. Trees are dressed in fresh green leaves and blossoms abound.

A short walk up the street takes me to trees adorned with exquisite blossoms next to last year's pods. Many pods are now scattered on the ground and have split open to reveal rows of spiky seeds nestling inside. I don't know the name of the trees, but my brother-in-law assures me they are itchy bean trees--he remembers his school-days and boyish pranks. He and his friends put the seeds down the backs of each others' shirts so that the hairs caused itching!

I take a pod home and use a black marker to draw little eyes, which transforms the seeds into tiny hedgehogs--lovely little characters for a child's picture book.

"Hedgehogs" Nestling in a Pod

And the empty pods can also be used to make delightful birds. African craftsmen use clay to fill the pods and fashion heads. They press legs and feet of wire into the clay, then paint the birds when the clay is dry to make birds like the magnificent African hoopoe.

Dry Pod

African Hoopoe

At the bottom of the street, silky oaks bear golden hairbrushes. I'm sure they brush the flowing green tresses of the weeping willows next to them as the wind blows the branches together.

Silky Oak and a Weeping Willow

Silky Oak Brush

What fun to use my imagination as I enjoy God's creation!

After note: Since my spring walk, I've flown to Ireland where the trees are sporting their autumn colors. Sadly widespread storms have lashed South Africa causing widespread damage and flooding. 

On a Winter's Day

by Ruth Ann Dell

It's winter! Crisp sunny winter days on the South African Highveld. Chilly winter evenings snuggled up in a warm bed with a purring cat, hot drink, and a good book. I love this time of the year.

 The brown grasslands have a beauty of their own, lit with aloe flower flames which will still glow even if veld fires char the grass around them to black.

An Aloe in Full Flame

The trees have lost their leaves and branch into dynamic sculptures against a vivid blue backdrop with ever-changing cloud formations.

Tree Sculpture

Winter reveals secrets which are hidden at other times of the year. In the nursery school playground, much to the delight of the children, the trees sport colorful decorations as balls, kites and other toys thrown up and caught in the branches in the summer months, become visible as they are no longer hidden by the leaves. Brooms and ladders are used to return them to the eager children who had given them up for lost.

Birds, like this magnificent young Verreaux Eagle in the nearby Klipriviersberg Nature Reserve, and other wild animals, are also easy to see in winter when they are not hidden by the vegetation.

Young Verreux Eagle. Photo Credit-Amy Berry

And in my garden, the oak tree reveals her secret to me—a sparrow's nest, invisible in summer, but easy to spot now.

I'm at a scary winter-time in my life with a possible move from this land, which I love, to another country. A move which involves so many questions and unknowns. A move which will require big sacrifices. But as I look at the nest, home and dwelling place to a family of birds, a Bible verse springs to mind:
"Lord, You have been our dwelling place throughout all generations."  Psalm 90:1 (NIV)

I realize that whether I stay here or go, it is the Lord who is my dwelling place. The words of Psalm 139 assure me that the Lord is everywhere, and 
"If I rise of the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast."
(NIV Psalm 139:9&10)

What a wonderful winter revelation! 

Nest in My Oak Tree

I would love to hear how God has spoken to you through His creation this winter—or summer if you live in the Northern Hemisphere. Please leave a comment to tell me.

Just Imagine

by Ruth Dell

What's behind the green door? This question haunted me for many years after I watched a brilliant production in which students acted out scenes from several children's books. Their purpose was to bring the books to life and pique school children's curiosity, thus encouraging them to read stories for enjoyment. Their magic certainly worked on me, and I searched for a copy of "Behind the Green Door". This was before Google days, and I couldn't find the book anywhere. So I had to use my imagination to try and answer the question. Was it a puppy? A pirate? A land from the Magic Faraway Tree? A monster? A cave. . . 

And that's the wonder of the gift of imagination that God has given us. As readers we use our  imaginations to visualize the stories that we read, in so doing we bring our life experiences into play. For example, if an author mentions a field of yellow flowers, I may visualize the dazzling yellow of a crop of canola, another reader might see a field of sunflowers, while yet another sees a cheerful carpet of daffodils swaying in the breeze- the possibilities are endless. Each reader will experience the book in his/her unique way, and often in ways entirely different to the author's intention and ideas. Our life experiences will affect the way we see the settings, the characters and even the plot.

And writers would not be able to write their novels if it were not for their imagination. We have to imagine our characters' emotions, goals, motives, hurts, lies, appearance, speech. . . We have to use our imaginations to ask and answer "What if?" questions to find out what happens in our books. What if my heroine runs away from home? What if she is missing for two years and then returns with no idea of who she is? What if her experiences have made her into a liar and thief? We have to use our imaginations to adapt and flesh out real life settings, or create a totally new setting.

There are some wonderful quotes which give us some idea of what we can accomplish if we use our imaginations. Here are a few:

• Logic will take you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere. Albert Einstein
• Imagination is the true magic carpet. Norman Vincent Peale
• You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus. Mark Twain
• Imagination is the highest kite that can fly. Lauren Bacall
• There are no rules of architecture for a castle in the clouds. G K Chesterton

What Can You See in these Clouds?

• but, I nearly forgot. you must close your eyes. otherwise. . .  you won't see anything. Alice
• I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free. Michelangelo

Sculptor Nick Speakman Set a Squirrel and an Owl Free

My favorite anecdote illustrating the power of imagination comes from Emma, a little girl in my pre-school class several years ago. The class said a prayer of thanks for their lunch and were about to start eating when Emma piped up,
"Teacher Ruth, Kyle had his eyes open when we said grace."
"Emma, if you saw his eyes open, then your eyes were also open."
" Oh no, Teacher Ruth. I used my imagination."

Before ending this post, I googled "Behind the Green Door". I discovered that it was written in 1940 by Mildred Wirt, who wrote several of the Nancy Drew books as a ghost writer under the name of Carolyn Keene. Guess what I'm downloading this afternoon! At long last I'll find out what's behind the green door.

My Home, My Setting

by Ruth Ann Dell

A Gifbal (Wildflower)

Reindeer food, snowy forest scenes and lakes, golden domes and spires, colorful ornate churches, a pink padlock embellished with hearts on a bridge filled with lovers' padlocks, nesting dolls and fancy shoes fill my laptop screen in turn as my friend shares some of the sights of her holiday in Finland and Russia with me. I can only imagine the sounds, smells, aromas, flavors and textures that surround her and fill her senses. Wonderful experiences which will translate into exotic settings in her novels in days to come.

And here I sit in my house in South Africa. Same old same old, as we say here—nothing new or interesting to use in my books.

But if I stop and think about it, I realise that's not true. Although so familiar to me, my surroundings are interesting and different to that of many readers living in other countries.

I take for granted the single layer of glass in my windows which allow sounds to be heard indoors. When a Scandinavian visitor to the country first arrived and heard the birds outside, she asked in alarm what the noises were that she could heard. It was a totally new experience for her as the double glazed windows and paucity of birds in her home city meant no outdoor sounds penetrated the rooms of her house.

Bird song and calls are an integral part of my life. At night I sometimes hear the soft hoo-huuu of a spotted eagle owl or whi-whi-whi-WHI-WHI-WHI-whiwhi of thick knees as they go about their nocturnal business. I wake to the sound of dinosaur-like birds (hadedas) shouting raucously in the sky, accompanied by twittering of garden birds and the cooing of doves. During the day I often hear crested barbets trilling away and sounding for all the world like old-fashioned telephones ringing. The gray lourie or "go away bird" orders me to "Go-waaaaaay".

And it's not just the birds which make my garden unique .It's also the sound of the weather, especially our amazing Highveld thunderstorms. The day can be bright and sunny without a cloud in sight, and suddenly the sky darkens and before you know it, rain comes lashing down and pounds on the windows so loudly that  you cannot hear the TV even with the volume turned up. Sometimes hail attacks the windows too and adds to the cacophony. We jump out of our skins at loud cracks of thunder. Through the windows we see the street awash with water so that it appears to be a river. But half an hour later the sun is shining again, the river has disappeared and steam rises from the surface of the street.

I thought storms were like that everywhere until I went to Ireland. Thunderstorms are not as common there, but there's plenty of wind and rain, and often for days on end. As I stood in my sister's house looking out of her double glazed windows, I found it really strange to see the trees bent over with the force of the wind as the rain ran down the windows—but there was no sound, the world was on mute! And the sun did not shine at all. The day was dull and cloudy with none of the exhilaration of a South African thunderstorm.

Another thing that I love about living here is that there is that the Klipriviersberg Nature Reserve is a only short drive away. It's a unique experience to walk there as wildlife roams free. On one early morning hike, our group of hikers was greeted with the forms of several zebra rising up out of the mist by the ruins of an farmhouse. We passed so close to them that we could hear them chewing.

A Zebra

Later as the sun rose we spotted wildebeest and several species of buck. Birdlife and wild flowers abound and delight visitors.

A Wildebeest

And so I have come to realise that my surroundings are unique and interesting, in fact they make the perfect setting for my characters!

I'll end on a visual note with photos of some of the wild flowers in the reserve.

Now over to  you. I'd love to hear where you live and what makes your surroundings unique? Can you use the world around you for the setting of your novel?

Put On Your Listening Ears and Use Your Five Senses

by Ruth Ann Dell

Cosmos in my garden

Want a surefire way to pull your readers into your story world? Want to make your book pop? Sizzle with life? Then appeal to your readers' senses by including telling details of sound, taste, smell, and touch, as well as the obvious ones of sight. So say the many articles, writing craft books and blogs that I've read. They're right.

But what about God's world? Do we use all our senses to appreciate and immerse ourselves in His creation? It's easy to be captivated by spectacular scenery such as awesome sunsets over the mountains, but what about going to our ordinary outside on an ordinary day, and really experiencing the wonder of our Father's handiwork?

I pondered on this after discovering a beautiful old hymn, This is My Father's World, by Maltbie D. Babcock. Here is the first verse:

"This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears,
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought."

I am very aware of God in His creation. This weekend we drove through roads edged with cosmos in full bloom against the background of grasslands. Who can see such beauty and doubt that God exists?

Earlier today I put on my "listening ears" and went outside to experience the world intentionally instead to taking it for granted. I stood barefoot on the grass, shut my eyes and concentrated on listening. I heard doves cooing nearby and the sound of a crested barbet trilling—remember the dialing tone of an old-fashioned telephone? That's this spectacular garden bird's call. A rustle of leaves indicated a lizard scurrying by as pigeon wings clapped overhead. Bees buzzed and a soft padding in the sandy soil told of Boris, my son's dog, a handsome Rhodesian Ridgeback, following me. Our pets are a treasured part of our Father's creation.

My other senses soon jostled for my attention. I felt the touch of a breeze cool on my arms and the sun warm on my face. My bare feet felt the roughness of the grass. Soft fur brushed against my ankles accompanied by a light purring—my velvet cat, Misty.

I opened my eyes and after watching a bee collecting nectar, I discovered a little bug, the like of which I had never seen before, clambering through pollen grains on a cosmos petal. Whitish dots and dashes in perfect symmetry on his wings fascinated me, and then he moved so that the sun caught them, and in that instant they flashed with iridescent greens.

The little bug with a pattern of dots and dashes

A bumble bee with wide white bands  on his abdomen landed nearby and I spotted a

fly—not just any old housefly, but one that looked as though it was a gleaming bronze sculpture.

Lastly I took the time to smell flowers and enjoy fragrances so light and delicate that normally they would pass unnoticed. I ruffled the grass with my hand and delighted in the newly cut lawn scent.

Truly our Father's world is one of beauty and delight, but we need to put on our "listening ears" and engage all our senses to appreciate it, else we will miss so many wonders. 

To use a cliche, let's take the time to stop and smell the roses every day, and then thank and praise God our Father for His wonderful creation.