Hell-ooooo Out There!

I have returned.

Me hanging out with Bill at Shakespeare's Birthplace last year

Well, I never really went anywhere -- just to hell and back, as some of you may or may not recall from a few of my poignant and terrible previous posts. I kept on promising that I'd try harder and keep up the blog. For so many reasons (and no reason at all) I found I didn't have the need or the drive... and so I left this poor blog on the side of the road to fend for itself.

There had been more death and loss in my immediate circle than life and joy in recent times, and healing has been both necessary and slow. I don't think I'm all the way back yet. I don't think the old me will ever quite manage to come back fully restored, and that is simply the way of it.

If you really want gory details, go back a few posts and you'll see what I went through. And the worst was yet to come in the ongoing saga with the loss of my Mom in December of 2015. I still feel rudderless in the wake of Mom's death, and am adjusting day-by-day to my relatively new status as an orphan.

But it's not all doom and gloom. I have been working on my health and have made good progress. I have been writing a wonderful, odd story that eventually became a novel... and that in turn seems to be Part One of Three. The world of Haresmoor is layered with ancient mysteries. At its heart, there lies an age-old battle between the Cunning Ways and the titled nobility who have taken over their sacred lands. It is a strange feat of imagination but set in a specific real place and time -- Wiltshire at the very end of World War I. I am finding my grandmother's voice and my mother's within the pages. Izzy is the girl at the centre-- the last of her Cunning kind with a long, hard road ahead. There is a rambling manor house full of secrets and long-suffering staff. A stone circle crowned by rooks and magpies. Animal characters have presented themselves: tricksters and helpmeets, primarily Meep the cat, Crow and Fox. I'm loving the weird invention of it all and am reveling in exploring language in new ways. What is Haresmoor? It's Englsh Folk Horror. It's Magic Historical Realism. Who knows? The genre might be a tricky one to nail down! "Downtown Abbey meets Harry Potter," a friend quipped. But that sort of pastiche is too easy and simplistic... though that sort of broad appeal would be welcomed by me!

Avebury Stone Circle, 2016.

It's meant my returning to the U.K. and tramping about in search of visceral details. If I can make the trip yearly, I shall. In a perfect world, I'd split my time equally between Ontario and England. That is still the goal -- despite the fact that the England in my mind doesn't match the depressing reality all that much these days. But my stories live there. My soul lives there, entwined in the family roots and embedded in its soil. I'll share imagery and words in my coming posts.

Other news! Base Spirits has been adapted as a screenplay by a Toronto filmmaker, Carolyn Kelly, and I'm now combing through the novel manuscript ahead of taking a pass through the script. It is instructive to revisit old work and see just how much I have since grown as a writer.

Haresmoor is the present main creative focus. I am closing in on the complete first draft and then the editing and rewriting will begin. I am also actively seeking new ways to reach audience and expand my readership. I have a LOT of writing to share and it is time to get it out into the world. Watch this space... I shall reveal details as things unfold in the coming months.

I promise.

Of 'Fearful Morsels' and Downton Abbey Manners

I admit it. I love Downton Abbey, even if it really is just a high-class soap opera.

I imagine a lot of you watch it. No doubt you giggle at the Dowager Countess and the extremity of household protocol. Surely people were never so silly!

Or were they?

I am a history nut. When digging around in musty book shops, sometimes a treasure is unearthed... like a book of etiquette from times past. One such tome is a prized possession of mine by one Emily Holt, and bears the rather florid title:

~ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF ETIQUETTE ~
~WHAT TO DO
~WHAT TO SAY
~WHAT TO WRITE
~WHAT TO WEAR
~A BOOK OF MANNERS FOR EVERYDAY USE~
[Augmented by Eight Half-Tone Illustrations]

(*Whew* I feel under scrutiny even before I crack open the cover, don't you?)

This is not an English book, but Canadian! Brought to you by the good people at Toronto's Musson Book Company Ltd., it lays it on the line for the more uppity colonials precisely how to behave in a civilized society. I cannot find a date, but I would guess it must be just about pre-WWI, due to some references to proper motorcar etiquette.

It is packed full of gems. I will share my favourite here today-- as the holidays are drawing close, and you wouldn't want to make a fatal social blunder at a dinner party, now would you?

[Tip: it is best read aloud in your most convincing Maggie Smith impersonation.]

'ACCIDENTS AT TABLE'

'MISHAPS will overtake the best regulated diner, who, however, when anything flies from the plate or lap to the floor, should allow the servant to pick it up. Should grease or jelly drop from the fork to one's person, then to remove the deposit with the napkin corner is the only remedy.

How often, oh how often! does the apparently well-conducted man or woman, when such an accident befalls, gravely wipe his or her knife on a bit of bread or the plate's edge and heedfully scrape away at the the offending morsel. This is decidedly the wrong way to do it, just as it is an egregious error thoughtfully to scrape up a bit of butter or fragment of fowl from the tablecloth where it has fallen beside the plate. At the family board this is well enough, but to do so at a restaurant or a friend's table is wholly unnecessary.

If an ill-starred individual overturns a full wine or water glass at a dinner table, profuse apologies are out of place. To give the hostess an appealing glance and say: Pray forgive me, I am very awkward, or, I must apologize for my stupidity, this is quite unforgivable, I fear, is enough.

Should a cup, glass or dish be broken through carelessness, then a quick, quiet apology can be made and within a few days sincere repentance indicated by forwarding the hostess, if possible, a duplicate of the broken article and a contrite little note.

A serious and unpleasant accident is that of taking into the mouth half done, burning hot, or tainted foods and the one course to pursue is quickly and quietly to eject the fearful morsel on the fork or spoon, whence it can be quietly laid on the plate, or into a corner of the napkin. This can be so deftly accomplished that none need suspect the state of affairs and the napkin folded over and held in the lap throughout the meal.'

(I would be tempted to add, 'Whilst the juices of the of the fearful morsel may then stealthily seep in the fabric of one's dinner jacket or evening dress, this unfortunate side-effect of one's masochistic politeness must be borne without complaint. If one has a close family relationship with the hostess, a discreet bill for the cleaning may be sent in due course with a polite request for recompense, but, in the case of business partnerships or nobility, a stiff upper lip and a greasy lap is the only remedy'.'

Until my next post, dear Reader, I remain faithfully yours,

Ms. Ruth Anne Barrett