From Kate’s Writing Crate…
As a
reader, I always love finding books that appeal to me. As a writer, I am twice
as pleased when the authors also provide masterclasses within their books.
Masterclasses take place when
performance artists and musicians work one-on-one with students. Writers don’t
generally have this option, but I have found some books to be masterclasses for
characters, backstories, plots, settings, voice, and/or creativity.
In honor
of the “home for the holidays” sentiment, I write about home for the December
Masterclasses. This year, I’m highlighting The
House by the Sea: A Journal by May Sarton.
Sarton
wrote poetry, novels, and a series of journals about her life including I Knew a Phoenix, Plant Dreaming Deep,
Journal of a Solitude, A World of Light, as well as The House by the Sea. These journals give a detailed look into the
life of this writer and how much her homes through the years, complete with
cats and dog, meant to her.
Poets
observe life in more detail than most other writers to capture moments in time
wondrously in their work. Sarton reveals this truth in her journals.
Wednesday, November 13th, 1974
“The
refrigerator has pots of freesia and daffodil bulbs in it to stay cool for a
month or two and then come out to plant in the window, which is really like a
small greenhouse. It is lovely now because of a white cyclamen and three Rieger
begonia, one bright red, one greenish white, and one salmon pink. When the
morning sun streams in, they glow in their transparencies.” (page 17-18)
Saturday, November 16th
“A serene
dawn. I saw the sun first bathing my bureau in rich orange light, sat up, and
caught the red disc just as it stood for a second exactly on the horizon’s rim.
It is so silent all around that a moment ago when a single wave broke I was
startled by its gentle roar.” (page19)
Thursday, January 8th, 1975
My hope
that I would have a whole series of empty days, days without interruption, days
in which to think and laze, (for creation depends as much on laziness as on
hard work), was, of course impossible. [Jody, a writer hitchhiker, had written
she would be stopping by and turned up now.] …I felt dismay at the prospect…She
came yesterday, in workman’s boots, overalls, a thin short coat…and a tam-o’-shanter,
carrying the usual canvas tote over her shoulder. And I was suddenly delighted!
…In her
knapsack three of my books and a slim new blue notebook in which she jots down
poems. I liked her face at once, the quirky mouth and keen blue eyes behind
huge gold-rimmed glasses, mousy hair all over the place. (page 177-178)
Sunday, May, 16th, 1976
Another of
those silken days…I am in an ecstasy of birds and their plummeting flight past
the terrace. It is very thrilling when a bird closes its wings and shoots along
like a torpedo through the air. The elusive oriole is everywhere now, in and
out of maple flowers and apple blossom…Out in the field the killdeer give their
sharp peep, and the tree swallows go scooting around in the evening. The air
they inhabit with such grace is intoxicating in itself, cool and gentle. What
days! (page 256)
Tuesday, August 17th
It is time
to close this journal. I need to stop recounting days, one by one, and begin to
think about and make notes for a new novel. I am longing to live in an
imaginary world again, with people about whom I can know everything and tell
the whole truth. That is not possible in a journal intended for publication.
(page 287)
May Sarton
also writes in detail about writing, friends, family, gardens, interruptions,
disappointments, poetry readings, politics, and many other topics. I mostly
chose descriptive paragraphs where readers could picture moments in full color
with audio backdrops.
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