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.
The
Outermost House: A Year of Life on the Great Beach of Cape Cod by Henry
Beston is the memoir of a writer who built a two-room house on Cape Cod
overlooking the ocean. His keen observations on nature make this book a
classic.
Henry Beston was quoted by Mary Oliver
in Blue Pastures on page 34. She highly recommended Chapter III
“The Headlong Wave” in The Outermost
House.
He devotes a single chapter—and it is no brief chapter—to a
description of his constant companion, the ocean wave, that form, that long
tumult, that energy with its “wisps of watery noise, splashes and counter
splashes, whispers, seething, slaps and chucklings.”…He describes waves which
come onto the beach on quiet days, windy days, long days of storm, and nights
too… (page 45 in The Outermost House)
In the summer of 1924, Beston began
living for a year on Eastham Beach hearing the waves every moment, in every
season, in all kinds of weather, seeing them during the day every time he
looked out a window and anytime he took a walk. This familiarity led to
inspiration. He writes 18 pages capturing waves in all their forms. It is a
masterclass on verbs of muscle and adjectives of exactitude as extolled by Mary
Oliver.
My favorite passages in Chapter III are:
The rhythm of waves beats in the sea like a pulse in living
flesh. It is pure force, forever embodying itself in a succession of watery
shapes which vanish on its passing. (page 47)
Far out at sea, in the northeast and near the horizon, is a
pool of the loveliest blue I have ever seen here—a light blue, a petal blue,
blue of the emperor’s gown in a Chinese fairy tale. (pp. 49-50)
Beston doesn’t limit himself to describing
waves. He also records the variations of weather, seasonal changes, birds,
insects, strolls, “treasures” washed ashore or away, and his own feelings and
thoughts about solitude.
The dune bank was washing away…under the onslaught of the
seas…there crumbled out the blackened skeleton of an ancient wreck…As the tide
rose this ghost floated and lifted itself free…There was something
inconceivably spectral in the sight of this dead hulk thus stirring from its
grave and yielding its bones again into the fury of the gale. (page 88)
From the moment that I rose in the morning and threw open my door
looking toward the sea to the moment when the spurt of a match sounded in the
evening quiet of my solitary house, there was always something to do, something
to observe, something to record, something to study, something to put aside in a
corner of the mind. There was the ocean in all weathers and at all tides, now
grey and lonely and veiled in winter rain, now sun-bright, coldly green, and
marbled with dissolving foam…the little family gatherings of winter birds; there
was the glory of the winter sky rolling out of the ocean over and across the
dunes…(pp. 91-92)
Great writing needs inspiration and
time to observe, consider, scribble, rewrite, and edit. We can’t all go to a
little cottage on the coast for a year, but we can make the most of the writing
time we do have—jot, jot, jot until you can get back to your desk.