This Writer's Diary
April 19 to April 26, 2025
A week of jetlag and conflicting demands, not the least of which is spring migration. The woods and fields are loud with the calls of birds newly arrived on territory, or passing through on their way to more northern breeding grounds. The osprey pair gather sticks to add to their nest on top of a light standard at the university’s playing fields; pine warblers and chipping sparrows trill; the drumming of northern flickers echoes throughout the arboretum. In Victoria woods, the bloodroot is out, and the white trilliums in bud. I want to be out walking, binoculars in hand.
Not that walking and birding are a detriment to writing; often it’s the opposite. Eighteen months ago, I took a photo of fallen oak leaves on a path. Passing this point this week, I remembered how I used that image to describe one of the protagonists of the work-in-progress:
The firelight reflected off the polished wood of the chests and panelling, making the room—and the man who had just entered—glow. Kirthan del Candre de Guerdián en Leste looked as if he were made of autumn oak leaves, shades of gold and brown from the short curls of his hair to the tips of his polished boots. His tunic had insets of bronze silk, the sleeves embroidered with what could only be gold thread. Yet there was something untamed about him, something that the trappings of wealth could not disguise.
My thoughts took me from a man made of oak leaves to the foliate heads (‘Green Men’) that adorn medieval churches, and from there to the other heads found in those buildings, often high up on walls – and from that to realizing that in the Taechsellë, the schools of my fictional world, modelled partly on medieval universities and partly on cathedrals and their precincts, similar heads should be part of the structures’ decoration. A minor point in worldbuilding, perhaps, but details slipped into the narrative help solidify the setting.
In between doing the taxes (due April 30th in Canada), leading my writing class, and various community meetings, I did get some writing done. I’m not a writer whose characters are chess pieces to be moved as I see fit: while I may place them in situations, how they react will come from my understanding of their characters and motives. That’s often subconscious, and so I don’t know what that reaction will be. Sometimes my brain works on this overnight, and I wake in the morning with the scene in place; sometimes it takes a conversation with one of my writing friends (or my husband), who know my characters well, before it becomes clear. Both happened this week, both scenes involving the man who looks as if he’s made of oak leaves, Kirthan de Guerdián, as he is usually called. Kirt. Merchant, musician, adventurer, driven by an old betrayal and a promise made. (If you’ve read Empire’s Daughter, my first book, and the name ‘Kirthan’ is familiar – well, it’s meant to be.)
This week ended with a messages from a reader, one that stands as a reminder that books don’t have a best-by date – the trilogy she’s referring to was published between 2015 and 2018:
I have been completely mesmerized. Your story is so engaging on many levels. What a wonderful world you have created! Your characters are diverse, complex, and entertaining. Your battles seem realistic. I loved the ending. I could not put it down and have neglected all other responsibilities! Thank you for writing it.
It’s put a smile on my face all day.
Like what you read? Donations for my local foodbank are gratefully received.
Find all my books at https://scarletferret.com/authors/marian-l-thorpe
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Interesting to learn something of your process, thanks for sharing.
The first day of spring is long gone and yet the ability of intertwining the seasons and create a canvas that leaves the readers spellbound and wanting more is in the strength of your writing!!