I often talk about being visual in my writing. I don’t see words in my head, I see images and then must describe what I see. I think that because I am so visual, I don’t tend to recall the actual writing process. I watch the images unfold in a series in my head – like a movie on the inside of the skull and then a few hours later I’ve amassed another chapter or two.
Now a quick word about the number 3.
It has strong mystical connections with creativity, expression, and communication.
One of my Archetypal images in my NoCo life and throughout The Claire Saga are the tall mountain cluster I call the Three Witches. Now part of their appearance in my stories is my nod to The Bard and his three mystical prognosticators in MacBeth. They anchor that play.
My Three Witches registered on my psyche my very first day at Casa Claire and there hasn’t been a day since my arrival where I haven’t scanned my sky to locate them. They always appear differently and always magnificent.
As women play such a dominant role in my life, including in my books, they also represent the Triple Goddess: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triple_Goddess_(Neopaganism)
Left to right, the Maiden, the Mother, and The Crone.
Thank God for the iPhone.
The Three Witches always lead me home to Casa Claire.
I remember going to a book club gathering in the later half of 2021 for a meet and greet a little further North in NoCo, after TWA was published. AAA was finished and submitted to BRW. I was trying to build a literary constituency.
It was, for me, the perfect audience – a room full of middle aged women, who, it turns out, make up the bulk of my readership. Women read in far greater numbers then men, and have a preternatural attention to detail. They seem to get all the fine nuances to my stories. Thank you ladies.
The women at the gathering proved to be an enchanting and well prepared group. I loved sitting there and answering their behind-the-scenes questions about the background for the book. Some of those questions involved the Three Witches.
There was only one other male in the room, the host’s husband, who listened to me go on for close to an hour before – without a “how do you do” – chiming in and asking me why I called the mountains the Three Witches when there are only two.
Now this man was about my age but very good looking, youthful and fit in an obviously granola way. He was also well educated, articulate, gracious and charming, but had that way of speaking in a mildly condescending tone, like he was used to being the smartest guy in the room. You could tell by the way he interacted with this long standing, all-female reading group, that he also was used to being the only cock in the hen-house.
He reminded me of that character Paul, played by the brilliant Michael Sheen, in the film Midnight In Paris.
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?pc=SL17&q=Midnight+In+Paris+Paul+and+Rodin+Museum+scene&ru=%2fsearch%3fFORM%3dSLBRDF%26pc%3dSL17%26q%3dMidnight%2520In%2520Paris%2520Paul%2520and%2520Rodin%2520Museum%2520scene&view=detail&mmscn=vwrc&mid=6B79306DDB74B3D2FFAF6B79306DDB74B3D2FFAF&FORM=WRVORC
The Bronx boy and Golden Glover in me instantly recognized that this was a serial cock-blocker who had never been punched in the face.
Now the lawyer in me realized that with no window from the stately home through which we could see the mountains and settle the question, there was no way to show the jury – I mean the women – who, at that moment, was right.
The lawyer in me also knew that the key to the success of any trial witness’ testimony is their credibility, and this one challenge was undermining mine before a group I needed to impress in order to spread a positive word among the locals about my fledgling book.
Since I couldn’t revert to a school yard settlement – too many personal injury lawyer commercials flood this television market – all I could do was trade a few polite “you must be mistaken” with the man, who reveled in becoming more intransigent in his position while all of the female eyes went back and forth between us like they were watching a testosterone tennis match.
I was finally forced to smile through clenched teeth and tightened knuckles and agree to disagree, and attempted to recover with the women’s group through some clever repartee and some seldom shared juicy tidbits about the backstory. Not sure if I was successful, although I have never been invited back to discuss any of the other books.
But that may just be because after I left the stately home, and the lovely group inside, as I headed south back to my humble Berthoud abode, the very first moment I got within eye shot of the Three Witches, I pulled my car over to the side of the road, snapped a clear photo of all three, and texted the photo to the charming man’s wife, who had been the group’s contact who had invited me to the gathering.
I’m guessing he didn’t get laid that night. He who blocks last, blocks best.
Well, it’s Sunday, and I believe I may be compelled to clean the basement. No amount of cleverness or charm will allow me to escape that fate. Lisa has seen all of my tricks.
But before that happens I’ll get to cuddle my kitties.
Smokey.
and Mittens a/k/a Mike.
And then visit with the local equines and dogs on my rounds.
But when I do, I’ll be sure to scan the sky to find my mystical touchstones, the Three Witches.
In my best Sesame Street Count Dracula voice
https://www.bing.com/videos/riverview/relatedvideo?&q=Sesame+Street+Count+counting+to+three+mountains&&mid=C847F9F69A8BE709C01BC847F9F69A8BE709C01B&&FORM=VRDGAR
You fine, five readers, rest up on the day the Lord said it is right to do so.
Reality in the work place will beckon this week.
But no matter what else we do, let us make today a great one.
One Response
A Bronx knuckle sandwich would have been a suitable way of waking Mr. Block up to the three-peak reality. Sadly, you can’t just knock sense into people any longer. And like you, I don’t suffer arrogant douchebags very well. Perhaps you could send him an 8×10” photo with the numbers 1-2-3 above the appropriate pointy peaks.