Soapstone - 6 JAN 2010 - trip into Nehalem

I went into Nehalem today. Had a nice cup of clam chowder (served with a pat of butter on top!), walked through several of the little shops, dropped off some letters at the post office, and picked up my package from Powells. My books have arrived at last! (And sending things "General Delivery" actually works, I can now report!) I'm looking forward to delving into the books -- they're all research for one of the new plays I'm working on.

I stopped briefly at the Fish Hatchery on my way back, but not too long -- I wanted to be sure to be back before dark. Highway 53 is narrow and winds its way around in such a way that you can't see the logging trucks barreling toward you until the very last moment. Sometimes there are precipitous drop-offs where the edge of the road is crumbling a bit, though usually not all the way in to the fog line...

I picked up kindling outside when I got back, as it hasn't been raining today and I figured it would be a good time to fill up my basket. I also hauled in some wood and cleaned up my little stove area a bit. Had a nice dinner, and am now tucked into my loft with my Harry Potter novel. (Harry has now arrived at Hogwarts and been selected into Gryffindor.)

I didn't get much writing done today, but I'm very glad to have had an outing. I was ready to go out and about a bit! Will buckle down again tomorrow.

Soapstone - 5 JAN 2010

Each morning that I've been here, at Soapstone, I've begun the day with making coffee, building a fire, and doing an exercise from Ursula K. LeGuin's "Steering the Craft." Her book is a good, solid look at some of the fundamental building blocks of writing, filled with examples from classic literature. It's a nice way to start my days here.

It's doubly and tripley nice because Ms. LeGuin is an Oregon writer (currently living in Portland), and was the founding president of Soapstone. She is one of the wonderful foremothers I have to thank for this lovely two weeks in the woods, writing.

Today's exercise was entitled "Short & Long" -- and it was about using sentences both short and long in your work, and the effect of each, and how sometimes rambling is the very best thing (with optional detours on what she hates about Hemingway and likes about Jane Austen). Here are my exercises. The first paragraph uses only sentences seven words long or less. The second paragraph is one long sentence.

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SHORT:

I saw the deer again this morning. She was feeding by the river. She was in the same spot. Is she a fawn? She is small. She has narrow, graceful limbs. I can't help but look for her. She has my attention now. She is the river to me. She is this place in the woods.

LONG:

The deer was back again this morning; I saw her when I was starting up the fire, grazing by the river in that same spot she was in yesterday, in the underbrush, near the low path, and I almost forgot about the fire, I almost let the fire go out again for looking, even though my feet were growing cold; it's cold in the morning, here, and I remember when I was small, lying in bed and listening to my father get up half an hour before the rest of us to start a fire in the stove; I'd lie there under the covers, huddled, cuddled under the covers, my nose under the covers, listening to him move about the house, up and rising at the bell, down the stairs, open the vent, out to the garage for kindling and small wood, then back, and the hollow metal sound of that small door opening, the shuffle of paper and wood going in, the crackle of a morning fire, light and heat aborning, and I didn't have to get up yet, not just yet...

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I wrote through most of the afternoon; at three, A. and I went for another walk in the woods. We were back on the logging trail again, though we took another route today, right instead of left. It was flatter, so I puffed less, and there weren't the views. But we saw plenty. We saw little brown newts with soft, orange bellies (Taricha torosa torosa -- the coast range newt), and let them crawl on our hands. We saw Thing 1 and Thing 2, dilapidated and decorated with suggestive beer bottles, marking human trails up through the underbrush. We saw a holly tree, and a particularly dark bit of forest, and two ponds. It was a very wet walk -- raining a little when we left, and a lot by the time we got back. But we are hardy women. We didn't let a little rain stop us.

I did some more writing when we returned, then made supper. Now I'm sitting by the fire, drinking a beer and listening to Bruce Springsteen sing softly to me from my laptop. Another good day.

Soapstone - 4 JAN 2010

I woke up this morning to rain painting my window, making the trees outside look Monet-soft. Lovely.

I haven't left the cabin today. It's rained right along, in that steady Oregon way, and I was ready to sink deeper into my writing anyway.

I spent longer at my desk, and got some good work done -- mechanical, mostly, taking work I did during a writing workshop with Aaron Henne in WORD and formatting it into Final Draft. But the mundane and mechanical is a good way in to the creative bits. I'm sneaking up on this play like a wild animal...

Speaking of which, I saw a deer today! Right out the window of my little writing nest. She was grazing down by the river. Too far away to get a decent picture, but pretty to see.

In addition to good scribbling and deer sightings, I received some good news today. The January issue of Dramatics is now available, featuring "Song of Extinction!" They commissioned an artist to paint a picture to go along with the play, and it's just lovely. I can't wait to get my hands on a copy!

If you'd like a copy, just write to the publisher directly. You'll need to specify that you'd like a copy of the January 2010 issue of Dramatics -- the one featuring "Song of Extinction."

Send a note in the mail (with a check for $5 per copy) to:

Don Corathers
Editor, Dramatics
Published by the Educational Theatre Association
2343 Auburn Avenue, Cincinnati, OH 45219

A big thank you to Mr. Corathers, and everyone at Dramatics. I'm honored to have my Song featured in their lovely magazine! (www.edta.org -- Shaping lives through theatre education.)

Soapstone - 3 JAN 2010

I'm sitting in my eyrie now, watching night sneak through the woods; it's going to catch up with me in about half an hour.

Right now I can see a big mossy tree, reaching its pale fingers toward my window.

Little green ferns punctuate the trunk. There are ferns everywhere. There is water everywhere. Everything is green.

I love Oregon.

Today was a brief respite between rain and rain, so I brought in wood from the woodshed with the wheelbarrow.

I like the rhythm of feeding a wood fire through the day. The Queen (as the big stove in my part of Soapstone is called) has a little window in the door, and I sat and watched the fire I'd made as I ate my breakfast.

This afternoon, A. asked if I'd like to join her for a walk up the logging road -- a path mentioned in our materials. I thought that sounded grand, and it was!!!

We walked down the road a little, then up the logging road, through the trees. Up, and up, and up some more. I'm woefully out of shape, but we didn't rush -- just walked steadily along, listening to silence.

We went left, when the paths diverged, then left again, and I'd recommend that route to anyone who finds themselves in the wilds of Nehalem.

As we rounded a corner, we came upon a good-sized coyote. We stopped, and he stopped.

We looked at each other for a while. A. and I looked at each other, a little nervously, maybe. I'd been keeping my eye out for deer or raccoons or birds, but this was a coyote. Finally I raised my arms, and he took that as the signal it was -- he went his way, and after a brief pause and discussion, we kept on hiking up the trail. He didn't look threatening, and he didn't look hungry. There seemed to be enough woods for us to share.

We walked until we reached the end of that particular path -- a high, circular meadow, with evidence of campfires and a great view of the forest below. There were clear cut sections, and there were sections thick with old trees and overgrowth. In Oregon, there is always the struggle between loving the forest and needing to use the trees it has in such abundance.

We made it down in good time (and a little less huffing and puffing on my part). No more animals, or at least none that we could see. A few cars passed us, once we'd reached the road, and it was startling to see them. We are in the wild here. Not entirely -- not far -- but far enough in to breathe. Far enough in to sync the blood running through our veins with the sound of the river below the cabin. Far enough.

It's dark now. My mossy tree is just a shadow, although I can still see her white fingers.

Time to go downstairs and make some supper and feed the fire, then write deep into the night.

Soapstone - 2 JAN 2010

My first full day here at Soapstone was wonderful! I got a great night's sleep -- rain pattering on the roof, river rushing by down below, wind whispering through the trees. This morning, I woke up and watched the river for a while, then started a fire in the little stove (the Queen!). I've been feeding it off and on through the day, and it's nice and cozy now, on every floor.

A., the poet/potter who I'm sharing Soapstone with, has her own little separate studio called "Water." It's lovely and cozy -- she has both desk and bed there, and the little stove to keep her warm. A hallway connects her studio with the main part of the cabin, and it holds the refrigerator, the washer and dryer and the bathroom -- this is joint territory, always. The hallway opens into the kitchen and the discussion area (where the big stove is) -- these spaces are jointly inhabited at certain times of the day -- mid-day, for lunch-making, and the evening for dinner-making and sitting by the fire, should we decide we'd like to. The rest of the time, that space is mine to use.

Going up a ladder takes me up into my little loft, where I have a full-size futon on a platform, overlooking the river. There are windows everywhere! When the clouds moved last night, I could see the full moon rising. Another ladder takes me to a platform above my bed (for sitting or storage), and then *another* ladder takes me up to where I am now, the Cube! This is my writing space. It's forty feet up from the main floor, and has big round windows on every side. It overlooks the river, as every room in the house does. This space is called "Wind" for good reason -- I'm up amongst the treetops, just like when I climbed the walnut trees at home growing up, but with a lovely little desk to write on, and cozy walls all around.

This afternoon, I arranged my things -- my sleeping area, my clothes, and my writing area. All this going up and down the ladders and stairs is good for me! I took a walk around the Soapstone property before it got dark, to see the river up close and get the lay of the land. The river is swollen and moving fast from all the rain, which continues today with only brief pauses. The trees are a mixture of evergreen and deciduous, and surrounded by ferns. It's five o'clock now. In a bit, I'll go downstairs and make myself some dinner and another cup of tea. Then I'm looking forward to writing through the evening. What a great gift this time is, to be in the woods and write!

Soapstone - 1 JAN 2010 - Writing in the New Year

Happy new year, everyone!

For the next two weeks, I'll be blogging at you (occasionally, anyway) from Soapstone -- a beautiful and solitary place on the Oregon coast for women writers to have a chance to focus on their projects in progress. I have several plays underway (as usual), and am glad to welcome in the new year with time to devote to my writing.

Soapstone provides women writers with a stretch of uninterrupted time for their work and the opportunity to live in semi-solitude close to the natural world.

In addition to that rare but essential commodity for a writer—a quiet space away from jobs, children, and other responsibilities—Soapstone provides something less tangible but also invaluable: the validation and encouragement necessary to embark upon or sustain a long or difficult writing project.

Located in Oregon’s Coast Range, nine miles from the ocean, the retreat stands on twenty-two acres of densely forested land along the banks of Soapstone Creek and is home to much wildlife. The writers in residence enjoy a unique opportunity to learn about the natural world and join us in conscious stewardship of the land.

Soapstone is set up for two writers at a time, each with her own writing studio. From an applicant pool of 400 to 500, approximately thirty-five writers each year are awarded residencies of one to four weeks.

May 2010 bring you joy and productions! See you in a few weeks.

~Ellen

Equivocation/TREE

If you're in Los Angeles, check out Equivocation by Bill Cain at the Geffen and Tree by Julie Hebert at [Inside] the Ford. Strong plays, strong direction and design and some wonderful acting in both...