Quaker Wisdom from a Catalog

In one of the million catalogs that arrive at my house, often in duplicate, I found a nice bit of wisdom.

Signals sells "gifts that inform, enlighten, and entertain." Among these is a framed print with the Quaker saying:

LET YOUR LIFE SPEAK

The selling copy contains some possible interpretations: "Live authentically. Let others know what matters to you. Embody your truths and values. Follow your vocation." (boldfacing mine)

Nice work, copywriter. It's a rare thing when ad copy enlightens, or re-enlightens.

For many years of my freelance career, I wrote ads and catalogs and brochures, etc. in maybe half of my time. I still take on such jobs occasionally.

But I never have gotten such an inspirational message across. Not even in the sappy inch of copy I wrote for an ad in inflight magazines advertising a teddy bear to take home to the kids. Though writing it managed to bring tears to my eyes.

So now I ask myself: what does "Let Your Life Speak" mean for me today? (Long break for thought.) It means: step lightly, listen to small whispers of impulse and consider following.

What I hear first as I listen: my stomach gurgling. I'm going to run out and get some lunch.

Medical Test Reveals Current Mission in Life

This morning a doctor gave me an all-clear you-are-not-malignant diagnosis.

I didn't really think I would hear anything else. But last week's routine test didn't look right and had to be further investigated. Even though that's very common and usually isn't a problem, still...

The interim of five days allowed me to think things over.

If I had only a short time to live, what I'd say to God is: make it long enough for me to finish this biography of Elisabeth Chant. Because I think it's part of what I'm here for.

So now once again I have "all the time in the world." And it's very clear which item I ought to put at the top of my to-do list every day.

Even a hint of mortality can be very clarifying.

Resting the Brain

This week I had once-every-few-years crash into sleep. This happens when I pass a number of deadlines and I've been working too hard for too long. Then as soon as the last thing in the pile is done, leaving a couple of days with nothing do-- suddenly I'm too tired to remain sitting.

So I slept most of a day and a half. In the brief intervals of being awake I read O Magazine, which I always find encouraging at wobbly times.

Then I got up this morning and came to the office as usual, feeling almost normal, but a bit like I just got a cast taken off of my brain.

Used to be that this happened once a year. Now it's more like once every four or five years. Maybe I'm learning a bit more about balance.

But I'd been overworking since last December. And so...

I'm glad it doesn't happen while I'm still on deadline.

I think it gives my imagination a fresh start.

More on Glastonbury and the Isle of Avalon

More and more, I allow my book research to take me geographically, as well as imaginatively, where I'm yearning to go.

Here are a few more shots from last week's trip to Glastonbury in Somerset, England, in search of my biography subject's story.


The white pigeon (i.e, dove) that landed in the Abbey ruin near the alleged grave of King Arthur (one of my subject's obsessions) is an important mystery visitor in the story that is starting to unfold.

The white specks in the landscape photo below are a flock of doves. The picture is taken from the side of the strange steep hill called Glastonbury Tor, an ancient site for both Christian and Druid pilgrims. If anyone knows which species of white pigeon this is, I'd love to know.

A Writer's Photography

Used to be that I took pictures to illustrate travel stories. For many years, I published in travel sections of newspapers and magazines like Travel & Leisure, some women's magazines, Family Circle, etc. It was never my favorite part of the work. I didn't feel confident that I had what I needed in the can.
Now, working on research for my biography of painter Elisabeth Chant, I'm shooting for documentary purposes, and for descendants of hers who have been helping me track down her story. Plus, of course, these days I can look at the back of the camera and see how the photograph is going to look. I'm still no Brassai, but these will show a bit of where I'm seeking my subject.


The trip was to Somerset in the southwest of England, where Chant spent the first eight years of her life, in the shadow of such sites as Glastonbury and Cadbury Camp, an alleged site of Camelot. She came back to this area in her mid-thirties. Throughout her life, she was much affected -- in fact, formed -- by the history and myth and natural world that surrounded her here.



These are a few of the 298 images I collected. It seemed like a thousand at the time I was shooting. These show:
*The ruin of Glastonbury church. The original rough hut of a Christian church here is alleged to have been the first in Britain and possibly in Christendom, established shortly after the Crucifixion. The ruin in the photo is also held in legend to contain the graves of King Arthur and Guinevere, and has a marked site on the grass within.
*Glastonbury Tor, the steep and weirdly conical hill that is both a Christian and Celtic pilgrimage site. The open arch is the base of the tower at the top of the hill-- what's left of a more than 500 year-old church. Looking through it, as I stood at the top of the Tor was like looking out to sea. There's a semi-straight path up and down the Tor, as in the photo, and a path that winds slowly around the sides, forming a giant labyrinth.

Some have called this spot "the holiest earthe of England."

And then there's the 16th century Mermaid Inn where I stayed for my week of archival research and exploring. Miss Chant continues to lead me to some intriguing places.

Returned from Research Expedition

I got back to NC late last night from the rural southwest peninsula of England, the county of Somerset, where I was chasing the ghost of my biography subject, painter Elisabeth Chant.

I think I did get a glimpse of her.

Very good, and exhausting, trip. I added several pounds of photocopies to my files on Chant's early childhood in the town of Yeovil.

More later when I've unpacked and refocused my brain and eyes.

Research for a Biography

This weekend I head for southwest England to the county of Somerset to do more research on my biography subject, the painter Elisabeth Chant.

"Miss Chant" is how I always think of her; that's what she was always called in my hometown, where she spent the last 25 years of her life.

She was born in a crossroads English village called Holwell, outside the town of Yeovil. I'm spending next week there, looking for descendants and for every physical site and old record or newspaper clip that has to do with her family. I do know that the house her father was born in is still a residence. You can bet I'm going to be knocking on that door.

Though I started life as a newspaper reporter, I'm still fairly new to this kind of research. A few days ago it was terribly daunting. Now it's extremely exciting. I do find, though, that I'm pretty dependent on "the kindness of strangers."

Good-hearted and experienced archivists and genealogists are e-mailing me now with leads and bits of info. Everything that comes in is a fresh treaure.

And soon I will be on the ground in her old town. That's her in the picture, by the way. She died two years before I was born. I'm hoping her spirit is traveling with me on this venture.

Editing Marathon

Just now finished my part of a monster-huge project with a client. Her book is due today. We've passed 31 versions of the manuscript back and forth between us, marked up with red type comments in the last week and a half. We worked all through the weekend. Last night I shut down at a little after 2 a.m. She was on-line to me again at 6-something this morning.

And with all that, it turned out that my computer had suddenly decided not to send the two crucial files back to her on the night before Due Day.

As Harry Belafonte sings, "My Lord! What a Morning."

I got hold of Heidi, my tech advisor, on the phone. She talked me through solving the problem, while -- it sounded like-- she was cooking breakfast. Incredible relief!

Next up: to tend to a couple of other projects and get ready to go to the UK on Sunday to do research on my biography subject, who was born in a 15-house crossroads in the southwestern peninsula of England.