My first surprise, being largely ignorant of the book or previous series, was that the story unfolds in 1973.  That’s the year I graduated high school, when the world felt fresh and exciting. I’m often shocked at what the 70′s look like after nearly 40 years; there is not a whiff of  ’fresh’ and ‘exciting’ here, unless you count the pitch-perfect de-romanticization of the spy thriller.

Benedict Cumberbatch as Peter Guilliam

It’s a story that seethes with distrust, and so, much of the action is watching and being watched. Certainly not a thriller in the big box office way, the film is none-the-less riveting for it’s subtle and relentless unfolding. Gary Oldman is spell-bindingly inseperable from his character, George Smiley. He appears to do nothing. I’ve never seen so many talented poker-faces in one film. Mark Strong shape-shifts from agent to tourist to teacher. Firth is the charmer among his creepy colleagues played by Ciaran Hinds, Toby Jones and David Dencik. Tom Hardy’s sexy dishevelment and Benedict Cumberbatch as the earnest Peter Guillam add a bit of refreshment.

I always love London the city-as-character, but this version is so grim as to be barely recognizable. Think of how distinct the city performs in Sweeney Todd,  or Mary Poppins, or Love Actually. Well, here’s another one:  here the city is both antique and coldly new, with slabs of  ominous orange and gray office decor, creepy technology, and a hangover of victorian charm that might feel warm if not viewed through smudged windows or a sticky haze of cigarette smoke.

Framing of shots is intelligent and careful: so many scenes are viewed through layers, like windows that grid the world or constrict like portholes. Doors and entryways seem to tighten around you, heightening the sense of danger. Even the  scenes on location in Budapest and Istanbul are carefully composed evoking the suffocating nature of the spy’s world. Thank god for Smiley’s new glasses; without them, it would have been difficult to keep track of flashbacks.

I’d love to hear from fans of the novels of LeCarré and 1979 series: how did this compare? Since the book and series were presenting a contemporary situation, how is it different to see it as history? Please share your thoughts!

I always ask for snow for my birthday, but since it falls in November, I haven’t had my wish fullfilled in some years. Today, however, this quiet grey began to creep over the landscape as I was at the gym for morning workout.

By lunchtime notable flakes were drifting down. an hour later and they began to clump together: enormous flakes or tiny snowballs. Now they’re sticking around, beginning to coat a world in white.

It will always feel like magic to me, this process. Tiny diamonds, one by one, join to transform the landscape, and they do it silently. The hush that snow brings feels like a holy breath, a significant blessing.

The winter beech leaves can be quite a bright golden peach in the winter, contrasted with the drabness of dried leaves and bark. The green of moss and holly are most welcome. Add the blue sky and you have a beautiful winter palette.

Of course the dogs were ecstatic. Oh, the joys of sniffing! Seneca forgets she’s a gimpy oldster at the park (this one) and romps like a puppy, a comical sight as she seems to gallop in slow motion. When we rounded the path to approach the boardwalk, a brisk wind was blowing off the river.

This is often the case; inland even a few yards the climate can feel very different from what’s happening on the water. Today, this strong, steady breeze was whipping the shallows into tiny whitecaps, making a frothy sound. And the bare branches were making that distinctive wintery roar. My hair flew around and I felt the cold come through the buttons of my jacket.

In the marsh a few groups of mallards were chattering nearby, then further back a flock of Canada geese rose up and make a V heading toward open water. But in the stiff breeze they seemed to hang motionless in the air. They were moving forward very slowly, and not really moving their wings. The wind alone was holding them aloft. It was eerie and beautiful, these big birds floating strongly, as if they reached the river on will alone.

Sometimes where we are trying to go is harder to reach than we expect. But maybe there is an added lift, an unlikely gift, from the obstacle.

Black Capped Chicadee Here

White Breasted Nuthatch Here

Lady Cardinal  Here

In this climate zone the garlic should go in around 1st November. It’s December 6.

I arrived to light rain, and found J smoothing the luscious black dirt in her designated garlic bed. It looked perfect: weed-free, dark and almost fluffy. I tried not to think about the lumpy clay soil complete with rampant weeds just down the garden in my own plot. Together we split and soaked the cloves, poked holes with a bulb planter, sprinkled bone meal and pushed the cloves deep, covering them.

I went down to prep my garlic bed. It had been mellowing under straw since I pulled the beans in late September. The quack grass had moved in from one end, but otherwise the weeds weren’t too bad. It was raining steadily now. I started forking the bed vigorously, hoping J would not arrive until I was through. Though some stubborn clay remains, believe me, this bed is much improved from the weedy cement I first encountered. As I worked I realized I was too hot, so I shed my sweater, preferring the fashion statement of rain-slicker-over-bra. Off with the glasses, too, as they are all fogged. Water dripped from my hat and my nose.

I dumped some chopped leaves and sand in the bed and forked it in, then raked it somewhat level. J arrived with the bulb planter, cloves and bleach solution. We soaked the cloves, made the holes, added the sprinkle of bone meal. The dogs found it very interesting! By now, they are soaked, but it’s warm enough at 60, and they run and bark, perfectly happy with the weather.

Shoving the fat cloves in their little holes, smoothing them over, was a wonderful feeling, very satisfying. I imagined the strong stalks, curly scapes and tangy bulbs of next June, and it’s thrilling. I never grew garlic before!

Before leaving the garden I plucked a carrot, grabbed lettuces and arugula and dill for lunch. It was a very tasty salad!

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When we turn away from that inner voice, we suffer a loss of the spirit. For kids growing up in a difficult world, finding a positive purpose is incredibly challenging, but essential to their survival.. And following the muse can bring a powerful message to the wider world.

That’s why I support the work of my friend Rev. Delores Roberts, who runs art and writing programs  for young people in the DC suburbs. Her youth theater group works for two years on each performance, and this year’s play is based on the real life experiences of several students. Rev. Roberts works tirelessly and collaboratively with her local schools and young performers. A professional music director, acting coach and choreographer donate their time to the production, and the result is amazing. Young talent is developed, an important story is told, and everybody wins.

I know you all have lots of preparation for the holidays and other events to choose from, or live far away, but even if you can’t make it to the show please  send your good wishes to these dedicated kids and this inspiring program. Visit www.zoelifeministries.org and offer an encouraging word at the blog, keep an eye on events like writing contests, reading club,  awards and more. And contribute in any way you can.

The Publick Playhouse
5445 Landover Road (Route 202)
Hyattsville, MD 20787

TWO SHOWS ONLY:
Saturday December 3rd
12:00 noon & 7:00 pm
call 301-277-1710 for tickets

“The Day of Reckoning” is a moving drama about David, a high school student facing difficult choices. Challenged by the demands of school, home and life, the temptations of bullying, gangs, violence and drugs, will David make the best choice?

Hey, it’s a good habit to have, I figure. So, onward.

• I have a new novel, my first, in a rough (very) draft. **boggles** Check.
• I have a blog, it needs content. There’s a good place start.
• My fandom experience is largely conducted via the medium of writing. LiveJournal et al are seriously neglected.
• And, it’s time for AdventDrabbles!
• AND I have a Yuletide assignment to write: at least a  thousand words in a new fandom I so far adore.

It looks like writing will continue. But wait, there’s more. I have several writing friends, some of whom need encouragement. I am already inspiring others with my NaNo project.  Stay involved/get involved!

• Start/Join a local writing group.

On October 30 I went to my old stomping grounds in Crystal City and joined a group of NoVa NaNo writers. Little did I realize that Crystal City would be mobbed by the Marine Corps Marathon, 30,000 participants and all their well wishers. These runners are committed to 26.2 miles, something I cannot even imagine. While we sat and talked writing, we watched the runners, walkers and hand-cyclists — two of them veterans with amputations — stream by. There were costumed runners, young runners, grey-haired runners, fat runners, thin runners, struggling runners, clowning runners,  even a juggling runner!

Leaving the meeting, post-race traffic jammed up in in an underground garage. No cars moved, exhaust smells were rising and I started to feel panicky. I rarely get claustrophobic, but loathe underground parking garages and their desolate mine-like vibe. In my unease I scribbled  on index cards for a while and made my first outline of the book with chapters defined. It became the backbone of my plot diagram.

As I used  the time (and the panic) to work on the book, I watched as people adorned with big shiny medals on a striped ribbon returning to their cars. This year, 21024 runners were awarded medals for completion. They looked just like ordinary people! I am challenged to walk for more than three miles, so this is seriously impressive, watching these ‘ordinary’ extraordinary people walking around as if everything is normal, and they’ve just run 26.2 miles!

Eventually the traffic jam broke, I made it out of the garage, and went home ready (so I thought, heh) to start my NaNoWriMo. It wasn’t until the final weekend of November that it dawned on me: getting tangled up in that marathon was no coincidence. NaNoWriMo became my marathon: requiring persistence, patience, rededication, tolerance of imperfection, defeating the devil of self criticism, setting and meeting small daily goals, sacrifice, dedication, and belief in my ability to ‘get there.’

I would have never signed on for the Marine Corps Marathon, but I did sign up for NaNoWriMo , and I did persevere, and I did ‘win.’  I don’t have a medal, but I have a badge (points at the shiny) and soon, a t-shirt! (man that’s a lot of work for a stupid t-shirt!) and, oh yeah, a draft of a book. And I have the powerful inner magic of being proud of myself for all of the above. I did all of those things, and I would, and will, do them again.

Onward! Daily word count for 2011-2012: 1000 words a day.
And here are 588 for today.

Week 2 began with a crash: I came to a screeching halt after my auspicious start! My daily word count plummeted and I was frozen in whatthehelldoIdonow? Desperate for help, I turned to the amazing NaNoWriMo forums and read about Plot Doctoring and Word Wars and other helpful things. I posted a distress call to the boards and my fan journals and got encouragement. And I found this blog by checking Twitter for #nanowrimo.

Martha Alderson saved my book from certain doom. Her post “The End of The Beginning” was exactly what I needed to find on that day, Nov. 8, when I had no idea what to do. The blog told me things I did not want to hear: like I needed to stop reworking the safe ground of lovely description and character backstory and get on with it. But I could feel that she was right, so I took a leap and bought her book (on Kindle; a first for me.) The Plot Whisperer: Secrets of Story Structure Any Writer Can Master told me more things that were difficult, but thrilling, to hear. Such as the way our character’s problems and our novel’s problems all lead back to our own shortcomings. And how the flaws of the character are essential for an interesting story. And that some writers are linear/action oriented, and some are description/feelings oriented, and that we each need to strengthen the side we are weakest in, in order to have a successful book. Wow.

Great things that happened in Week 2:

• got out of “the beginning” and into the action-packed middle of the book
• developed secondary characters including my most villainous one and his motivations
• went to two great write-ins where I met fellow NaNoWriMos from DC, Maryland, Hawaii and Australia!
• cranked up my word count by sticking with it even when it was tough, or I thought it was dumb
• made a good back-up system and backed that up too

By Monday the 14th I had reached  22,589, only 749 words behind a 50k-in-30-days schedule!

However, as with last week, the midweek days see lower word counts than the weekend, so here I am heading into the homestretch of Week 3 running seriously behind! So, here I go again: I am heading to town to enjoy an afternoon with a friend, and then we’re both going to do some serious wordsmithing. Writing in the courtyard of the National Portrait Gallery should be delightful.  And when it grows darker and we need caffeine and sustenance, we’re heading for Teasim.

The moon has been extraordinary, for what seems like weeks now. It rises, solemn and brilliant orange and rises to sail daylight bright through the thinning crowns of the oaks, arriving to awaken me at three, four am like a spotlight. Night of full moon we walked the boardwalk into the marsh, and the birds who normally sleep quietly were busy flapping and squalking in the bluish light. Even now, well into the waning gibbous, it still commands attention.

Here’s a beautiful photo from Earthshot’s photo of the day, posted for my birthday yesterday:

Holy Island Moon © Karen Atkinson

I always enjoy this descent into winter; I am November born. The macabre gloom appeals to my melancholy streak, it seems romantic and rich with creative possibility. For now, I am writing and making art and working on my house. I give thanks for the rich, warm, dark colours of this time, and for the hearty foods, the roots and greens and roasted things that warm us now. We fortify ourselves for the chill that’s coming.