18 August 2024
Insomnia plagued me last night, or maybe it provoked me. I spent almost two hours tossing and turning, from 11 p.m. until 1 a.m. Dear Hubby was blissfully snoring. I’ve been told that I snore, but the sound isn’t blissful.
Being wide-awake from 1 until 2:30 a.m. produced the sort of timelessness that’s an essential part of my productive work as a writer. I do perform optimally with a fixed routine, but that routine gets jettisoned real fast — whenever the need arises for me (or, more precisely, for My Muse) to plow new ground.
I’m a linear thinker; My Muse is anything but!
I consequently sorted through research files and photos, culling materials for future sewing, drawing, and writing projects. From one desk drawer, I pulled out a passage that I’d jotted down from Page 83, Le fil de l’épée, (The Edge of the Sword) by Charles de Gaulle.
L’ascendant naît, justement, du contraste entre la puissance intérieure et la maîtrise de soi, comme l’élégance du joueur consiste à renforcer des apparences de sang-froid lorsqu’il élève les enjeux, et comme les effets les plus pathétiques obtenus par l’acteur tiennent au spectacle qu’il donne d’une émotion contenue.
The ascendant is born, precisely, from the contrast between inner power and self-control, just as the elegance of the gambler consists in reinforcing the appearance of composure when he raises the stakes, and just as the most poignant effects achieved by the actor arise from the display he gives of restrained emotion.
In the middle of this night of 17 August 2024, I realized the pertinence of that passage pronounced by the master gambler De Gaulle in July 1932:
Staying cool under pressure, not flinching in the face of danger, meeting your enemy head-on: those acts by the actor known as an American hero have been, and are, omnipresent in the present. His current courage arises from — is born of — his valiant sang-froid of the past.
Or, in his own words, this most quotable quote from DT, regarding the Gaunt Prophet who was slickly pitched by Plouffé and Axelrod to Americans as The One in 2008: Didn’t have it; never will.
On Wednesday of last week, after completing the review of Chapitre 16, I decided to take an entire week off from finalizing the translation of Book 2, Arthur, of THE DAWN into L’AUBE. There are two chapters, 17 and 18, left to review, until I proceed to Book 3, Guillaume. That’s where all of the feisty and fierce fireworks took place between Dear Reader and myself during the Draft Phase. She loathed Guillaume, and she loved him.
Before those hostile vibrations so hotly emanated from my Dear Reader, there was her summation, in late October 2009, as she handed me her penned-comments on the pages of the chapters of Book 2:
“I take it, this is the military portion of the novel.”
“Well, it’s the introduction of the military portion. What’s more significant, it introduces a potential love interest for Camille.”
My Dear Friend was silent as she slowly widened her eyes. She couldn’t get enthused about this U.S. Army colonel. In fact, it was abundantly clear to me that Colonel Arthur Carmichael left her cold. Her work at the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers had soured her on any commanding officers; whereas my work with them at that agency inspired me!
Enormously focused (laser-focused) attention went into the weaving of character, plot, themes, foreshadowing, and historical facts throughout Book 2, ARTHUR. Those details, elements, passages, motivations and motifs were entwined and intertwined — like a tapestry of literary art — throughout this novel — and then they were dove-tailed as they plaited together with the compelling details, elements, passages, motivations and motifs of the phenomenal Finale.
I did not chart, diagram, outline, graph, draw, or list the starting components that were paired with corresponding components throughout the 110 chapters of THE DAWN. The timing, rhythm, sequencing, and pacing of the elements of this book all happened largely without my conscious awareness. The extraordinary work of this intricate creative and analytic composition:
It was all done in my head! And in my heart. And in accordance with my Muse and Divine inspiration.
I still realize, at times, how this epic story was realized!
I’ll never know all of the wondrous ways by which THE DAWN emerged, and that incomplete mystery is more than fine with me. It’s how the Lord moves, and works, in those mysterious ways.
I recall emailing Dear Friend as I neared the end of Final Edits in November 2011. I stated that I felt as if I’ve been weaving a very heavy rug. And I wanted so very much to get out from underneath the weight of it.
“Steady. Hang in there,” came her typically terse reply.
Staying steady and hanging in there — therein resides the art of survival.
I remained steady, and I hung in there, back then, and I do the same today. Certain cherished circles stay unbroken, if you stay duty-bound to keep the faith placed in you by a forever friend. I even used a variation of my confession in my Backstory for this 2-volume epic:
With an oeuvre like THE DAWN, the work felt more like weaving a huge rug, a huge weighty rug.
Whenever I perform translation, I need the spontaneity of coming fresh upon the written-text. I do not look ahead to preview the upcoming scenes. This method proved to be excruciatingly difficult for me when working on Chapter 15 during the second and third weeks of July. I needed an inordinate amount of time to review the French text. The events of, and in response to — J-13 — brought me to a complete stop in any activity in the linguistic domain.
For three days, I coolly contemplated history-in-the-making; and I analytically assimilated the gross magnitude, and ineptitude, of the awful, asinine infidels in my nation. Battles, and wars, are won, or lost, based upon the unexpected and unforeseen, popping up to thwart, or propel the unprepared warriors on any battlefield. As my heroic character Arthur states in Chapter 11:
“The best analysis of any intelligence is always based on knowing the capabilities of the enemy, and not on assuming its intentions.”
I spent the past 8 years being fully, and sadly, aware of the capabilities of the Enemy within America — the seen, and unseen, traitors within our own government. On J-13, I saw those evil undercurrents coming to the fore. Three days later, I proceeded with my mission-at-hand, depicting these ghastly goings-on and eerie episodes of Chapter 15:
news of the drunk-driving death of a young punk British Army captain; reflections upon The Scottish Play (Macbeth); the Battle of Britain; the Battle of London; the sinking of the French Fleet by the British; a BBC radio address of 21 October 1940 by Prime Minister Winston Churchill, in French and in English; the tale of how St. Geneviève saved Paris from Attila the Hun; the Battle of Hastings and the Norman Conquest; the Bayeux Tapestry. . .
Yes, I needed a week-long rest!
My respite didn’t last quite a week. I got too busy, taking a break from my work!
Tomorrow, I’ll be opening the digital file entitled Chapitre 17. I don’t know what’s on the agenda for Arthur. He’s no doubt readying himself to say adieu to Amberley in West Sussex, England, and then steeling himself to undertake his first parachute entry into France.
He got through Chapter 16 in fine form, teaching Major Monfils of the Free French Forces about Generals Grant and Lee, and the Battle of the Wilderness, or the Wilderness Campaign, of the U.S. Civil War. I’m pretty sure those sections put Dear Friend to sleep!
And there is no exact French equivalent for the word, wilderness. It’s a term that the old English bulldog, Prime Minister Winston Churchill came to know, intimately. I also came to know that term, and that military campaign, intimately, particularly during the summer of the U.S. Presidential Campaign of 2000. I’d ferreted myself in my unfinished room at the Peach House, reading and taking notes from the Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant.
My fellow Americans, including my Dear Hubby, were glued to what used to be, The Tube, witnessing The Televised Debates. I’ve never watched those abominably staged set-ups. I did take one look at the preposterous rouge on the cheeks of Algore, and asked:
“Why is he trying to look like Ronald Reagan?”
Imitation was not the sincerest form of flattery for that fraud, and it still isn’t for any political-copycat. I do believe, however, that the Makeup-Artist for The Inventer of the Internet started the Weird Makeup Trend for Campaigning Chameleons. It evolved into the Best Bronzer for a President-of-Color, and, most recently, the Art of the Embalmer, complete with orange spray paint for the face!
The ending of Chapter 15 is just as cogent as those immortal words about the edge of the sword that was le général Charles de Gaulle:
A dimly lit lamp on a small table at the top of the stairs cast just enough pale radiance to assist Arthur in walking to his bedroom. He reached his door but stopped short of opening it.
A voice within him echoed: “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.”
“Yes,” Arthur whispered.
He realized that the lust for revenge had become the curse of the German people. Those wicked mortals would receive a just retribution for their evil deeds on this earth. Perseverance in faith with a bit more patience will go a long way, Arthur solemnly concluded.
He entered his borrowed bedroom. He turned on a light, closed the door, and set the book down on the davenport. The room was cold, dark, and damp. More than anything else, it held the silence of a solitary man. The room was filled with an aloneness to which Arthur had become accustomed. The room was not a retreat for solace, or a haven of solitude, but Arthur knew that it yearned to be. He also knew that he was never alone.