The Creation of Lily
Diana and The Tarot
I’d joined Wild Women Writers in December 1999 for the purpose of turning a personal growth workshop I’d developed into a ‘self-help’ book. We started out with six people and soon became five. Such a diverse group! A poet, a young adult novelist, a memoirist, a ‘self-help’ book writer, and a woman who was sorting out what she wanted to write.
Searching books for different formats, digging out my original work and looking at the material with fresh eyes, starting to rewrite parts of it as well as participating in the reading and critiquing of the other’s work and diving into the various writing exercises brought me to the realization that I had much to learn.
My father had died on March 8 th 1998 and my brother was diagnosed with emphysema. My mother’s health problems escalated and she died March 4 th 2002. My brother was given one year to live. I realized at that point in my life that I needed something different in my life if I was going to live through this phase with grace. I turned to reading romance novels. Oh, I’d read a few here and there but I always read more ‘serious’ books about life, death, the universe, etc.
Between the time of my mother’s death and my brother’s (March 26 th, 2004) the women of The Women’s Circle novels had haunted me to the point that I’d begun to write Lily’s Story. I give thanks to the members of Wild Women Writers for bearing with me as I struggled to find my voice, my writing style, a way to tell these stories and not put the reader to sleep or worse have her throw the book across the room in frustration.
There are several parallels between Lily’s life and mine. We were both child protective service workers, we changed professions and worked with the elderly, we were both single parents of sons, we both found a sacred women’s circle and rejoiced in the many blessings that came with that discovery. Other events are based loosely on my experiences.
I know Lily on many levels. I know how she prides herself on being strong, in control, able to manage/take care of everything. I know how hard it is for her to rely on, depend on someone else. I know she has to be brought to her knees literally and figuratively before she can reach out to others, ask for help, be dependent.
Jackson? No, I don’t know him at all but I wish I did. Proud, stubborn, passionate, creative, but willing to do what’s necessary to win Lily’s heart and mind.
I can’t remember the number of nights I fell asleep hearing their voices, seeing a scene in my mind. But that is how Lily’s Story came to me. Flashes, vignettes, bits and pieces (thankfully following the time line of the book) and an occasional “what’s that all about” as I read something that seemed to write itself across the computer screen. Followed by “Oh, of course” as Lily reached through me to tell her story.
Cherry’s Challenge encouraged me to ‘Finish the Damn Book’ and I thought it was done and I could move on to the next story. But, as I’ve continued to learn the craft of writing, I could see that more needed to be done.
All but one time when I’ve pitched The Dragon and The Great Horned Owl, I’ve had a request to submit. But then I sit down and read it over and see something else to improve. Here is a peek at the first pages (after many revisions) I wrote.
In The Beginning
August, Chinook County, Oregon
The temperature was in the nineties the humidity higher. The smell of hot asphalt permeated the air, the slap, slap, slap of the tires hitting the melting surface a constant sound. The steering wheel, slick from her sweat soaked hands, slipped. The car swerved, its back wheels veering toward the ditch. Her heart thudded in a rapid rhythm as adrenalin surged. The wheels caught in the rutted dirt drive. What a day to be doing this. Lily Hughes swiped a hand down the side of her dark purple skirt in an attempt to dry it. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful when she had the car back under control. Taking even more care, she maneuvered the car into the ruts to more easily drive toward the dilapidated old farm house on a rise in the land. Sweat dripped off her nose and ran in rivulets between her breasts flowing around the pendant of a lioness she wore around her neck. Her sleeveless lavender blouse and her skirt were plastered to her body, her blond hair to her head.
Today was not her first trip to visit the family who lived here. And, as was the case in each previous trip, she felt the shadow of something she couldn’t define, something that had her heart beating a little faster, her stomach churning with nerves. It didn’t happen at every house she visited, but it did happen here.
A glance at the dashboard clock showed the time as 2:30 p.m. Her day, thus far consumed with consults and paperwork, had the most important task still ahead.
Easing to a stop, Lily got out of the car and watched the county car that had followed her up the drive come to a stop. I’m afraid John’ll get the worst of itbut I’m so glad I’m not doing this alone. Tension infused every part of her body and a dose of anxiety coated her stomach.
“Take care in there, Lily.” John’s voice was quiet and calm, his steps measured as he approached.
“You, too,” she replied with a slight smile. Thank goodness the county juvenile department was willing to give me John as back up. Turning, Lily started up the path toward the steps to the back door. She stopped to scratch behind the ears of the emaciated dog chained at the bottom of the steps, telling him as she always did what a wonderful old dog he was. Today when she bent down to pet him she whispered, “You’ll be safe and have a new home and a dish filled with food by tonight, Dobbs.”
Straightening, she took a fortifying breath and started up the rickety steps feeling the anxiety drift away as she heard John’s feet on the steps behind her. At the top she looked in the screen door, seeing two faces peaking shyly from around the corner. “Hi there,” Lily said softly. “Is your Mommy home?”
“Get the hell back in your room,” a woman’s shrill voice shouted.
The faces quickly disappeared.
“What ya want?” The slim woman snarled looking out from the kitchen through the hall to the back door, her brown hair dirty, stringy and pulled tightly back in an unkempt ponytail.
“Hi, Jane,” Lily said with what she hoped was warmth. “May we come in?”
Jane stalked over, shoved the screen door open, nearly knocking it into Lily.
Taking a deep breath, Lily stepped into the hall and on into kitchen. The place looked worse than when she had been there two days ago. Nothing had been cleaned up and more dirty dishes, pots and pans had been added. Even with the doors and windows open, especially in this heat, the smell of urine, feces, and rotten food had her swallowing hard.
“Jane, I’d like you to meet John Jacobson from the Chinook County Juvenile Department.” She hurriedly went on. “I’ve been out to see you and the children at least twice a week for almost two months now and we’ve talked about many things during those visits.” Lily moved further into the kitchen, glad when Jane followed. “If you’ll recall, I made arrangements for someone to help you take care of your house and children.”
“I don’t need anyone’s help.” Jane stomped over to the sink and turned on the water.
Lily continued, pitching her voice to be heard. “The baby’s been hospitalized twice now and the doctor says he isn’t growing like he should. Your oldest daughter has more responsibility than an eight year old should have.” She didn’t mention the bruises and marks on the middle girl. That was all listed in the papers. “I want you to know this isn’t about whether you love your children. I know that you love them and want to do better by them. The truth of the matter is your children need more than you are able to give them.”
“Yer not taken my kids,” Jane growled, advancing toward Lily.
Taking papers out of her bag, Lily showed them to Jane. “These are the legal papers that say I will be taking them with me today, Jane. The petition” she said pointing to the top paper, continuing to speak calmly, “lists the reasons.”
John stepped between the two women, took the papers from Lily’s now outstretched hand. “Jane, let me go over these papers with you so you know what’s happening.” He blocked Jane’s view of Lily and repeated himself, his voice calm, his manner low-keyed. With one hand he gestured toward the kitchen counter, gently steering Jane so her back was partially turned away from Lily.
Just like I planned it. Taking advantage of the opportunity provided by John’s distraction, Lily ducked down the hallway to the first bedroom. There she found the three children, the oldest, a girl of eight, holding her six-month-old baby brother, and the four year old sister huddled in the chaos and destruction: a stained mattress on the floor, a ragged filthy blanket strewn on top, a cardboard box for a dresser, peeling paint, the window and screen broken, and holes in the walls.
Digging in her large purse, she drew out three large black plastic bags, the kind most people used for garbage.
“Come,” Lily said softly to the children. “I’m taking you where you’ll be safe.”
Both girls’ eyes flew open, fear, stark terror showing. “But,” the oldest stammered, glancing toward the door, “she’ll find me and beat me.”
“No,” Lily whispered. “She won’t ever beat you again.” A glance around the room told her that three bags were too many. Holding one bag out to the oldest she asked, “Can you pack your brother’s things also?” At the young girl’s nod, Lily handed her a bag.
Kneeling beside the four-year-old, Lily held the plastic bag open for her to put her things inside, fighting back the tears that welled up in her blue eyes as she watched the small girl take her meager belongings from the box on the floor. All of their belongings together didn’t even fill half a bag.
She stood, her hand resting on the four year old’s slim shoulders. The oldest girl was still holding her baby brother and her black garbage bag showed she’d done her packing.
“Do you have a few diapers for the baby?” Lily asked looking at her.
“Only two,” she whispered back. They could hear their mother starting to yell. “I put his blanket in here,” she pointed to one of the black plastic bags with her foot and then pointing her foot to a dirty bottle on the floor she added, “We’ve got that for him if he gets hungry.”
Lily stood motionless, lost in the pain of it all, hearing the agony and anguish in Jane’s screaming, seeing the fear and terror on the faces of the two older children. The baby’s eyes just got wide; he’d already learned not to cry when startled or scared. If she was going to avoid a worse scene that would bring the deputy sheriff parked just beyond the drive’s entrance, she needed to act fast.
“You’ve done such a good job taking care of everything and everyone for so long,” she said looking gently at the oldest girl. “I can see you’ve done your best for your baby brother.” Her words were met by a solemn face with large brown eyes.
“Now,” Lily said bending closer to the three children. “I need you both to be quick and brave for me. Can you be quick?” Two heads nodded up and down. “Can you carry your baby brother and one sack of things?” she asked the oldest. Seeing her nod and pick up the sack, she turned to the four-year-old who already had her sack flowing out from her spindly arms.
“I see you can carry your sack.” She reached out, took the sack, folding it so no ends draped down before replacing it the little girl’s outstretched arms. “Right now being quick is more important than being brave,” Lily smiled hoping to reassure them. “You know what my car looks like? The green one with the big sticker on it?” Two heads nodded, solemn wide eyes gazed at her. “I need you to go quickly, get in my car and shut the doors. Do not get out at all unless I tell you to. Can you do that?”
Again two heads nodded.
Jane’s voice rose another octave as Lily led the children down the hall to the back door. She stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, blocking the view into the hallway, as she motioned behind her to the children to go on.
Frozen to the spot, eyes huge with terror, they stood as if rooted to the floor.
“NO ONE is gonna take my kids! NO ONE! They’re MINE!” Jane shrieked.
Lily stepped back into the hall, bent down to the children’s level and quietly said, “This is where I need you to be brave. Go quick when I walk into the kitchen. Keep going until you’re in my car. Close and lock the doors and you’ll be safe until I get there. Can you do that for me? Get in the car and lock the doors?” Two wide-eyed sets of eyes full of trust looked at her, two heads nodded.
Using her body as a shield to block their exit as best she could, Lily walked slowly into the kitchen. John was still talking to Jane, trying to keep her focus away from the hallway.
The sound of the screen door slamming heralded an unnatural hush in the room.
Jane spun away from John and raced to the window in time to see her children scrambling into the back seat of the State car, Lily’s car.
“You bitch,” Jane shrieked. Her face contorted in rage, she grabbed a butcher knife and raising it over her head, charged Lily. “I’ll kill you!”
“Get out Lily! Get the hell out now!” John shouted as he seized Jane’s arm, struggled to hold her in place.
And she did.
Lily charged out the door, sprinted down the steps and ran to her car only to find the children had done as she said. She was locked out. Fumbling for her keys, she found them in seconds that felt like minutes. Once in the car, she took deep breaths to calm herself as she turned to the back seat to check that the children were all right and buckled in. A few miles down the road she’d stop and double check. Now she had to get them out of here.
“You’ve done so well,” she told them in what she hoped was a reassuring voice.
Starting the car, she began to back out. When she glanced toward the house again, she saw Jane at the top of the stairs, still screaming, pain and outrage etched on her face. John’s arm around her waist kept her from bolting down the steps and to the car. The butcher knife was nowhere in sight. She couldn’t see any bloody gashes. Lily prayed he was okay as she continued to back the car around. Gravel spewed as she revved the motor and sped out the driveway.
Seven hours later, Lily pulled up to the curb in front of the house she shared with her husband Paul and her son, Charlie. She was exhausted from a day that seemed like it would never end. From the house, she’d taken the children to a shelter home where she’d stayed while the foster mother made a dash to the store to get a few essential things for them.
The children were confused and overwhelmed with all the changes. During the long drive to the shelter home, she’d reassured them over and over that they were safe, that their mother could not come and get them. She saw the middle child’s eyes fill with hope and the eldest’s with disbelief. So she’d stayed through dinner, bath time and tucked them into bed with promises to be back in the morning. Somewhere in the bustle of placement and the children settling in, she’d made a quick call to check on John. A weight she hadn’t realized she carried lifted when she heard his voice and he told her he was okay. She’d smiled knowing the children would be glad Dobbs was being cared for at the animal shelter.
At her front door, Lily stopped a moment to compose herself. She felt drained, wrung out but knew she had more to face before the night was over. When she’d called Paul to tell him she’d be late, he wasn’t happy.
Somewhere in the last six months, her fairy-tale marriage had ended. Paul was becoming more upset with her, more critical, more demanding. Opening the door, stepping over the threshold, she was immediately aware of the tension and silence. First thing on her list was to check on Charlie, the light of her life, her twelve-month old son. Down the hall on the left, she stopped at his door. With the hall light behind her, she could see the shadow of him. Tiptoeing to his crib she looked down. He was sleeping quietly, his fist in his mouth. Gently she pulled it away, brushed his hair from his brow and bent over to kiss his forehead.
The light from the hallway dimmed, a dark shadow crossed the carpet.
“Where in the hell have you been!” Paul hurled the words at her in a growl. “What kind of a mother are you anyway?” His voice was a mix of menace and sarcasm.
Lily turned from the crib and started for the doorway. She just wanted to get out of Charlie’s room so he wouldn’t wake to their fighting. Another thing that had become more frequent: the fights, the name calling, the barrage of nastiness. “Please let me pass, Paul,” her voice was quiet. “We can go in the other room and you can have your say.”
“You’re damn right I’ll have my say,” he hissed.
Behind her she heard Charlie stir.
Paul moved slightly in the doorway but to pass, Lily had to brush up against him. The shivers of revulsion turned into a lump of dread in her stomach. Down the hall to the family room he followed her, his heavy tread echoed in her bones. What had happened to the man she’d married, the man who’d laughed, kissed her awake each morning.
“Look at me,” he demanded as soon as they stepped into the other room. “Look at me and listen, damn you,” he shouted, grabbing her arm and spinning her around.
She hated this. Hated this change in the man she’d loved more than life itself when they married; hated the tears welling in her eyes.
His hands gripped her shoulders as he spun her around. “What’s this? Tears? Do you really think I’ll fall for that? What kind of a sucker do you take me for? So, you’re too good to answer me now?” Paul roared, his hot breath spewing on her, his face contorted in anger.
The second hate-filled face she’d had to deal with today. Steeling herself, Lily locked her knees to keep from buckling and willed the tears to stop. Charlie’s whimper was escalating to a full-blown cry.
“See what you did? You woke the kid up. Well, you’re home now, you go fix it. I’m going out!” He shoved her away.
She stumbled and fell, instinctively curling into a ball, hands protectively holding her head.
Stomping past her, he slammed out the front door. Moments later she heard tires squealing as he peeled out of the driveway.
Charlie’s crying abated. The only sounds…Charlie’s whimpers and her own.
It took several minutes for Lily to gather herself together, to calm her breathing, to get up from the floor, to walk slowly to Charlie’s room. Lifting him from his crib, she held him close and let the intensity and tension from the day ebb from her body.
It’s November and I’m deep into National Novel Writing Month with over 15,000 words written on Diana’s Story the first week. Last year I wrote the first draft of Elizabeth’s Story The Lady and The Sacred Grove finishing 60,000+ words in November and finishing the story before Winter Solstice.
I love writing these stories. I love sitting at the computer, my fingers flying (usually) over the keys, the story unfolding before my eyes. While I know these women, the over-arcing issues, and the form of their spirituality that will support them in their stories, there is always something that comes up somewhere along the line that wasn’t even a glimmer of an idea when I began.
What can stop the fingers from flying is the research. For The Dragon and The Great Horned Owl, I had to find out exactly what the physical therapy regime would be for someone with Lily’s injuries. For The Lady and The Sacred Grove I had to learn Irish/Gaelic names for animals and places. However, for Diana’s Story, The Queen of Swords and The Knight of Pentacles, I had to learn The Tarot. I bought books and scanned them. I bought the Llewellyn deck because the pictures spoke to me (they still do). As the first of November drew closer I knew there was something more I needed to do to get ready.
I was shopping for a maiden’s necklace for my youngest granddaughter in a shop new to me, Essential Elements. The proprietress, a warm and welcoming woman, showed me a whole catalogue of Tarot Card decks and books. I picked out two of them, ordered, and a week before NaNo started picked them up.
October 25, 2009 I sat with my new deck of ‘starter cards’. The meaning is printed right on the front of the card. The instructions showed the Celtic Cross Spread. I asked the question I’d often asked “Am I going in the right direction with my writing?” as I shuffled the cards and laid them out. I continued to follow the directions, reading the first six cards before moving on to the last four.
When I had finished I’d easily read the spread, written my thoughts and interpretations into a Journal, and felt satisfied I’d found a deck to work with while I wrote Diana’s Story.
The first test came on November 2 nd. I was at the first point in Diana’s Story where she turns to The Tarot to help her make a decision about her marriage. Should she stay in her loveless, soul-stifling marriage or leave?
I got up that morning, showered, dressed, and put on makeup. I fixed myself a cup of tea. I repeated to myself that I was Diana. I referred to myself as Diana in my mutterings to myself as I gathered my Journal, cards, and cleared a space on the table. I took a few minutes to breath and center myself, repeating “I am Diana” three times before I opened the box, took out the cards, and repeated the question she asked. “I want a loving, respectful marriage to a man who will listen when I speak, hear what I am saying, and share his heart and life with me. Show me the way…”
I shuffled the cards three times, repeating “Show me the way” with each ruffle of the cards. I cut the deck into three piles, taking the middle pile of the deck up, the end pile next and the top last. Following the directions I laid out the Celtic Cross Spread.
When I’d finished the read, written in my Journal, I knew I had the bones for Chapter Two. Sitting down at my computer the words flowed through the keys onto the screen. I did have to refer to my journal as I wrote the spread into the chapter. Other than that, the chapter wrote itself.
That’s what writing Diana’s Story has been to this point: a flowing of words from my mind, through my fingers, on to the computer screen, almost effortless.
This past weekend my women’s circle met. The other three women are familiar with The Tarot, do their own readings, and have done readings for others. They know The Tarot well enough that they don’t have to refer to the book or have the words printed on the card. I read them the first two chapters. I wanted to know if my ‘read’ for Diana’s Story was ‘right’. My question was answered with smiles and nods.
It’s time to get back to Diana’s Story. Her life has turned upside down at this point. It’s time for her to turn again to The Tarot.
April 2010
Update : I’ve completed the second draft of The Queen of Swords and The Knight of Pentacles and am waiting for my reader’s feedback before one final go through. While I do not use The Tarot daily or even weekly, I am comfortable with it and see it as a good resource for me. Diana certainly found it of great value as she sorted through her past, assessed her present, and took charge of her future. So might you.
November 2011
