Source Material

I wrote yesterday of how fiction begins in the actual for me—a memoirist's habit, perhaps, a photographer's obsession. Given that two of my books have been evoked by the same thirty-some acres, it seemed only right this morning to share a view of Chanticleer, which inspired my 2005 memoir, GHOSTS IN THE GARDEN, and also the book due out next spring, NOTHING BUT GHOSTS. The repeated use of the word ghosts is on purpose, of course—a nod toward all the life that is born of seed husks and muted winters. The first book was true, a reflection on young middle age. The second is a novel, a mystery, the gardened peopled by imaginary souls and one lost-to-the-shadows recluse.

This photo was taken yesterday, as storm clouds gathered over hills of flowering trees.