Jane Eyre: Retold - Ch. 1

Jane Eyre is my favourite novel. I can read it over and over again. Something about the story pulls me in every time. Maybe it's the fact that Jane is the underdog and I can relate to that - most everyone can. She pulls herself up from nothing and becomes a strong, smart and confident woman. The love story also gets me. The prickly, mysterious and intriguing Mr. Rochester... a man brave enough (for the time the story was originally written) to take on a woman who keeps him on his toes - his equal.

For me, Janes' story never grows old. Every film that is made of the story, I've seen - and will see. It's a story that lasts the test of time. It's the kind of story I would love to write myself. And as I try to write my own novel I look to Charlotte Bronte and her novel Jane Eyre for inspiration. Inspiration that comes in splits and splats. It's hard to wrap your head around writing a compelling story that people would want to read... a story that a writer wants to carry on writing.

So, why not try rewriting my favourite novel as a test. I will rewrite a major literary masterpiece, chapter by chapter - all thirty-eight of them... :S Am I crazy. Maybe. Well, yes I am. That really was an unfair question.

I will endeavour to rewrite a chapter a week - modernising the story somewhat, making a few other changes as I see fit and continually editing as I go along.

We'll see - I will see, if I can do this. Stick with it I mean - if I can, then maybe I can get the guts to actually get a crack on my own story when I'm done.

Here goes nothing... *gulp*

***

Jane Eyre: Retold
Chapter One

The rain pounded heavily outside and I knew there would be no chance of getting out of this house on this dismal day. I would be stuck inside with my dreadful Aunt and her even more dreadful children. My only saving grace being that my Aunt very rarely let me socialize with anyone but myself. Hopefully I could sit alone, undisturbed in the library thumbing my way through history and travel books until I was called to dinner. My cousins, Liza, Georgie and John were too good for me according to my Aunt. I might dirty them up with my lower class ways. This was never something that my Aunt would say out loud of course, oh no, she was too much of a lady for that. My Aunts actions were all I needed to know that she despised me. Why else would she not let me near her children and why else would she belittle me at my every turn?

My Aunt was jealous of anyone who had anything that she did not. She even went so far as to be Jealous of her own sister - my Mother. Now by association, she was jealous of me as well. When my Mother chose to marry for love and not money my Aunt rejoiced in her jealousy and hatred of her. She hated the fact that my Mother and Father loved each other, it was something she would never know. She rejoiced because as a result of that love, my Mother was cut off from the family and my Aunt became the heir. A great fortune was to be hers.

When my parents died in a terrible car accident, Aunt Reed had the perfect opportunity to envelope herself in her anger and jealousy. She adopted me into her home and family under the guise that I should (and could) be saved. She made everything look perfect on the outside as she paraded me around to all the social gatherings, while I was made to remain as quiet as a mouse. Heaven forbid I dare say a word as we mingled in "polite society." If I did, I'd never hear the end of it!  On the plus side when I did occasionally speak out or fuss, usually because my cousin John was taunting me, my Aunt was able to play up her part as the martyr. She, already a busy mother of three (and now a widow) had taken in a hapless child that was not her own. To all eyes that looked upon her in the town of Haworth, my Aunt was a saint. Behind closed doors and away from those approving eyes, I was the perfect victim. Trapped in my Aunt's cage and there at the ready should she desire to spew her disdain.

Fortunately for my Aunt, I pitied her. She was sad and loveless, which I knew was her own doing and for that I was sad. She might not deserve my love but she had it because I knew she was doing the only thing she knew how. My Aunt had never learned to love. She loved neither herself nor anyone else. I on the other hand did know love and that could never be taken from me. My Aunt and I could have been close and I wished we had. I felt a hollowness inside whenever she would send me to another room. She looked so much like my Mother - how I missed her. However, my Aunt chose to be stubborn and spiteful. She chose, not I. I felt great sadness when she would curse my parents and I. No matter how hard she tried to break me, to destroy the image and love of my Mother and Father, she could not. My ability to remain unbroken seemed only to spur her on and with every cutting word she gave me, I grew stronger, but never harder.

Aunt Reed could have had love and she could have had happiness - she could have followed in my Mother's footsteps. Instead she turned her back on true love and married according to what her parents and her society expected. She married for money and for status. Lucky for her my Uncle was a great man and when he was in this house, life was tolerable. I think he died of a broken heart. He would have loved my Aunt, if she'd only let him. In the week since his death in his room, all glint of life and of love that had existed, vanished. I felt completely alone and I was beginning to be quite at home with only myself to entertain.


I had been living at Gateshead Hills with my aunt and her family for close to a month by the time my Uncle died. A long, patience testing month. Now with my Uncle gone, I wondered how I would hold it together and not scream profanities at the sad little family that remained? More so, how was I not going to punch my cousin John right in the face!? "Patience is a virtue" I would say over and over again in my mind, hoping against hope that it would stick. I feared the inevitable - I would crack.

Crack I did. As I sat in the library that rainy afternoon, imagining myself in the exotic, far off places I was reading about, my cousin John appeared. What happened next happened so quickly I had no time to defend myself. John threw a punch so hard to the right side of my face that I fell off my chair, catching the corner of the reading table with my head as I fell. The room began to spin and become disordered. All I could hear was the faint sound of a laugh coming from John. How I hated him. In that moment I was done, all semblance of patience and virtue was gone. As soon as my body allowed I was on my feet screaming the most vile swear words I could think of as I tackled John to the ground. John cried as he covered his face against the blows of my fists which pummelled over and over again into his head and chest. I even managed to knee him in the groin a couple of times which had him doubling up in pain. How fantastic I thought! What a release!

Then it was over. Aunt Reed's hands were on me tearing me away from her precious son. A look of horror took hold of her face. I continued to scream and cry out as Aunt Reed's trusty housemaid Beth began dragging me down the hall to meet my punishment. A night in the most fearful room in the house. The room my Uncle had died in. I feared that black room. It housed death and death was something that, after the loss of my own parents, I'd hoped to never meet again. Death was unknown and scary. It was as black as the room I now found myself in. With a nod of understanding Beth ushered me into the darkness of my Uncle's room. She shut the door tight and locked it before making her way back to the library. Where I am certain she would have found my Aunt fussing and preening over my idiot cousin John.

I sat with my back against the door. I was alone with death and whatever else it might bring with it. In this house, being alone usually brought me comfort however at this moment fear of the unknown had taken hold of me and I couldn't catch my breath. My eyes darted about the room and they soon grew tired. They fixed themselves on one place, my Uncle's face. He starred into my eyes. The black of the room engulfed me and I passed out. I was not alone.

In Time

"I'm here." Called a voice, ushering in a presence that filled every inch of space in the room.

"What do you mean, you're here? You weren't invited." My heart began to race. Nervously I fidgeted and looked around.

The response came; "I don't need an invitation dear one. I come when I please and leave when I like."

Every stitch of air was then sucked from the room and the walls began to close in. Suddenly, the intruder was on top of me - Inside of me.

Was I going to die?

Why had it come? What had I done? I didn't mean to encourage it. My heart pounded and my fists clenched in rage. With my back against a wall I began to fight, kicking and screaming as I slid to the floor.

Hands gripped my wrists and I heard voices but couldn't make out what they said. Inextricable fear washed over me. Fight or flight - I knew I had to fight! I couldn't die, I didn't want to die. Not like this, not now.

I had just seen my Mom, we'd chatted over a nice lunch. Where had she gone, surely she must still be here? Why was she letting this happen? Why was she letting this monster attack me?

My heart pounded in my head. Every part of me ached and tears began to stream down my cheeks. Why? Why!?

"WHY!?" I screamed out. "Leave me alone!"

"I can't leave you alone." Came the saccharine voice. Ever so soft and bevelled, it melted like velvet into my tortured ears. "You called me. You wanted me to come. Don't tell me now that this isn't what you wanted."

"I don't want this. I don't! Please leave - Please!" I begged.

Pressure was all around me and the creatures presence was thick as it pressed into me. I tensed and cried. Relief was not coming. I was trapped.

"You are going to die anyways, are you not?" Said the beast. "You're worried over some lump, a scratch and that five pounds you gained this week..." It's voice trailed off as if it were waiting for a response.

"How did you know?" I grew more fearful. What had this thing been doing? Was it watching me? "What do you want?"

"Why, my Dear." The beasts lips brushed past my ear and it's rancid breath filled my lungs. "What I want, is you. You want death... and I can give it to you."

"No!!" I screamed. "No, I don't. I want to live."

"You could have fooled me, dearest." Said the monster. The weight of it was suffocating. Desperate I gasped for air. At first it wouldn't come, I couldn't catch it. The beast wrestled me and I struggled to fight back.

"Give up!" It demanded.

"Never!" I answered.

"You can't even breathe. You're pathetic!" The beast pressed on.

Determined to prove it wrong, I concentrated and managed to suck in a breath. Then another. The monster lessened its grip.

"You see. I can breath." I said indignantly.

"I see." Responded the creature and again its hold on me loosened a little more. "Perhaps you won't die, at least not today." I felt its hold on me disappear and its presence diminish.

My eyes flickered open. Maybe they had been open all along. Whatever the case I once again could see. I sat in the open living space of my parents house. The sun was streaming in through the windows. My Mom was on the floor with me, her hands holding mine. My Dad stood near, holding the phone. They starred at me as worry and fear stained their faces.

"You beat the monster?" Asked my Mother, a smile softening her lips. She brushed a wayward piece of hair away from my eyes.

"I did." I said even though I could still sense it lingering down the hall. Its power was growing weaker by the minute as I was growing stronger. Breath was coming to me more easily now and a sense of ease was settling in. My body and mind began to lighten.

"I'm so sorry!" I professed to my parents.

"No need for that." Said my Dad. "I only wish I could fight this monster for you."

I wished he could too. But he couldn't, this was a battle that I had to fight on my own. It seemed unfair as I was never prepared. The panic always seemed to come without warning and for no reason. One moment I was fine and the next I was trapped in my mind, fighting for air.

In time, I would learn to live with this beast called panic and I would eventually gain the upper hand. In time, panic would just become a minor annoyance and in time, my life would become mine again. ...In time.

The "Good" Cancer

To read my article in The Purple Fig Blogazine follow this link:
 http://www.thepurplefig.com/the-good-cancer/
Enjoy - oh and as a side note of some importance... I survived ;) but I knew I would.

A story has only one master

Almost one year ago to the day I finally finished a book that I just happened upon while scanning the shelves of a local thrift store.

I was just waiting for something to jump out at me as my mind, in truth, really wasn't focused completely on the books. I was focused on memories of my Dad. I was also thinking about the upcoming holidays and how quickly life can change. It was just a couple of months since my father had passed and in that time I had managed to get myself a new job - A job that had so much promise. I was so excited, but just as quickly as the excitement came, it went. Within a week I knew the job was not what I thought it was supposed to be - it was a sham. What was I going to do?! I couldn't go back to my old job - someone else was already hired... I couldn't quit... Who could I talk to? Dad. He would know just what to say, just what to do. He was gone.

Standing there, feeling lost and alone the book I was, and wasn't, looking for appeared. It was called, Ireland: A Novel, by Frank Delaney.

The back cover read:

"One wintry evening in 1951, an itinerant storyteller -- a Seanchai, the very last practitioner of a fabled tradition extending back hundreds of years -- arrives unannounced at a house in the Irish countryside. In exchange for a bed and a warm meal, he invites his hosts and some of their neighbors to join him by the fireside, and begins to tell formative stories of Ireland's history. One of his listeners, a nine-year-old boy, grows so entranced by the story-telling that, when the old man leaves abruptly under mysterious circumstances, the boy devotes himself to finding him again.
Ronan's search for the Storyteller becomes both a journey of self-discovery and an immersion into the sometimes-conflicting histories of his native land. As the long-unspoken secrets of his own family begin to reveal themselves, he becomes increasingly single-minded in pursuit of the old man, who he fears may already be dead. But Ronan's personal path also leads him deeper and deeper into the history and mythology of Ireland itself, in all its drama, intrigue, and heroism.
Ireland travels through the centuries, interweaving Ronan's quest for the Storyteller with a richly evocative unfolding of the great moments in Irish history, ranging from the savage grip of the Ice Age to the green and troubled land of tourist brochures and political unrest. Along the way, we meet foolish kings and innocent monks, fabled saints and great works of art, shrewd Norman raiders, strong tribal leaders, poets, politicians, and lovers. Each illuminates the magic of Ireland and the eternal connection of its people to the land.
A sweeping novel of huge ambition, Ireland is the beautifully told story of a remarkable nation. From the epic sweep of its telling to the precision of its characters -- great and small, tragic and comic -- it rings with the truth of a writer passionate about his country and in full command of his craft."

I bought the book immediately, believing that it must have a message in it meant just for me, from my Dad. (As it turns out, one year on, I could not have been more right.)

The book was a symbol of something lost. Having found it I held it as if it were as precious as a jewel. I had every intention of reading it, absorbing myself in it and just eating it up within a week. In no way did I think it would take me a year to read! It has never taken me that long to read a book. It didn't even take me that long to read The Hobbit - and I really struggled with that one... so much journeying over and through mountains! Sorry to all the Hobbit fans out there... I am looking forward to the movie.


In the year that it took to read Ireland: A Novel, I found that it became a source of comfort. Whenever I picked it up to read it was like hearing my Dad tell one of his grand stories again. It is my belief that this was the plan. My Dad intended that I find this book and he intended it to be there for me while I came to terms with not having him physically here any longer.

The message of the book was clear. Be yourself and follow your dreams - and your heart. Life and your purpose will fall into place. The last line of the book reads: "... a story has only one master." I, like everyone else, am the master of my own story. If I don't like it, I can change it. It's up to me.

What it was I was searching for as I read the book became clear. I had lost my focus and my passion for life and work. I had become bogged down by negativity - my own and that of others. In the past I had been able to shake off negativity and find new ways to be happy, to focus and to be passionate about what I was doing in life. I forgot to be true to myself. I was way off track... Luckily life has a way of getting you back on track - sometimes in very crazy ways. If you listen to your heart and your gut instincts you will be able to figure yourself out. The trick is learning to listen - if you don't, eventually you will have no choice as life can throw some fairly hefty or nasty things at you to knock you back in line.

Through the ups and downs of this past year, I have come to find that even the "bad" things that have happened - my cancer diagnosis, my poor job choice... have been blessings in disguise. Without having to deal with these troubling things, I wouldn't be where I am today. Happy -  and, despite having Thyroid Cancer, healthy. I am happier and healthier than I have been in years.

Since beginning this blog a year ago and following my passion to write, I again have focus in my life. I am back on track and wonderful things are happening. 2013 will see the publication of my first children's book, the launch of a new business and... I won a trip (well the accommodation anyways) to Ireland because of my writing (my father's eulogy no less!) How much better can life be?! I can't wait to find out!!

www.pegscottage.com

As for the story about storytelling, Ireland and finding yourself... it seems unfair to keep it locked up. It had a message for me and I got it loud and clear. Now I think it's time that it find someone else to help out...

Cheers to all for a very Happy Christmas and a joyous New Year!!!

Merry Christmas, Kiss my Ass: My Rant of the Day!!

It's crazy some of the things you end up inexplicably watching on a Sunday morning. 

 

Here's the thing, and I'm going to take a stand here and you can hate me for it if you want to - defriend me or whatever... If being a "Christian" means being judgemental, preachy and rude - then I am not one. 


If you are not hurting me I could give a flying *bleep* what you do or what you believe in - black, white, red, yellow, gay, straight, trans or sado-masochistic, 50 shades of grey loving s.o.b., Christian, Muslim or Buddhist - whatever!!! I don't care.

Just be good and kind.

Fact is, you're not going to be good and kind 100% of the time... that's just the way it is. We are human and not perfect. But just do a decent job of trying - and, I can guarantee that whoever is awaiting you in the great beyond - even if it is nothingness - will envelope you without judgement or penalty.

So, to quote the immortal words of Clark Griswald... "Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, kiss my ass. Kiss his ass. Kiss your ass. Happy Hanukkah." and don't forget Kwanzaa and Ramadan - "Hallelujah! Holy sh!t! Where's the Tylenol?" :)

A Wish to build a Dream on - For Lily-Mae

One early winters night a wish went out that was heard around the world.

A wish is a very powerful thing, especially when it's full of goodness and hope. This wish was exactly that and not one soul who heard it, could ignore it.

Who sent this wish you ask and why? Well, it was a little girl in Ireland whose name is Lily-Mae and her wish is to be healthy and happy.

Lily-Mae is a child, much like many others; She is bright, beautiful and full of life... but unlike other children, she must fight for her life every day. You see, Lily-Mae lives most of her life in a hospital where she is surrounded by her parents, doctors, nurses and sadly, other children who must also fight for life just like her.

Lily-Mae's days, just like yours, are full of tests, appointments and meetings. However they do not take place at school or work - they take place in the hospital.

Lily-Mae and her parents try to live life as normally as possible. They have love and they have hope. Most of all, just like you - they dream!


When Lily-Mae and her parents are fast asleep they dream of wondrous things and far off places.

Lily-Mae dreams of things that you and I might take for granted or have maybe never even thought of. In her dreams she runs, plays and goes on trips with her parents to places like the Zoo or to the Ballet. She dreams that she is healthy and has overcome disease and cancer.



At night Lily-Mae's dreams take flight and she is transformed into a beautiful fairy, dancing pirouettes across the sky!

Tonight when you lay down to sleep, think of Lily-Mae and her parents. Think of how lucky you are... and send out a loving and thoughtful wish that just might make Lily-Mae's dreams come true!!

A Wish for Lily-Mae

Lily-Mae, 

we hope and pray

for you to enjoy

each wonderful day!

Across the miles

we're sending you smiles.

Our love to you

in all that you do

Your Strength and courage;

your love and light.

It brings us hope

and sets dreams aflight

Believe, keep faith

and make a wish.

May every dream come true, 

for an angel like you.

Lily-Mae

Lily-Mae is battling for her life against Neuroblastoma … a rare and extremely aggressive childhood cancer of the nervous system and is currently in Our Lady’s Children's Hospital in Dublin following surgery to remove a tumour last week.

Lily-Mae’s only hope for survival is immunotherapy but that’s not available in Europe because it’s still on trial. It’s available in the US but it’s very expensive so a trust has been set up to help raise the money needed.

To find out more on how you can donate to help Lily-Mae and her parents please email Madeleine at maxmcdonnell@aol.com. Send whatever you can … a dollar, a euro, a pound … anything. Donations can be made through Paypal with the registered email address being maxmcdonnell@aol.com or, if you don’t have a Paypal account, send Madeleine your email address and she will send you a Paypal invoice with instructions on how you can pay as a guest.Please visit - http://www.facebook.com/irelandandpegscottage?ref=ts&fref=ts for more updates on Lily-Mae and how you may help!!

Slainte!

My Christmas Wish

It truly amazes me sometimes when I log into the back end of my blog... People are reading it. Lots of people - people from everywhere; from Texas to Reykjavik to South Africa and Australia. I may not average the kind of visits that some sites do, nonetheless you visit and I am truly thankful for that :) I hope that when you visit you find something helpful or positive and that you are able to take it with you when you go. I also hope that you will come back again!
...

In one month I begin my official countdown to treatment. January 9th is the day - and I can't wait! I look forward to having this journey through thyroid cancer behind me and I look forward to what life has in store. I wish and I hope that it will all be good things. It has been hard to keep positive of late... and I am cracking under the weight of it all. Still I try. All I can do is try - to keep on keeping on. Things are bound to look up - right? This is what I tell myself everyday. I keep on smiling :) Even when I'm told otherwise.

This Christmas, more than anything I may wish for me, I wish that my Mom could have her health - I wish her the ability to enjoy the season and to be able to have some comfort. 

This has proven to be the most difficult Christmas to come to terms with. Even last year, the first without my Dad, was easier than this year. Last year my Mom was "well", I was "well" and our family was together. This year it's a fight to find that same semblance of balance and comfort. It hurts. It's been hard and I am struggling to keep hold of the light, the peace and the joy that this time of year usually brings.

Through it all there are still bright gleaming moments of great things to be thankful and happy for; Friends and family; the sights, sounds and smells of the season; a warm loving home to come home too and the joy of being able to see family who live far away. 

Compared to many, I know that am very lucky indeed and I am grateful for all that I do have. I wish everyone the ability to see the wonderful things that they do have already... be grateful for the little things you have. Those little things may very well be more than some could ever hope for.

Things will get better - I hope... I believe... I have faith. I know. :) They just have to!

I wish one and all, all of the happiness that this season has to offer no matter where it is that you come from or what it is that you believe.


xx