memiors of a triangle

A novel 

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When Edith instigates a new game with her two best friends, May and Peter, on a warm spring day in 1869, she ignites sexual awakenings that will influence and shape the rest of their lives.

Although Edith lusts for Peter, she is aware that May’s desires are directed toward her, and when their triangular involvement begins to splinter, she leaves her two best friends to begin a career in Boston.

However, even after choosing what they thought was the more stable path, they learn that the past is not so easily left behind.

On their separate, yet connected paths, they find themselves drawn together, experiencing eroticism, love, confusion, trust, and grief throughout the course of their lives.

I’m currently working on a new book. I don’t know where it’s going yet (but I can tell you there are dragons, and middle aged women, and quests).  There is a passage that speaks to what I’m writing about here:

Later, when I was alone again, and looking back and forth from my phone to my computer, seeing dream dimensions, six words started looping in my head… ‘these machines don’t have a mind… these machines don’t have a mind…these machines don’t have a mind.’…

And suddenly I understood. Technology has no mind. People around the globe are connecting to a source of knowledge that has not one, not two, and most definitely not three minds. We’re hooking into something without dimension, without plan, without purpose – just gigabytes of data. Gone are the fables, the lessons, the depth. We are investing our entirety, our very selves, to something that has no meaning. No purpose. No integrity or hopes or dreams or aspirations.  I sat and wept for humanity. For myself. For the creatures disappearing in one fell swoop; the creatures that have been safe-guarded for generation upon generation through story-telling and art.  

FROM THE AUTHOR
Reflecting on this Piece

Memoirs of a Triangle was a surprise for me – the writing of it, the characters, and the unfolding of their stories, was a daily miracle to me for abut six months. I didn’t craft a plot, invent Edith, May or Peter, or ever understand even what was happening, let alone, say to myself ‘I’m going to write a book’.

It began the same way most of my writing happens, which is with a random sentence or phrase, passing through my mind. I’m currently in the process of moving out of my home of sixteen years and have found numerous examples of these scribbled on pieces of paper and tucked into books or pockets, even a few written on the top of bills, from back in the day when I sat at my desk to pay bills, before electronic withdrawal. 

Memoirs was a bit different. The phrase was more insistent, circling through my minds eye continuously, until I noticed it. I was in the dreamy, delicious state between consciousness and somewhere else when I finally took notice of it. It seemed important. I don’t know why because

“The misty lever, or the incandescent shadow. The goon or the gown; the holy   trapdoor,”

didn’t mean anything to me, but I felt compelled to write it down. And that was the beginning. A few weeks in and I began to realize that something was happening; not a short story, not a false start – but an ever mysterious to me, super satisfying, and fun, venture of writing my first novel.

When I look back at that time I can see I was ‘in the flow’. I was actively practicing hypnotherapy and learning about and doing a lot of kundalini yoga. Who knows what leads to what, and which influences which, but I can tell you I live in an area of extreme natural beauty, I’ve been a practicing massage therapist for decades, I raised my kids in what many would consider an alternative style, my friends are down-to-earth and engaged deeply in their lives, my community is truly that, and I am gratefully cognizant of all of this in real time. I guess I believe the channels were wide open and the timing was right.

Words are important to me. I literally see them in my mind. I use them to express my deepest feelings, on paper, and to figure things out. Ironically, I married a dyslexic and this rather amazing and befuddling gift was passed to our children, and that was a gift to me because it allowed me to understand my linear ways of processing more clearly, but also to recognize its limits. Each of us learns about the world and ideas and comes to understand things in unique ways and my relationship with words has grown and evolved through the process of learning about other forms of expression and thinking.  (PSA here – if you know any dyslexics, don’t make the mistake of thinking it is a limiting disability – these people are genius. Truly.)

If you take the time to read Memoirs of a Triangle, I hope you enjoy it and find something of value within its pages. Accessing our unconscious, through hypnosis, or any other tool, can be a wonderful way to heal. I welcome any questions, observations or thoughts you may have on this subject, or any other!