Life Experience or Imagination? J Vincent

While I was writing my Let's Have a Coze (Regency speak for Chat) to post on my website for August I came across my topic for this blog. I had starting writing a piece on proofreading but you’ll see that some other time. My topic for my Coze was housing for the British Army during the Peninsular War circa 1810. That was brought on by our planning to head out camping at the headwaters of the Rio Grande next week if all goes better for me. (I’m truly looking forward to the temp range of 70-48!) I realized as I keyed the Coze that I had used my experiences camping when writing about the soldiers and cavalry officers when they bivouac. Once we set up camp in the pouring rain so I can describe in very accurate detail the discomfort and some of the problems involved.

Several years ago we took a cruise from Los Angeles to Hawaii. That involved five days at sea. One of our favorite activities was to walk on the promenade deck late in the evening. One night the ocean was fairly rough and the prow of the cruise ship was throwing up a huge fall of water and spray. I knew as we watched it that I would use this experience in a story. What follows is what I turned it into in Honour’s Compromise. Jamey and Cecilia were forced to marry. They have quarreled constantly but on the voyage from Portugal to England they have a moment of magic that shows them what could be.

Now accustomed to the gentle rise and fall of the deck, Cecilia walked with steady steps along the deck after she put the girls to bed. The waves rush against the hull, the sails flap, the yardarms creaks sounded a comforting symphony. The light from the night lantern muted the darkness, but not the tang of sea air. Cecilia stopped and gazed into the black night, nary a line separated water from sky but for small white caps that danced across the water’s surface. She watched them and imagined fairies skipping across the ocean as they sprinkled magic.

“Magic indeed,” mused Cecilia to the breeze. Even cross Mrs. Garret had been unable to mar the voyage. “If we could only stay aboard.” She let the thought trail away . Contemplation of the many memories she would treasure replaced it That Jamey had created them did not trouble Cecilia, for he had proven true to his word. In such close quarters he had not imposed upon her despite ample opportunity.

A sure measured tread approaching her added to the ship’s symphony. Even before his cologne of bay rum reached her, stirred her senses, she knew it was Jamey. When he halted behind her Cecilia she breathed in his scent without the usual struggle to resist. The weight of her cloak and then Jamey’s hands settled on her shoulders. When his hands dropped away, she frowned her regret and drew the wrap close.

“Julia and Harriet were asleep when I took up your cloak. I thought the wind would chill you.”

Cecilia watched two whitecaps race toward the packet. “It has a little. Thank you.”

“What do you watch so intently?” Jamey inquired as he stepped to the rail.

“The whitecaps.” Cecilia glanced at him. She grew weak in the knees beneath the charisma of his smile.

Jamey pried his gaze from her mesmerizing blue eyes and back to the water. He pointed toward the bow. “See that pair? They almost look like horses.” He chuckled. “That one is a juggler.”

“Some look like fairies,” Cecilia dared.

“Why, yes, they do,” he concurred.

Cecilia searched his features and voice for a jest and found none. “You agree?”

Jamey pointed to a whitecap. “See that one skimming along with an arm upraised?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Cecilia smiled at him and then looked back at the water. “There is another standing on his head.”

When her hand collided with his as both moved to point to a different whitecap, Jamey twined his fingers with hers. “How chilled you have become. We must go below.”

“Could we not take one turn about the deck before we do?”

With a gallant bow Jamey offered his arm. “I do as the queen of the fairies bids.”

Cecilia placed her hand on it and found he covered it with his.

“To warm it,” he said.

They strolled in companionable silence.

In my "darker" writing --I have a villain who has no qualms about torture or killing as he finds useful--that even in that there is the essence of reality drawn from anger, pain, and hurtful experiences. What experiences have you used in your writing? How do you alter them to accommodate fiction?