July 13, 2026 · 6:00 am

#writing about grief

Last week I recycled two posts. This was because my husband had passed away, and I was unable to think of what to write about. So today, I want to talk about memories and deep personal emotions and how they color our view of the world.

Greg had been suffering from Parkinson’s and for the last year, he’d been in an adult family home. He had been steadily declining and had three hospitalizations over the last six months. After the last bout of pneumonia, he was on hospice, and so I shouldn’t have been surprised by his death.

But I was.

Grief is a complex emotion to write about because people experience it in so many different ways. I now realize I have been grieving since the day he was no longer in my full-time care. Even though I went every day to visit him, there was a hole in our home where he had been.

His “ejector” chair sits in the corner by his side table, just as it did when he was still able to live at home. At times, seeing it made me feel angry, and I didn’t know why. But even though he would never come home, it was still his chair, empty of the man who had been my rock, my anchor. I sat in it, hoping to fill the silence, but it didn’t help.

My journey with grief began two and a half years ago on the day I realized he required more care than I could safely give him. I had hired caregivers to help mornings, and some evenings, but at night he suffered from hallucinations and exceedingly disturbed sleep.

He called for me at least once an hour all night long and I could get no rest. He had become unable to walk or help transfer himself to his wheelchair. Worse, he had lost the ability to smile.

He fell several times and had to be hospitalized. Still, I tried to care for him but it was becoming unworkable.

I began mourning the day I realized I had to cancel our reservation for our annual summer trip, that even an ADA room would not be enough, that he required 24-hour care by professionals. We would never again make the pilgrimage to our soul-home together. We would never again walk on the sand with his sister and her family, and never investigate the tidal pools at Haystack Rock together. We would never again rent our favorite condo, the one with the perfect view of Terrible Tilly, the Tillamook Rock Lighthouse.

At the time, the subconscious awareness of what we would never again do together darkened my view of things, although I never focused on the growing sense of loss. I had a schedule to keep to, daily visits to the adult family home to make no matter what. I had to schedule his doctor appointments and special transportation to arrange and pay for. I had to pay the bills and argue with the insurance companies.

I had all these things to keep me from contemplating why I felt so distracted and depressed.

Fortunately, I have a supportive family and a strong circle of friends who lift me up when I need a laugh. I have a career as a writer, and while my husband is no longer physically here to give me that smile and encourage me, I have a wealth of memories to cherish.

Now, instead of the frail shell of a man made immobile by the disease, I am able to see him the way he was before Parkinson’s stole his smile. Now I only see the kind and happy man who never failed to lighten the room. The man whose dedication to his family was boundless.

We were together for twenty-three years. I’m a pretty good cook, but occasionally, things don’t turn out the way I think they will. Greg ate anything I served and complimented it, no matter how awful I thought it was.

Those years have been the best because I had a life partner who was creative and generous, a man who cared about people he’d never met and who supported many charities. He loved traveling the Washington and Oregon coast and finding new places to visit.

He looked forward to our annual Valentines Day “Wine and Cheese” parties with our friends and happily spent time shopping and selecting good vintages and fancy cheeses.

I miss him and always will, but now I can see him the way he truly was, not as the man whose final days were so difficult to watch. Life is sometimes hard and often sad, but it is still good.

I carry him in my heart, so he will always be with me.

Credits and Attributions:

Haystack Rock, by Tiger635 [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)]

Terrible Tilly, Tillamook Rock Lighthouse, © 2019 by Connie J. Jasperson, All Rights Reserved (author’s own work).

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July 10, 2026 · 6:00 am

#FineArtFriday: a close look at “Worn Out” by H. A. Brendekilde 1889

Artist: H. A. Brendekilde (1857–1942)

Title: (English: Worn out) (Danish: Udslidt)

Date: 1889

Medium: oil on canvas

Dimensions: height: 207 cm (81.4 in); width: 270 cm (106.2 in)

Inscriptions: Signature and date bottom right: H.A. Brendekilde 89

Collection: Funen’s Art Museum

About this painting:

Hans Andersen Brendekilde (7 April 1857 – 30 March 1942) was a Danish painter.

H.A. Brendekilde was a forerunner of the social realist style, embraced by Diego Rivera.

This is one of my favorite paintings because the artist shows us the story of a poor farmer or farm laborer.

Brejdekilde’s early work often depicted the daily lives of the rural working class. Later, he painted portraits on commission and also painted children and countryside landscapes. He is also famous for his garden which contained more than 3000 species of flowers.

Via Wikipedia:  “His painting of flowers and animals are mentioned among the best pictures illustrating the material and spiritual correlation between vegetation, animals and the Danes.” 

“Worn Out” (1889) is one of his most famous paintings. It shows an elderly man lying fallen on his back in a vast, barren field. This is a strong social statement, showing that the lowest working class had no option to retire with even a tiny pension. Laborers worked until the day they died.

Brendekilde’s genius shows in the way he depicts the central subject. The rocky field nearly blends with the sky. Dirt and rocks dominate this painting. Dirt on their clothes, small rocks embedded in the soil, larger rocks gathered into piles to be carted from the field … this man’s life was the soil, hard and rocky though it was. Yet he clung to it, working to clear the rocks until he could go no further.

I love the detail in this painting, the way he shows the broad flat lands of Denmark. It’s easy to see how their day began: the man and woman spent the morning picking rocks from a field and making small piles of them, preparatory to plowing the field.

Then, something happened. Was it a heart attack? A stroke? One of the man’s clogs has fallen off his foot, lost when he stumbled and fell. The stones he was picking up and carrying in his apron have tumbled to the ground beside him.

Farming is working in the dirt, and that is made clear in this painting. If you have ever planted a garden in an area where a glacier once stood, you know that new rocks tend to work themselves to the surface every year.

The woman wears a dress that has been patched many times. The loose, dry soil on her garments show she too has been picking rocks all morning.

Is the woman his daughter? Or perhaps his wife? Even if only a friend, she is terribly concerned for him.

They are nearing the end of their winter stores, and the first new vegetables have yet to be planted. Has he worked himself to death? Will he recover?

As most artists do, H. A. Brendekilde tells us a story in this stark painting. He leaves us the option to imagine what happens next.

Credits and Attributions:

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: Worn Out by H. A. Brendekilde File:H. A. Brendekilde – Udslidt (1889).jpg – Wikipedia accessed July 7, 2026.

Information sourced from: Wikipedia contributors, “H. A. Brendekilde,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=H._A._Brendekilde&oldid=1343079043 (accessed July 8, 2026).

 

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July 6, 2026 · 6:00 am

Scene Framing and Composition #writing

Things went a little sideways here at Casa del Jasperson over the weekend, so today we are revisiting a post from January of 2022. When we’re in the first draft stage, determining a chapter’s length and just what should be included to keep the length reasonable is not our primary goal.

However, when we get into the revisions stage, we go deeper and look at each scene and transition. We fine-tune how each scene comes together to make a chapter that is a story within the larger story. This is where composition and scene framing come into play.

I hope you enjoy revisiting this post.

Composition is defined as the way the elements inside a frame are exhibited to the viewer – the layout of a picture. In the second draft of a novel or story, you must consider what to show and how to arrange the visuals to achieve the best effect. The environment (world) against which the events and actions are shown is the frame that enhances the scene.

scene framingEach chapter is comprised of one or more scenes. These scenes have an arc to them: action and reaction. These arcs of action and reaction begin at point A and end at point B. Each launching point will land on a slightly higher point of the story arc.

Each scene occurs within the framework of the environment, which must be shaped to emphasize the emotion of the narrative. This is called scene framing.

Our written narrative is the camera through which the scene is viewed.

We want the characters’ interactions to convey the most emotional impact. Also, we want to keep the wordiness to a minimum. We supplement our descriptions by using the environment to highlight the characters’ moods and darken or lighten the atmosphere.

When you target the focus of the scenery to frame the action, you draw attention to the subtext you want to convey, beneath and around the ruminations and conversations.

Today’s example is taken from Anne McCaffrey’s 1988 novel, Dragonsdawn. The Dragonriders of Pern series is recognized as science fiction because of the protagonists are aware of the nature of the star Rukbat and its planetary system. They know they are the descendants of colonists, but life is a struggle and that history is no longer important. Many elements in the earlier books are primarily fantasy in origin as they deal with dragons and telepathy.

However, the early novels also detail the gradual rediscovery of lost technology, the revelation of their forgotten history. Dragonsdawn reinforces the science fiction nature of the series by explaining the science behind McCaffrey’s dragons and why they were genetically engineered to be what they are.

The story follows several POV characters, giving us a comprehensive view of the colony’s successes and failures. For the first ten years, the planet Pern seems a paradise to its new colonists, who are seeking to return to a less technologically centered, agrarian-based way of life. They believe Pern is the place where they can leave their recent wars and troubles behind.

A decade after arriving on the planet, however, a new threat appears. It is a deadly, unstoppable spore that periodically rains from the skies in the form of a silvery Thread that mindlessly devours every carbon-based thing it touches.

The scenes we are looking at today form one chapter and have two distinct environments to frame them: first the planet and then the abandoned colony ship, Yokohama. These scenes are filled with emotion, high stakes, and rising dread for the sure and inevitable tragedy that we hope will be averted. Not all the drama is in Sallah Telgar’s direct interaction with Avril Bitra. The environment heightens the drama, the sense of impending doom.

Before the advent of Thread, Avril disappeared, gathering resources and intending to leave the planet with as much treasure as she can carry. She has been pretty much forgotten by the others but has an agenda and refuses to be thwarted.

In the first scene of this chapter, we see Sallah on her way to work, leaving her children at the daycare. We zoom out and see Kenjo, the pilot, putting the last of the precious fuel into the only working shuttle, the Mariposa. This shuttle has been refitted for one last science expedition: to discover the source of the Deadly threads that rain down upon the planet periodically and to retrieve a sample. If this mission fails, there will be no other.

The camera moves out, and we see Sallah as she observes a woman she recognizes as Avril Bitra slipping through the abandoned shuttles on the landing grid. The view widens again as we see Avril following the pilot, Kenjo, who vanishes. We then see her entering the Mariposa alone.

Sallah makes a spur-of-the-moment decision to follow her, to see what Avril is up to.

Here is where the sparse visual mentions of the environment become crucial as they emphasize the stark reality of Sallah’s situation. Sallah enters the shuttle just as the airlock door closes, catching and crushing her heel. She manages to pull it out so that she isn’t trapped, but she is severely injured. Later, the dark, abandoned interior of the Yokohama reinforces Sallah’s gut-wrenching realization that her five children will grow up without a mother.

Subtext should be almost subliminal, the hidden story, the secret reasoning that gradually emerges as one reads each page. It forms images we see of the environment and how it affects the atmosphere. Subtext is the content that supports the dialogue and gives purpose to the personal events.

Scene framing is the way we stage the people and visual objects. What furnishings, sounds, and odors are the visual necessities for that scene?

Whatever you mention of the environment focuses the reader’s attention when the characters enter the frame and affects the reader’s interpretation of a scene. In this chapter of Dragonsdawn, we see the junk and scrap on the grid and the decaying shuttles. Two shuttles have been dismantled and parted out and used to keep the few cargo sleds they have converted to Thread-fighting gunships in working order. One shuttle remains in usable condition.

Sensory details are important, showing how the environment affects or is affected by the characters. Conversely, not mentioning the scenery during a conversation brings the camera in for a closeup, focusing solely on the speaker or thinker.

A balance must be struck in how your characters are framed in each scene. We flow from wide-angle, seeing Salla floating in freefall, blood pooling in her boot. The camera moves in closer, showing Avril’s rage at the fact that she can’t control the course of the Mariposa, which is programmed to dock at the Yokohama.

Plot-exists-to-reveal-characterWe see Avril taunting Sallah for her matronly body and move out again to see Avril tying a cord to Sallah’s crushed foot and forcing her to make the navigational calculations for Avril’s escape. We move close up and hear the interaction, Sallah pretending to do as Avril asks but really setting her enemy’s doom in action. The camera moves to the wide view again, and we hear the interaction with her frantic husband on the ground. We are caught up in her determination to seize this only chance, using her dying breaths to get the information about the thread spores to the scientists on the ground.

Atmospheric Mood: Ask yourself why you have placed those things in that scene. Why are they important, and what are you conveying to the reader with that visual composition? What subliminal elements does the environment contain that clue the reader into the deeper emotions in that scene? What subtext will carry over from this scene to the next?

Scene framing is the way you compose the scene and transitions. How you use the setting to place your characters supports and reinforces the subtext of the conversations and events and is what makes a scene feel powerful.

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July 3, 2026 · 6:00 am

#FineArtFriday: Boats at Anchor by John Singer Sargent 1917

Artist: John Singer Sargent (1856–1925)

Title: Boats at Anchor

Medium: Watercolor

Date: ca. 1917

Location: Worcester Art Museum

What I love about this painting:

John Singer Sargent is best known for his work done in oils, and they are brilliant. But I really love his seascapes done in the medium of watercolor. Canals, rivers, oceans, or lakes – Sargent painted the sheen of calm water beneath a summer’s sun or the gray froth and white water of storm-driven waves.

John Singer Sargent made his living painting society portraits in oils, but he had a true gift for the less-prestigious medium of watercolor which seemed to be his choice whenever he was just painting a scene for fun. He could capture the personality of a day as skillfully as he did when painting the portraits of Madame X and Theodore Rosevelt.

In recent years, Sargent’s numerous paintings of boats have gained some recognition by critics. In this picture, he shows us the South Atlantic, a small yacht or fishing boat. (I can’t decide which, but I’m leaning toward fishing vessel.) She is berthed in a marina with two smaller boats tied to her.

The small boats are the kind of rowboats that my father was partial to for trout or bass fishing. A light breeze ruffles the water, and the South Atlantic sits serenely at her berth. The boat is wide, but the prow is sleek, and I’ll bet that, under sail, she cuts though the water.

The way he shows the sky and boats reflected in the water is exactly how it looks on a calm day in a marina. He loved boats, but in this painting, water and reflections take center stage.

About The Artist via Wikipedia:

John Singer Sargent (January 12, 1856 – April 14, 1925) was an American expatriate artist, considered the “leading portrait painter of his generation” for his evocations of Edwardian-era luxury. He created roughly 900 oil paintings and more than 2,000 watercolors, as well as countless sketches and charcoal drawings. His oeuvre documents worldwide travel, from Venice to the Tyrol, Corfu, the Middle East, Montana, Maine, and Florida.

Born in Florence to American parents, he was trained in Paris before moving to London, living most of his life in Europe. He enjoyed international acclaim as a portrait painter. An early submission to the Paris Salon in the 1880s, his Portrait of Madame X, was intended to consolidate his position as a society painter in Paris but instead resulted in scandal. During the next year following the scandal, Sargent departed for England where he continued a successful career as a portrait artist.

From the beginning, Sargent’s work is characterized by remarkable technical facility, particularly in his ability to draw with a brush, which in later years inspired admiration as well as criticism for a supposed superficiality. His commissioned works were consistent with the grand manner of portraiture, while his informal studies and landscape paintings displayed a familiarity with Impressionism. In later life Sargent expressed ambivalence about the restrictions of formal portrait work and devoted much of his energy to mural painting and working en plein air. Art historians generally ignored society artists such as Sargent until the late 20th century.

With his watercolors, Sargent was able to indulge his earliest artistic inclinations for nature, architecture, exotic peoples, and noble mountain landscapes. And it is in some of his late works where one senses Sargent painting most purely for himself. His watercolors were executed with a joyful fluidness. He also painted extensively family, friends, gardens, and fountains. In watercolors, he playfully portrayed his friends and family dressed in Orientalist costume, relaxing in brightly lit landscapes that allowed for a more vivid palette and experimental handling than did his commissions (The Chess Game, 1906). His first major solo exhibit of watercolor works was at the Carfax Gallery in London in 1905. In 1909, he exhibited eighty-six watercolors in New York City, eighty-three of which were bought by the Brooklyn Museum. Evan Charteris wrote in 1927:

‘To live with Sargent’s watercolors is to live with sunshine captured and held, with the luster of a bright and legible world, ‘the refluent shade’ and ‘the Ambient ardors of the noon.’

Although not generally accorded the critical respect given Winslow Homer, perhaps America’s greatest watercolorist, scholarship has revealed that Sargent was fluent in the entire range of opaque and transparent watercolor technique, including the methods used by Homer. [1]

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Sargent – Boats at Anchor, 1917, 1917.90.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Sargent_-_Boats_at_Anchor,_1917,_1917.90.jpg&oldid=1154766116 (accessed July 3, 2026).

[1] Wikipedia contributors, “John Singer Sargent,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=John_Singer_Sargent&oldid=1360295475 (accessed July 3, 2026).

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June 29, 2026 · 6:00 am

The Great Artists are Brilliant Storytellers #writing

If you are a follower of this blog, you know that Fridays are “Fine Art Friday” here. I love the art of the past, as well as many modern pieces. I also love examining photographic art.

Paintings and photographs offer us a glimpse of a moment in time that may have occurred centuries ago or may not have occurred at all. It is the story of a moment frozen in time and preserved forever for us. Forever, that is, for as long as the painting or photograph exists.

I would love to have created beautiful visual art. I’ve shot some decent photographs, but I’m a writer. Perusing the vaults at Wikimedia Commons allows me to view images with possibilities. Each is a visual representation with a past and a possible future.

We see the whole story.

I’m not educated as an art historian and would never claim to be one. I’m just an old lady who loves the paintings of great artists. I doubt I will ever visit the great museums of Europe, as that would be an expensive endeavor, but I can view their collections in detail.

Anyone with internet access can see great art and photography from the past and present.

Every week, I scour Wikimedia Commons, looking for images that intrigue me. My goal is to give others like me access to see the art that humanity is capable of, the good and perhaps the not-so-good.

Art can be beautiful or savage, depending on the story the artist is trying to present. I love beautiful scenes, and sometimes, especially in winter, I crave the view of a warm summer’s day.

However, more than anything, I like images that tell a story. I am compelled to zoom in and look deeper whenever I view a painting. I research a museum’s website to discover the symbolism the artist snuck into the scene. I want to inform my perception of the story the artist has painted.

Whether I want if to or not, my writer’s brain will influence my interpretation. And the art of the past influences the art of today.

One of the most stunning works of modern art is Guernica, a 1937 painting by the Spanish artist Pablo Picasso (1881 – 1973). This painting is considered to be one of the most powerful anti-war statements of all time. This single painting, done in shades of black and white, tells the story of the bombing of Guernica, a Basque Country town in northern Spain that Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy destroyed at the request of the Spanish Nationalists.

(Yes, a faction in Spain bombed the citizens of their own country.)

Pablo Picasso was influenced by the great art of the past and based the layout of Guernica on the layout of a history painting, The Consequences of War by Peter Paul Rubens.

Looking at art can lead the viewer to new ways of looking at the world.

Some artists offer us fantasy, and others show us the truth about historical events. Both are necessary. Art can be pretty and comforting, and art can teach us a moral lesson.

Art can be brutally truthful.

One of my favorite artists is Pieter Brueghel the Elder. His paintings always tell us a story. He embeds a moral in every aspect of his work. For example, let’s look at The Hunters in the Snow, probably his most famous painting. On first glance, we see a comforting winter scene, a bucolic view of hunters returning and people frolicking on the ice. But when we look deeper, we see the true story.

Brueghel used symbolism to convey an entire story by employing paradox and gallows humor in every painting. Here, he shows us that winter was harsh, and for the average person, survival required a lot of work, sometimes for nothing.

  • He shows us the hunters returning with empty game bags, the lone corpse of a skinny fox, and little else.
  • One dog looks at us with starving eyes, as if hoping for scraps.
  • The tavern’s sign is about to fall down, a large hint that all is not well. That symbolic broken sign tells us the owners are bankrupt.
  • The owners are cooking outside, directly in front of the door, evicted from their home and business. A woman brings a bundle of straw out of the inn to use as fuel, while in the distance an ox-drawn wagon is heavily laden with firewood. Where is it going? Not to their inn, that is for sure.
  • A man is carrying a table away. He glances over his shoulder at the meager soup they are cooking, as if they had somehow gotten it away before he could take that too. Is he the new owner, having acquired it for pennies from the city by paying the taxes at a forced bankruptcy sale? Or is he a hired thug employed by the new owner?
  • A rabbit has crossed the hunters’ path and evaded their snares.
  • Ravens, which in Medieval times were considered birds of ill omen, roost in the trees above the inn and the hunters and fly above the revelers. They are a warning of worse days to come.

But in this story, Brueghel’s characters have hope and faith that things will improve. In the distance (the future), people are playing winter games. The future is indistinct and far away, shown in a fantastic, mountainous landscape rather than the flat terrain of the Netherlands. It is almost as if they are visions of what winter could be if only the harvest had been good, rather than the truth of the dead fox, hounds with empty bellies, a bankrupt tavern, and the rabbit that got away.

If you get a chance, visit www.wikimediacommons.org and see what the picture of the day inspires in you. Will you come away with an idea for a story?

Perhaps so. But take the time to write those thoughts down. Your notes could become a storyboard, which could become a novel.

A photograph or painting might inspire you, but the way you put those ideas into action will be uniquely yours. That story will be an expression of your voice and your art.

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: Wikipedia contributors, “Guernica (Picasso),” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Guernica_(Picasso)&oldid=1361273241 (accessed June 28, 2026).

IMAGE: Wikipedia contributors, “Consequences of War,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Consequences_of_War&oldid=1361248306 (accessed June 28, 2026).

IMAGE: Wikipedia contributors, “The Hunters in the Snow,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=The_Hunters_in_the_Snow&oldid=1361428760 (accessed June 28, 2026).

 

 

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June 26, 2026 · 6:00 am

#FineArtFriday: An Architectural Fantasy by Jan van der Heyden ca. 1670

Artist: Jan van der Heyden (1637–1712)

Title: English: An Architectural Fantasy

Genre: landscape painting

Date: circa 1670

Medium: oil on panel

Dimensions: height: 49.7 cm (19.5 in); width: 70.7 cm (27.8 in)

Collection: National Gallery of Art (Washington, D.C.)

What I love about this painting:

It is classical and very much in the tradition of the Dutch Masters of the 17th century, making use of light and shadow. But he has moved away from heavily shadowed subjects. The sky is as important as the scene below.

Now here is where I see Jan van der Heyden as teller of fantasy tales. His medium is the paintbrush, but he has a story to tell, nonetheless. The inclusion of the poor woman and her child begging outside the gate reminds me of the folk tale of “How the Rich Man Saw Heaven.”

In that tale, a rich man passes a beggar kneeling outside the gates to his castle every day for many years. In all that time, while his wife daily brings scraps of food to the beggar, the rich man barely notices him, other than wishing him gone.

The beggar and the rich man die on the same day, and the rich man finds himself kneeling outside the gates of heaven. He sees the beggar enter, and asks St. Peter why he must kneel outside while the beggar is ushered in.

St Peter replies, “This man, grateful for the kindness of your wife, daily prayed that you would see heaven. You ignored his plight, considered him far beneath you, resented the mercy your wife showed him. Yet, we have heard his prayers and agree that you should be allowed to see heaven.”

In this painting, God sees our world, looking down from that wonderful sky. I suspect van der Heyden is telling us a cautionary tale, one that especially pertinent in these uncertain times.

About this painting via Wikipedia:

Van der Heyden also created completely imaginary architectural fantasies, so-called capricci. An example is An Architectural Fantasy (c. 1670, National Gallery of Art), which appears to be a product of pure imagination. Italian influences are visible in the classical structure recalling the buildings of Palladio and the decorative sculptural elements.

The figures, probably painted by Adriaen van de Velde, in contrast, are unmistakably Dutch. While the great house with its sunlit formal gardens evokes an idealized world, at the elaborate gateway of the brick walls surrounding the gardens, an elegant gentleman encounters a beggar with her baby.

The inclusion of these discordant elements undermining the country idyll set van der Heyden apart from his contemporary Gerrit Berckheyde. Various of his compositions include out-of-place statuary, stray farm animals or even urban shepherdesses, which add a feeling of anomaly and contradiction. These elements contribute to the feeling of modernity typical for his works. [1]

 

About the artist, via Wikipedia:

Jan van der Heyden (5 March 1637, Gorinchem – 28 March 1712, Amsterdam) was a Dutch Baroque-era painter, glass painter, draughtsman and printmaker. Van der Heyden was one of the first Dutch painters to specialize in townscapes and became one of the leading architectural painters of the Dutch Golden Age. He painted a number of still lifes in the beginning and at the end of his career.

Jan van der Heyden was also an engineer and inventor who made significant contributions to contemporary firefighting technology. Together with his brother Nicolaes, who was a hydraulic engineer, he invented an improvement of the fire hose in 1672.  He modified the manual fire engine, reorganized the volunteer fire brigade (1685) and wrote and illustrated the first firefighting manual (Brandspuiten-boek). A comprehensive street lighting scheme for Amsterdam, designed and implemented by van der Heyden, remained in operation from 1669 until 1840 and was adopted as a model by many other towns and abroad.

Painting was not the sole occupation and interest of van der Heyden. In fact he never joined Amsterdam’s painters’ guild. Even while his work was in great demand, he did not rely on his art to make a living. His principal source of income was, in fact, not painting. Rather he was employed as engineer, inventor and municipal official. He was clearly greatly preoccupied with the problem of how to fight fires effectively, and, with his brother Nicolaes, devoted much time between 1668 and 1671 to inventing a new, highly successful water pumping mechanism.

He devised streetlamps and the first street-lighting system for Amsterdam and was in 1669 appointed director of street lighting.

In 1673 the two brothers received official appointments to manage the city’s fire-fighting equipment and organisation. The two official appointments were sufficient to ensure the prosperity of the artist

Jan van der Heyden moved in 1680 to the Koestraat near the St. Anthonismarkt. Here he built a new family home and a factory for producing fire equipment. In collaboration with his eldest son Jan, he published in 1690 an illustrated book on firefighting, entitled ‘Beschrijving der nieuwlijks uitgevonden en geoctrojeerde Slangbrandspuiten’ (‘Description of the recently invented and patented hose fire engines’).

Jan van der Heyden died a wealthy man in 1712. His wife survived her husband by only a month. The inventory of the estate made soon after her death include more than 70 of his own paintings. [1]

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: An Architectural Fantasy by Jan van der Heyden ca. 1670. Wikipedia contributors, “Jan van der Heyden,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Jan_van_der_Heyden&oldid=1322644726 (accessed June 25, 2026).

[1] Wikipedia contributors, “Jan van der Heyden,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Jan_van_der_Heyden&oldid=1322644726 (accessed June 25, 2026).

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June 22, 2026 · 8:54 am

7 Rules of Construction #writing

My native language is English (although I am fluent in gibberish). But since I wanted to be taken seriously as an author, my job is to understand how grammar works and use it to my advantage.

The great authors bend the rules to energize their prose, but they know the rules they are ignoring and are consistent with how they bend them. They are deliberate.

Now, I do understand reality. If you are in the process of burning up the keyboard, tapping out a quick novel meant only to pay the bills, you won’t be thinking about getting fancy.

However, when it comes to word choices, some things are universal.

And so, here are seven rules that professional writing programs teach about sentence and paragraph construction.

One: Verbs. It is important to choose words that sound powerful when read aloud, as they convey the most meaning and reduce the tendency toward using too many “ly” words. In English, words that begin with hard consonants sound tougher and carry more power.

Verbs are power words. Fluff words and obscure words used too freely are kryptonite, sapping the strength from our prose.

Two: Placement of verbs in the sentence. Sentence construction can strengthen or weaken our work.

  • Nouns followed by verbs make active prose:
  • Moving the verbs to the beginning of the sentence makes it stronger.

From the building, Shari ran.

versus

Shari ran from the building.

It might fall out of our heads in the first draft, but we wouldn’t leave it. That kind of writing isn’t technically bad, but it’s awkward and not changing it in revisions is a newbie mistake. It’s the kind of writing that happens when we are just trying to spew the words as fast as we can.

Awkward phrasing is a subconscious code showing us what we need to revise.

Three: Parallel construction smooths awkward phrasing. This is the act of combining two or more clauses of equal importance into one sentence. To make them parallel, each clause should use the same grammatical structure. They are parallel, and the reader absorbs what is said naturally.

What parallelism means can be shown by a quote attributed to Julius Caesar, who used the phrase “I came; I saw; I conquered” in a letter to the Roman Senate after he had achieved a quick victory in the Battle of Zela. Caesar uses the same number of words in each clause. This choice gives equal importance to the different ideas of arriving, seeing, and conquering.

Four: Contrast: In literature, we use contrast to describe the difference(s) between two or more things in one sentence. The sun burned like fire, but the ever-present wind chilled me.

Five: Similes show the resemblances between two concepts, using words such as “like” and “as.” The sun burned like fire.

Similes are different from metaphors, which suggest something “is” something else.

The pale moon shone, a guiding lamp in the sky that comforted me. In this sentence, the moon becomes a lamp to guide the narrator. “Lamp” is the metaphor.

Six: Repetition. If we occasionally employ deliberate repetition, it can emphasize emotion and atmosphere without increasing wordiness.

  1. Repetition of the last word in a line or clause.

  2. Repetition of words at the start of clauses or verses.

  3. Repetition of words or phrases in the opposite sense.

  4. Repetition of words broken by some other words.

  5. Repetition of the same words at the end and start of a sentence.

  6. Repetition of a phrase or question to stress a point.

  7. Repetition of the same word at the end of each clause.

  8. Repetition of an idea, first in negative terms and then in positive terms.

  9. Repetition of words of the same root with different endings.

  10. Repetition at both the beginning and the end of a sentence, paragraph, or scene.

  11. Repetition is a construction in poetry where the last word of one clause becomes the first word of the next.

courtesy Office360 graphics

There are good repetitions and bad repetitions. Bad repetitions consist of the overuse of crutch words, such as grin, shrug, and wryly, along with many other easy words that come quickly to mind and litter the narrative during the first-draft rush.

Crutch words are easy because they say what you mean with little effort. They will become lazy writing if not found and trimmed back to a reasonable level during the revision process.

Seven: Alliteration is the occurrence of the same letter (or sound) at the beginning of successive words. Alliteration can lend a poetic feeling to a passage and help create the atmosphere of a given scene without adding wordiness.

When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.

But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do.  (Birches, by Robert Frost, 1916) [2]

I love the way Robert Frost uses alliteration to set the scene and create the atmosphere in those opening lines.

Poetry makes good use of good repetition and alliteration. Consider this quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson:

“Every book is a quotation, and every house is a quotation out of all forests, and mines, and stone quarries; and every man is a quotation from all his ancestors.”  

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Prose and Poetry. [1]

I know I say this all the time, but the way we habitually construct our prose is our voice. Our voice determines the impact of our work.

We all know different readers have widely different tastes. But everyone knows what they consider good writing, and they don’t recommend what they see as bad writing. If the work is well written, the author’s voice will determine whether a reader enjoys it.

And this brings me to that old bugaboo, GENRE.

We must know who our readers are, what they want, and construct our work to fit that market. All readers want to find what they perceive as good writing.

Active phrasing generates emotion.

Sometimes, using similes, repetition, and alliteration in subtle applications enhances the worldbuilding without beating your reader over the head.

We all know worldbuilding must be organic and natural, but there are times when we struggle to achieve it. Subtle application of these seven rules will empower your worldbuilding. The casual reader will be immersed but unaware of the mechanics. They won’t realize why the work is powerful.

Credits and Attributions

[1] Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Complete Works. Published in 1904. Vol. VIII. Letters and Social Aims, VI. Quotation and Originality, The Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, vol. 8 (Letters and Social Aims) | Online Library of Liberty, Public Domain (accessed June 19, 2026).

[3] Wikipedia contributors, “Birches (poem),” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Birches_(poem)&oldid=1351913530 (accessed June 19, 2026).

 

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June 19, 2026 · 6:00 am

#FineArtFriday: Boat building Near Flatford Mill by John Constable

Title: Boat-Building Near Flatford Mill

Year: 1815

Type: Oil on canvas, landscape painting

Dimensions: 50.8 cm × 61.6 cm (20.0 in × 24.3 in)

Current Location: Victoria and Albert Museum, London

 

What I love about this painting:

I love Constable’s work, and this painting in particular. The dry dock was owned by Constable’s father.

The boat under construction is a barge and was painted from a sketch, but was painted in the open air.

The builder sits, carving a piece that will be fitted with care and precision. Building a boat nowadays requires skilled, knowledgeable craftsmen, as much as it did in 1815, although for most modern ships, it needs people with skills in different materials.

A tour of an historic sailing craft will show you that boat builders who built before the modern era were also skilled woodworkers. One of my favorite historic vessels is the Lady Washington, a replica that was built in Aberdeen Washington. Whenever it is there, I go to visit it.

About this painting, via Wikipedia:

Boat-Building Near Flatford Mill is an 1815 landscape painting by the English artist John Constable. It depicts a scene on the River Stour near to Flatford Mill on the Essex–Suffolk border. Constable’s father owned Flatford Mill and the area around it is now known as Constable Country. Portraying the process of boat building, it has been described as a forerunner of his best-known Six-Foot paintings depicting scenes from the area. [1]

About the Artist, via Wikipedia:

John Constable (11 June 1776 – 31 March 1837) was an English landscape painter in the Romantic tradition. Born in Suffolk, he is known principally for revolutionizing the genre of landscape painting with his pictures of Dedham Vale, the area on the borderland of Suffolk and north Essex surrounding his home – now known as “Constable Country” – which he invested with an intensity of affection. “I should paint my own places best”, he wrote to his friend John Fisher in 1821, “painting is but another word for feeling.”

His early style has many qualities associated with his mature work, including a freshness of light, color and touch, and reveals the compositional influence of the old masters he had studied, notably of Claude Lorrain. Constable’s usual subjects, scenes of ordinary daily life, were unfashionable in an age that looked for more romantic visions of wild landscapes and ruins. He made occasional trips farther afield.

By 1803, he was exhibiting paintings at the Royal Academy. In April he spent almost a month aboard the East Indiaman Coutts as it visited south-east ports while sailing from London to Deal before leaving for China.

Another source of income was painting the portraits of country manors.

In 1817 Constable started work on his most ambitious project to date. The picture was Flatford Mill (Scene on a Navigable River). It was the largest painting of a rural scene that he had done to date and the largest he would ever complete largely outdoors. Constable was determined to paint on a larger scale, his objective not only to attract more attention at the Royal Academy exhibitions but also, it seems, to project his ideas about landscape on a scale more in keeping with the achievements of the classical landscape painters he so admired. Although Flatford Mill failed to find a buyer when it was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1817, its fine and intricate execution drew much praise, encouraging Constable to move on to the even larger canvases that were to follow. [2]

For more information on this artist, go to: John Constable – Wikipedia.

Credits and Attributions:

[1] IMAGE: Wikipedia contributors, “Boat-Building Near Flatford Mill,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Boat-Building_Near_Flatford_Mill&oldid=1335473797 (accessed June 17, 2026).

[2] Wikipedia contributors, “John Constable,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=John_Constable&oldid=1358915080 (accessed June 17, 2026).

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June 15, 2026 · 6:00 am

The infinity arc, or double-circular story arc #writing

We as writers must resonate with the stories we tell. They have to mean something to us or they won’t mean anything to a reader.

Lately, life has been a little hectic, and I’ve been unable to focus on my longer work. But I have been able to write and complete short stories in a variety of genres and lengths.

While my longer work is “resting” and going nowhere, there is an upside to this: I’ve had a chance to experiment with writing and delve more deeply into how my favorite authors construct their work.

I am a wordy writer. To counteract that problem, I set myself a wordcount goal and do my best to stay within it.

In microfiction, the author must build a world in fewer than 100 words, show mood and atmosphere, and give the reader a story with a complete arc.

This sharpens my skills in writing longer pieces because I must convey as much information as possible in as few words as I can. No matter the story’s length, my chosen words must be powerful and visual, showing the setting, combined with a strong theme, and conveying the intended atmosphere and mood.

My ideas usually fall out of my head in an outline form. This skeleton becomes the first draft. Other times, I write the story as it unfolds in my mind. Then, I make an outline and rewrite it so that it makes sense.

I’ve written several stories lately that have a “circular arc.” This kind of story takes us through an experience and returns us to where we began. For better or worse, we are changed by the events we have undergone.

Most of these pieces are essays on my real-life experiences and may someday end up in a published collection, but may just be put into a book for my grandchildren. They began as handwritten entries in my notebook. I put them into a Word Document and saved them in a file labeled Essays 2026.

My personal essays usually have a circular narrative arc and rarely run more than 500 words. The story begins at point A, takes the reader through an occurrence, and brings them back to where it started.

In this type of story, the characters return to where they began but are fundamentally changed by the story’s events.

The infinity arc is similar to the circular arc but presents one story from two different viewpoints: a double-circular arc.

The story begins with Character One, takes them through an occurrence, and brings them back. At that point, the story shifts to Character Two and retells the events from their perspective, returning them to where they began. (Two circular story arcs joined by one event.) If we graphed it out, it would look something like an infinity sign, a figure-eight lying on its side: ∞

The story I’m using for today’s example is one I wrote about ten years ago. It features two protagonists, and I had intended to tell both stories in only 1,000 words. I was not entirely successful, but managed to keep it down to 1,025 words.

As I mentioned above, in the infinity or double-circular arc, two stories begin at the same place: the center of the infinity symbol. They experience the event simultaneously. Both characters are tested and changed by what they have lived through.

The characters in this story do not meet. In many stories with this kind of story arc, the two characters do meet and interact. Relationships across time are a popular romance trope.

But they don’t have to, and I think that makes a more interesting story.

In this tale, my characters briefly occupy the same patch of ground during a glitch in time. It ends where it began, but with two sets of characters having seemingly experienced two different events. Their perception of the meeting is colored by the knowledge and superstitions of their respective eras.

How is the story constructed?

  • It opens in the center of the infinity sign. In this tale, the antagonist is the catalyst, the place and moment where two realities meet.
  • The opening sentences establish the world, set the scene, and introduce the first protagonist.
  • The following three paragraphs show the situation and establish the mood. They also introduce the antagonist.
  • At this point, our first protagonist knows he must resolve the problem and protect his people, and he does so.

But the infinity arc presents us with a story from two viewpoints.

  • Again, I had to set the scene and establish the mood and characters. Here, we meet the second protagonist. He has the same needs as our first and must also resolve the problem.

Neither character would have understood the strange physics of what they experienced had Brian Cox been around to explain it.

  • The final paragraphs of the first half contribute to the overall atmosphere and setting of the story’s second part.
  • Each character’s understanding of what they saw and experienced is firmly grounded in the beliefs and lore of their era, and both do what they must to protect their people.

As a practice piece, the story had good bones. However, it’s not the right kind of story for submission to a magazine or contest, as it’s not commercially viable. In fact, much of what I write isn’t commercially viable, but I love writing it.

The act of writing something different, a little outside my comfort zone, forces me to be more imaginative in how I tell my stories. We should all have a little fun with writing. Give that double circular arc a shot and see what you come up with.

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: The  Hero’s Journey, Public Domain. Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Heroesjourney.svg,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Heroesjourney.svg&oldid=1013027507 (accessed June 14, 2026).

 

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June 12, 2026 · 6:00 am

#FineArtFriday: A second look at “Sur la plage, les bains de mer” by François d’Orléans

François_d'Orléans_-_Sur_la_plage,_les_bains_de_merArtist: François d’Orléans, prince de Joinville (1818-1900)

Title: Sur la plage, les bains de mer (English: On the beach sea bathing)

Medium: Watercolor

Date: before 1900

What I love about this painting:

I first featured this painting in July of 2023. The wild sense of humor shown in this portrayal of upper-class Victorian-era people on vacation beside the sea absolutely captivated me. François d’Orléans spills the gossip in this watercolor seascape: they weren’t all as prim and proper as history would like us to believe.

I love the hilarity, the wild abandon they feel at being temporarily freed of “proper” clothing and society’s rules of politeness. When the holiday is over, they’ll have to behave. But for now, the sun is shining, the waters are warm, and the day is just getting started.

The two young men who are clowning around, one leaping over the back of the other make me laugh. They remind me of my husband’s college fraternity days circa 1978. (He did outgrow it, but some of their pranks were hilarious.)

Everyone is having fun on this glorious day beside the sea, except perhaps the woman being drenched by a bucket of water. So much action! It was a party, and François d’Orléans, Prince de Joinville recorded it with his own unique style.

About the Artist, via Wikipedia:

François d’Orléans, Prince de Joinville (14 August 1818 – 16 June 1900) was the third son of Louis Philippe, King of the French, and his wife Maria Amalia of Naples and Sicily. An admiral of the French Navy, François was famous for bringing the remains of Napoleon from Saint Helena to France, as well as being a talented artist, with 35 known watercolours.

He married Princess Francisca of Brazil, daughter of Emperor Pedro I and sister of Emperor Pedro II. The dowry received by François upon the marriage became the Brazilian city of Joinville.

François and Francisca’s grandson Jean went on to become the Orléanist claimant to the extinct French throne, a claim passed on to his son, grandson and now great-grandson Jean, Count of Paris, current Orléanist claimant to the French crown.

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: Sur la plage, les bains de mer  by François d’Orléans, prince de Joinville. Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:François d’Orléans – Sur la plage, les bains de mer.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Fran%C3%A7ois_d%27Orl%C3%A9ans_-_Sur_la_plage,_les_bains_de_mer.jpg&oldid=757902107 (accessed June 11, 2026).

Wikipedia contributors, “François d’Orléans, Prince of Joinville,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Fran%C3%A7ois_d%27Orl%C3%A9ans,_Prince_of_Joinville&oldid=1160992832 (accessed June 11, 2026).

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