Up, fed the cat, the Sunday paper and breakfast. Nearly mid-morning. Last night you spent an hour or so reworking your genealogy for one of your former students who was born and grew up near Warwick Castle and whose godparents live in Kent. She is interesting in your books as England is one of the settings.
I thought about having the line back to Malcolm with just dates and places, something simple. I have all this stuff with added notes and so forth that no one in the right mind would be interested in, though doing the research was fun for me because I like history and it gives me a closer, more personal connection to British literature, one of the loves of my life. I think working on the genealogy really did help inspire the three novels (at least in part).
But, this morning, I see it as some kind of ‘glory-seeking, I have royal blood and you don’t’ kind of thing. Once I’m back to Scotland’s Duncan II the genealogical myths and legends take over. Royal Historical Fiction based loosely of a fact or two from earlier generations. The facts are the DNA records. Obviously, like everyone else, the DNA family I belong to has been around for a very long time or I wouldn’t be here and neither would anyone else, with their own long-lived DNA family, which, in some ways, makes the whole genealogical enterprise somewhat silly. Still, I love the sense of human history and it is exciting to be a member of the human species. I suppose that is what it really comes down to.
Your family tree was very important to your Great Aunt, Floy Orndorff Gray. You promised her you would finish what she had begun many years ago when the research was much more difficult to come by. Only last Spring did you find a second source for the connection to the Scottish throne. This is what she had searched for, genealogy was one of her passions.
History is one of your passions and you like to make it personal just as you did the literature you taught. Genealogy did inspire you as far as the books are concerned. I did the writing but I always follow your passions. Passion is the key to who you are, who anyone is. Passion is what you take with you after life, that’s the way I see it, and that is the way I write it in these books.
The Rebellion, for instance, could be written in thousands of settings in many different cultures and languages, but the end result of the story would still be the same. The end does not justify the means. The end is, the means is open to free will. That’s the way it is in all six books. That’s the way I want it as your name appears as author. If someone questions who wrote the books? You can honestly say, “I wrote the books.” This is something I, Amorella, find easy to live with (so to speak). You get the books and I keep in character as a bit of imaginary consciousness who does a good part of your writing for you. Post this so you can move on to other things, after a nap, of course. – Amorella.
After a nap and lunch and a re-reading I see that the set up in the book is the same as in life, you are born, and in the end, you die. Everything else has to do with free will, yours or someone else’s. Very funny, and cheery in a gallows’ humor sort of way. I like it.
You finished the oldest and longest branch of the Orndorff family tree for Owen and sent it on to Kim and Paul, and edited audio scenes eight, nine, and ten of chapter two. That’s it for tonight. – Amorella.
Scene 8
From beneath a few inches under the dirt floor of Thales's stone privacy the Supervisor suddenly transformed into a cool breeze that seemed to Thales to come from the northeast corner of the room. at the same moment, he felt a distinct short shiver in his tailbone become a bolt of lightning of an event coming before its cause which jumbled his mind.
Thales’ eyes immediately focused on the earth-like floor and for less than a blink, the floor became a distinct brown, the color of the irises of the goddess he had seen two days earlier. The goddess on the path, her facial perfection, he thought with secret dread. No matter what I say or do, I will be the ruination of this peaceful protest. I can mention this to no one. My deepest self is already surrounded by this toe touching terror beneath my feet.
Scene 9
“What do you think we should do?” asked Kassandra of Salaman at lunch, a politely convenient term when both are sitting at a table. They are at the same well established and colorful local eatery where Mario and Salaman sat, called ‘The Mikroikia’, at the northwest corner of Lyceum and Eleusis Streets.
Salaman glanced the room and suggested they talk somewhere else and the usual family server, Aranos, suggested a little used back room with a table and two chairs. Once resettled, the conversation continued in the quieter, much more subdued area.
Kassandra began with, “I think Thales may be onto something here. We may be looking at this all wrong and if the Supervisor has lack of knowledge as to why we are here in the first place we may be able to use this as leverage.”
“Perhaps, suggested Salaman solemnly. “I cannot see what difference that makes though. We cannot surround Hades with petitions all shouting and waving our hands. We could march North on Eleusis Street, towards our Mother's house, but she okayed this venture so what good would that do?”
“What about south to the River Styx?” asked Kassandra.
“We cannot cross.”
Kassandra immediately felt enlightened and eagerly replied, “We could build a bridge.”
Salaman broke into laughter.
Almost giddily and wide-eyed she continued, “A protest bridge. A symbol. A stone bridge that stops just off shore. The gods may wonder what we are up to but they cannot know in advance if it is a symbol or an actual attempt.”
The laughter stopped, “A two lane bridge,” added Salaman with more excitement than he intended. “A lane for revisiting Earth and a lane for us Dead to return Here.”
Scene 10
Later that afternoon the five had gathered within Sophia’s privacy walls and the enthusiasm was mounting.
Sophia spoke last. “I think we have a good plan. We need to get word out tonight so that when morning comes we can implement it without a whine or a shout. If the Supervisor will not see us directly then we will go about the business of building a bridge from the shoreline of South Eleusis Street across the Styx and from there make our way back to the Living. We had to get from there to here so we will build our way back.
We have to believe we can do this with all our heartsansoulsanminds. If nothing else the gods will be confounded by our arrogance and stubbornness as a species. We are the caretakers of the Living, it is our natural right to return from whence we came. We are demonstrating for the right reasons, so our grandchildren may see the truth and learn from it.”
Righteousness echoed her short directive and soon the echo would reverberate throughout the night through dreams and word of mouth. Elysium’s flowers had the strong scent of Free Will and direction and in their hearts they were singing private hymns not to these gods but to themselves as the heroes they continued to be. They, the ten thousand, would make their own road Home.
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