Thought for a novel

Good morning, Self!

I had a thought for a novel the other day and if I wasn't already immersed in the sequel to Gulf of the Plains, I would be working on it now. I'm not one of those guys that can easily switch from one work to another, so I'll have to muddle along as best I can.

The idea centers around the wierd things that have happened in my own life. You know, ghost story type things. Without giving away too much of the story, here's what part of it includes.

When my Grandfather was in the hospital for the last time before he died, I was about 4 years old, and my uncles and aunts were home to spend time with Grandad. He and my oldest uncle were somewhat estranged at the time and my uncle went night-fishing the night before Grandad's surgery. What he saw on the river sent him home in the middle of the night and without even cleaning up, he went to the hospital, outside of visiting hours to talk to Grandad. When he had told him what he saw, Grandad said it meant that he was going to die. Not my uncle, but my Grandad. And, he did die during surgery.

Another premonitory occurrence in my family dealt with a horse that wandered through the yard of one of my gr-gr-grandmothers one night when she was a little girl. It woke the entire household with its neighing and clumping up onto the porch before it left, and they thought that the gate had been left open. They had seen it in the moonlight and it was emaciated, sway-backed and looked as though it had cataracts on its eyes. Being so ill-looking, they knew it couldn't have jumped the fence, but when they went outside, the fence was secured and they couldn't find hoof prints anywhere in the yard. With a house full of kids, the yard had little grass in it; it was mostly bare earth. Since it was a dry summer, that meant that it was mostly dust and should have taken prints easily. There were prints in the dirt of the children's bare feet from the day before. Before dinnertime the next day, they received word that a grandparent had died in the night.

There are many more stories like that in my family, as well as a collection of songs that my Grandad used to sing for his kids when they were small. I can barely remember him singing them when I was small, but I have to say that they were bloody, violent fairytale type songs. Songs of giants, predatory deer, wolves, foxes and vicious rabbits. The most complex of them; a very long song, has been passed through my family in its entirety and since my daughters forget parts of it, I have it written down. It is worthy of a novel in and of itself.

I'm not sure where the songs come from, but my Grandad's family is mixed Cherokee and Border Scots. I believe the song I mentioned comes from the Border because it mentions London at least twice. The city is mentioned as though it is a long way off, and we all know that compared to the Great Plains, England is barely larger than some counties. My parents were watching a documentary once, starring one of our American folksingers who was also a musical historian, and he played and sang the song. They couldn't remember what part of England he said it was from, but that gives me a sort of provenance.

Then there was a story that was half-told and half-sang, concerning a rabbit, a wolf, a deer and a bear. Since the rabbit was the only one to coume out at the end alive, having killed the villain and several others, it was a kind of bloodthirsty song to be singing to children. But, such were the songs of our forbears.

Well, I've spent enough time on this today. I think you can see that having been raised on violent songs and stories dealing with the metaphysical, there is good reason why my novels contain so much violence.

Remember this:
When I was a little boy, to London I did go.
I climbed up on a steeple high, my beauty for to show.
Try-da-la-ringle-doodle-day
Try-da-la-ringle-doodle-dum!
I laid my head in sister's lap and let my feet hang low,
And jumped clear over main-street and never stopped to blow!
(Chorus)
And there I met a mighty giant, his head almost reached the sun.
He bantered me to wrestle him, both fight and run!
I beat him out of all of his tricks and killed him when it was done!
(Chorus)

Thank you,
Derek A. Murphy
Author of Stitch in Thyme, A Quart of Djinn and others.
Available on Kindle