|Telling my strange tale to the camera for the documentary, 'The Otherworld', in the ancient settlements at the chateau du Montsegur.|
|In sunshine and shadow... Montsegur, the castle of dreams.|
The first place I encountered Saurimonde was in Maurice Magre's, 'Return of the Magi' (1931), on my first visit to the French Pyrenees many years ago, "the solitary Saurimonde, the inspired prophetess of the Mazamet district, who went naked as in the days when the world was born, because her soul was as bright as the sun she invoked.” I mean, who wouldn't love a woman like that? The Pyrenean mountains are chock full of secrets and legends. It's a place somewhere out of time where the past and the present walk hand in hand. Magic still lives, breaths and resounds within its ancient peaks and valleys.
So Saurimonde had been spinning around in my head for a couple of years more in an abstract manner than anything else, but there's a resonance to her name that always stuck with me. And sometime late last winter I have the vaguest memory of sitting by the fire and sketching out the first details for the opening of the story (which was very different back then). I believe I was working on a very dense piece at the time about decoding some of the symbols at the Cathedral de Notre Dame in Paris according to Fulcanelli's book, 'The Mystery of the Cathedral's' (1922), and was writing ideas for the story of Saurimonde as a mental break from hardcore alchemical overload. I kept these musings in a notebook along with the thousands of other mental notes I've written over the last few years.
One warm night last summer I took out the notebook and started in earnest to put together an outline and the story just sort of blossomed from there. But I knew this was something I wasn't ready to do alone so I invited my friend Melissa St. Hilaire onto the project with me and to my relief she accepted.
Melissa and I have worked together many times
before building websites, making images, and roughing out script
ideas. I knew we had very similar tastes in fantasy literature, and I
knew she had the writing chops for the job and that she'd remain
upbeat throughout the process, but also would interject if things
were taking a left turn to nowhere. I like having someone to write
with and bounce ideas of off. Writing is a solitary business and all
of us get a little crazy if we're locked inside our thoughts for
extended periods of time. Having people that you trust to be a fresh
pair of eyes and ears is crucial for any kind of creative endeavour.
For me personally, and I know this sounds childish, but I need
deadlines and just knowing there is someone out there waiting on you
to get those pages in is motivation enough for me to get my ass in
gear and get down to business. This is especially true of a first
book as I really had no idea of the ride I was in for.
|Myself and Melissa the last time we went to Malibu. These things happen...|
Summer was really easy as it was the beginning of the narrative tree where stories can go anywhere. The sun was shining and I'd take the notebook out to the high meadows and write and sunbath and then come back later and transcribe. I took long walks up the Lasset (which is the river which snakes down from the Lake of the Devil, through the Reboule and onwards through Montsegur) and sit on the river banks, staring at the water to get a feel for my characters. I rode on horseback through the forests pretending I was Sordel. Butterflies would land on my pen and not leave. Often I would lose track of time and become pink all over with sunburn. There were many little anecdotes that went into the story. I stayed with it day after day until the characters started to take shape and I could hear them beginning to talk to me (and no, I'm not schizophrenic, I prefer to think of this ability as 'a gift', rather than a particular form of madness).
But it was not the easiest of summers either. There was a
lot of personal tension and strife in my life and I poured that
emotion out onto the page. It was a relief to have somewhere to put
it. Anger is an energy, sadness is an energy, regret is an energy,
redemption is an energy and love is an energy. Like any personal
work, the story is dotted with my own personal pathology in places. I
know what it's like to feel conflicted and to feel love and hate
about a person or situation at the same time. I think the essence of
this would be best described as 'bitter sweet'. But this is what a
lot of emotions and memories are made of and it's this ability to
feel a vast array of things that makes us human. I don't personally
enjoy conflict although I won't run from it either, but I like it in
my characters. I like them to be a mix of things both good and bad
and to be confronted with choices that are neither morally right or
wrong, but that go against their personal creed, and opens up some
facet within them that makes them view the world in a different way.
Take Gilles for example, he was a fairly easy character to write
because he was so obviously the bad guy, and like most villains even
though he's a complete bastard I liked his quirks. I didn't approve
of the way he did things or how vicious he was, but I can't say I 100
percent hated him either and in writing his scenes, I was always
curious to see where he'd go because there were no limits on his
badness – not even necrophilia! Even though reprehensible he's
still entertaining. I don't know why it's so much easier for me to
write bad guys rather than heroes and I'm certain a psychoanalyst
will have a field day with me someday.
|"Not all those who wander are lost..." J.R.R. Tolkien (photo by Richard Stanley).|
|The mists of the Mount de la Frau and the view from my window.|
As the shadows grew longer, the writing became harder. I had scripts to doctor and a film to keep a vague eye on and throw my two cents in while it was being edited. There were small patches of days when I got a chance to work on nothing but the book, but it was rare. I would try and get whatever I could down in the morning before scriptwriting duties, but I was usually pretty foggy and it takes me some time to get into the flow of things. Like Saurimonde, I don't like staring at a blank canvas and will balk for a while, not knowing where to start. There was also the fact that I'd never written a full novel before and there were times I'd deviate off the structure and then have to rethink the whole thing. But little by little it started to fall together, although not in prolific amounts, it was enough to keep me going.
The winter snows came into the valley shutting out the rest of the world and I spent a good part of it locked up in my one warm room in this 16th century icebox. When the spring festival came to Montsegur I saw some of the other villagers for the first time all winter and they asked me how my vacation was. No one had seen me so they all assumed I'd headed for warmer climates. I told them I'd been here all winter writing and working and they smiled politely and looked at me in a slightly confused manner. But this is pretty normal as they aren't quite sure what it is I do besides help make movies and string words together. And to be honest, my conversational French is remedial at the best of times.
Then suddenly one day a few weeks ago. It was finished. Well, almost finished. There was that pesky little thing called editing but we won't talk about that as my head still hurts just thinking about it. I almost failed copy-editing in Journalism school and to say I suck at it royally is being polite. Of course there's been no time to celebrate as I'm hip deep in writing another horror script and this one is based on the kaballah. Although fun, like all original scripts it's a lot of work, but, hey, there are much worse ways to make a living.
|The view from the battlement where I would sit and write until the sun went down.|
I'll end this here before I go on another digression. Linear thinking was never my forte, but I live off the grid and outside the box and I prefer it that way. I think I'll put together a list of some of the stuff that inspired the story as the weather is bad (as in snow in April bad - can you believe that! Thank you Mother Nature!). I've already put a dossier together of the legends, but there were other books and authors who were along for the journey and lots and lots of music. And art, I shouldn't forget art as used this to get myself motivated on certain days when I was lagging. I'd look around for images to inspire me (and firmly tell myself I was not trolling the internet – I was working!) because it all helps at the end of the day. Maybe I'll gather together a few pics of the places I was writing from. Montsegur is known as the 'grail castle' or the 'castle of dreams' because of its history, but its story is bitter sweet as well and full of beauty and tragedy. I completely forgot until now I spent a few nights writing up in the castle, watching the sun set and only stopping when the light completely faded. The last time I did so last summer there was a meteorite shower and I was the only person on the mountain in the ruins of the castle to witness it. Watching the reign of shooting stars from those heights made it feel like they were falling directly into the soul of the mountain and like if I reached up high enough I could easily catch one in my hand. It was one of the most visually ecstatic experiences of my whole life and, hell yeah, I made a lot of wishes that night.
|The morning after...|
The next morning was the most intense and blazing sunrise I have ever witnessed. Just watching it was like being reborn in fire and if you know anything of the history of this place then you'll understand the relevance of this phrase.
Okay, I really mean it this time, I'm stopping here.
Much love from where the worlds touch,
S. - xx
S. - xx
Montsegur, April 5th, 2013
Montsegur, April 5th, 2013
|(photo by Jan Pierre Texier)|