#238 Inside the Emotion of Fiction: Diana Stevan’s LILACS IN THE DUST BOWL

Name of fiction work? And were there other names you considered that you would like to share with us? My new novel is titled LILACS in the DUST BOWL. It was inspired by a photo of my father holding a bunch of lilacs on my grandmother Lukia’s farm in Manitoba during the Great Depression.  I never considered any other names. This new biographical fiction, though written as a standalone, follows Lukia’s story in SUNFLOWERS UNDER FIRE, set in Russia during WWI and the wars that followed.

I liked the idea of having flowers in both titles. I’m now writing the third in the series and the title for that one will also have flowers in its title.

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I began writing LILACS in the DUST BOWL in the spring of 2019. I was completely finished by February 2021. That means, it was professionally edited and formatted by then.

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail.  And can you please include a photo? I do most of my writing at my desk at home. I’m lucky that I have a dedicated space, but there have been times when I’m written in libraries, coffee shops and on the B.C. Ferry. But this time, during Covid, it’s all been at my desk.

Diana Stevan at her desk. Copyright by Diana Stevan.

What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I head to my desktop computer first thing in the morning and during that time, I’ll have two cups of coffee. I generally tackle my email and social media notifications before doing any creative writing. I don’t listen to any music while I write, but I’m occasionally pleasantly interrupted by the song sparrows sing outside my office window. As for writing my novel, I’m not as disciplined as I’d like to be. So, I might write a chapter or a section in the morning or it might even been in the afternoon. As I’m aware of how stimulating the computer screen can be and how it can affect my sleep, I stop work by 6 pm in the evening. The only time I go on after that is for zoom meetings with my various writers’ groups.

The Star Magnolia tree blooms outside Diana Stevan’s office window in April of 2021. Credit and Copyright by Diana Stevan.

The other interruptions to my writing practice are time spent with family, gardening, and various exercise, like golf, walking in the forest, cycling trails, yoga, and pilates. But these are all welcome diversions. And necessary to keep the blood flowing.

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference.  This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer. Excerpt from the novel, LILACS in the DUST BOWL, pp. 283-284  On a farm in Manitoba, Canada,  Lukia lives with her four adult children: Egnat (who’s married and has just had another child at this point), Mike, Harry and Dunya.

After the guests had gone home, Lukia left Dunya in the house to shred the cabbage they’d picked that morning to make sauerkraut for the winter. Lukia marched through the barnyard, past the clucking chickens, gobbling turkeys, and pigs rolling in the pen. Mike and Harry were busy changing a flat tire on the truck, so they never even noticed her as she strode by. Good, she thought. She wanted to see Egnat alone.

She found him pacing the fields, stooping down every hundred yards to examine the wheat that struggled to survive. A flock of birds flew overhead, identifiable only as black silhouettes in the bright blue sky. It wouldn’t be long before the Canada geese would fly south and winter would be upon them again.

Egnat continued up the row, his back to her, unaware of her nearing presence. Every Sunday, he inspected the fields, making sure no plant escaped his scrutiny. It was a day of rest for many men, but not for her son.

“Egnat!” she called out.

He turned. “Mama, what are you doing here?”

“Nu, I wanted to talk to you.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong now?”

She was close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath. She glanced down and saw a mickey sticking out of his pants pocket. Oy, my poor son, she thought, but she understood. Sometimes, there was too much to bear even for the strongest. At least he was wise enough not to drink when he was handling machinery, working the land, or handling the animals. So, she said nothing about the booze and instead nodded towards the wheat. “How is it?”

“You can see for yourself.” He bent down and broke off some dry stalks. “This is what we have.” He crumpled the wheat into bits with his hands. “We’ll be lucky to get enough to cover our rent this year.” Choking up, he said, “I keep thinking if only I work harder, it’ll come. But it doesn’t.”

She wanted to ease his pain; she wanted to hold him on her lap and comfort him, like she had done when he was little. Her eyes watered as she said, “We have to pray. Keep praying for rain.”

“Pray? What good are prayers? You pray and the dust continues to blow. There is no God. Probably some clown looking down at us, thinking: What a bunch of fools!”

“Oy, Egnat. Don’t say.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “We can’t give up. We can’t.”

“Mama …” He shook his head.

Putting her arms around him, she said, “Egnat …” He put his head on her shoulder and cried. His body shook with sobs against her chest. Unable to stay dry-eyed, she cried with him, their sobs piercing the air like the unexpected cries of a crow. They stood for a while, joined in their sorrow.

They both understood what they could control and what they couldn’t. As before, they got up every morning, fed the livestock and checked the sky and the sun overhead. She’d heard that Indians did a rain dance when they had to weather dry periods. She didn’t feel like dancing. Instead, she prayed every night on her knees until she could no longer kneel.

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? This excerpt was emotional for me to write, because of all the Mazurec family had gone through up to this point. Years of hoping for a good crop had taken its toll. They’d also left war-torn Ukraine in hopes of a better life only to find more heartache. And as a mother myself, I felt Lukia’s pain at not being able to make her son’s life better. She saw him toil around the clock with no days off and for what? She’d always understood that hard work paid off, but in this section, it seems that Nature has beaten them all. I cried when I wrote these pages.

Diana Stevan’s parents Peter and Dolly Klewchuk (nee Mazurec). Copyright by Diana Stevan.

Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt. I have no deletions to show, but I have an earlier rough draft, which is considerably shorter. As you can see, from the following, it doesn’t have the dialogue that appears in the completed novel.

Diana Stevan’s rough draft . Credt

All of the Inside The Emotion of Fiction LIVE LINKS can be found at the very end of the below feature:

http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html

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