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Life stories..Looking For Pearls update…

Posted in Autobiography, Biography, Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva, writing with tags , , , , , on November 14, 2016 by kathydasilva


It’s that time of year where nostalgia can grab you as the Christmas seasonal fanfair begins. But, I am in the middle of writing, the memoire/fictionalized version of my life story. I am feeling a tad freer from changing names deliberately, so that while the book will of course go public and be available for sale hopefully I will save my relatives from invasive problematical interest, or potential interest in the future. I am anticipating, this will feel my best work, because essential to biography or autobiography is some honest recounting of events. I was becoming very focused on loss recently, and also have started the ‘novel’ from a different time point, than originally planned. It looks a bit more logical though to go backward from a recent event that was momentous or devastating or life changing at the very least. An lo, springs an honesty, from the many things observed, and funerals, as well as weddings, bring family members together. I am now more hopeful about finishing this one sooner. I had to have a little time away from just typing up a story line, as Driftwood, also became an emotional burden, in part because I am an artist, and events are still current politically, and now even more so, the recent American elections are showing the turmoil and uncertainty of our age. So back to Looking For Pearls, and my fight to create something with some of the poetry side of me still coming through. I always think writing takes something of the energy of the interior spirit of a person as you go along, so that when you finish, you do feel like it is a kind of intellectual birth moment. I am feeling helped along this week, by staying home a bit, with the heating on, thankfully. Here’s  a little extract of Looking For Pearls, it is loaded with emotional ups and downs as a book, but, my artschool years provide quite an interesting, backdrop to London, and the art scene in general. In the extract, I am harking back to my mother’s funeral. (All names are changed to protect identity).

There was tension within the family group and then her grandson, Martin, had told us he could see her, first at the church kneeling at the side alter, and then when we met at the wake. A teenager with second sight, though I am not sure how that happened, he had had visions since his youth. And he could see my son who had passed, and he could see my dad, who had passed, and he could see, my elder sister, and she too had passed.‘ extract from Looking For Pearls by Katherine Da Silva

I have had to live through about a decade of relatives, passing on. So it is all going to go in there somewhere, as life has to appear as real as it is. Though there is plenty of humor as our family, and hopefully my adult self had to cope with such a lot of striving, to make  things happen. I am glad that TV today is getting so predictable and repetitive if only for creating the need and urge in me to make something different. In a way, the whole fictionalized future dwelling semi-scifi, genre, of recent film, has so much forboding attached to it. I too have my version of something like that, in ‘Battlefield’, this will eventually have a different title, but I have some stories up my sleeve, for the year ahead, well at least two or three story lines. The film Hope and Glory leaves us in the period in which it is made, and although this perfectly reflects a certain nostalgia, of a time when people pulled together, through rationing, and bombing raids, the parts I like most are the family exchanges, and rituals of eating together, from grandad to grandchild, all understanding their place, and all interacting.

I was bequeathed a few old photographs recently from the war period, and childhood of my mother. I was so pleased to be in receipt of them, as there is some wonderful historic element, in the styles of clothing and hats. My grandfather on my mother’s side had come from a farming family. And it is with some delight to remember that age, when families would expect to eat food grown in their own gardens. I think the twentieth century has gone so far into the financial element of material things, the era of the super store, that people, and community have truly suffered. My mother’s era, were much more family orientated, and everything especially during the war years of my mother’s youth, was home grown, and they had a small holding. And then of course they had the war to deal with, and for as long as I can remember, every  now and then, my mother would become very thoughtful, about this period of her life, reliving the things, people went through.





New Release ‘Driftwood’ is out now!

Posted in Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 5, 2016 by kathydasilva


‘Streaks of sunlight separated and shone strong rays of white light onto the stone floor, and as people passed through they interrupted the light, and momentarily fell under the spot light effects of the beams.’

It’s a novel about two people, who write comic satire for a magazine. Their work is full of witticism and humor about politics of the times.

My latest novel, Driftwood is now available on as an e-book, and in the next few days as a hard copy paperback.

So how to encourage someone to write about my story?..

Posted in Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 3, 2015 by kathydasilva

BookCoverPreview.doThe Island

You can buy The Island on Amazon as an e-book and paperback.

I have tried, to make myself write..more… and it’s not all been bad, as in the discipline to sit and rigidly make myself finish ‘the story’… has been a bit hard, but, when I wrote the plot line out as fast as it was being created in my problem solving head, then that became the enticement to see the project finished. I had to answer my own question of what happens next, and solve the riddle of the fiction. I use experiences of characters I met and meet in real life hopefully disguising their identity sufficiently, and fictionalizing looks/names and details. I have written in several different style approaches before, some more about the poetic style use of language, and deliberate abstractions of images and creating character with nuance. I have found however, all the poetic approaches leave me dangling in the air, like the little worm of a chrysallis hangs on a very thin thread, and I seem left there dangling, with lots of really good images. But, still, I need the discipline of getting my Looking For Pearls ‘finished’. I am better at shorter essays and possible journalistic articles.. …The Island will it ever get read by the grand masses? I raced to get this finished partly because, I had another project idea of a novel already started and was keen to get going on it. My next novel is going to be called Driftwood. I have the start on that one already.

Plot lines.. I was secretly amazed at what I had started in The Island in the character of Hannah, as part of me said will people ‘buy’ it? I mean believe my character’s reactions and thoughts. I suddenly felt happy that she was actually not becoming a cliche, but, quite something independant of that. I have though leant on an almost deliberate cliche theme of holiday romance.  It provided a beginning, and somehow reminiscing on things I found funny at the time act as stimulus to perhaps carry on the story. I hope people see the humour as I began to see this one as more of a drama piece come film possibility. I will refine some of the things I do. I promise. Entertaining creative thoughts on paper…ahem…. it is always a gamble. Well instead of writing a novel in a month, I have finished off a novel I started in 2012, this month, and are novels like good wine? Would appreciate thoughts and comments.

Extracts from Looking For Pearls

Posted in Autobiography, Biography, Stories and reviews, Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva with tags , , , , , , , , on October 15, 2012 by kathydasilva

Chapter Six
There is a break water that seems to extend for miles out to sea, made of stone and concrete. There are barriers to stop all but the feet of men and women and dogs, from entering onto it. At the end is a beacon, a lighthouse for passing ships. It is grey and demanding. There is a high wall that runs its entirety to prevent gale force winds blowing a person over the railings in stormy weather. It is safe to promenade, and to fish from this structure. The wall extends into and around a low lying sand beach. The flat sand, is dirty in coloration, but attracts all the dog lovers. The high stone wall, rises at least forty foot above the beach, and steep steps are the only way it is reached. The railing forever rusting and bent with tides and the actions of men.
The tides that bring the shipping and ferries into port, allow for the traffic of fishing vessels, and yachts, all steered into port. The ferries, bring an oily tidal scum, the beaches in places bear witness to this oily mess. Further into the estuary, there is a small island, and an inlet of water, scooped out by men. There is a barge, old and decaying, which is home to those with a tinker like occupation. It never moves from it’s place at the harbor. Further along the dyke, the Ouse runs toward the small village of Piddinghoe. The old anglican church, sits beside the waters of this river, and provides a gentle backdrop where Isobel will sit on a lazy summers day sketching the grasses which are blown by the wind.