Today, I have been given a unique opportunity to ask a few questions of one of my own characters. Of course, once they have been written, they are as real to me as the people I meet on the street, probably more real in most cases, because I know them. Of course, since I have written about her only once, I have a lot to learn about Eleanor MaCready – Lenore, to her friends.

DNW: Lenore, you have a powerful and unique talent for portraits, and landscapes. When did you first know you would be an artist?

LENORE: My childhood was spent in a very different place and time from the world you inhabit. When I was young, there were very few acceptable trades for a woman, and as you might guess, traveling artist was not among them. If it had not been for my other gift – or curse – the gift that brought me to the Lake Drummond Hotel, and to the events that you have recorded in your novel, my art would probably have been something I tucked away and kept to myself. No doubt I would have ended up married to a farmer, or a rancher, possibly – if I was lucky – a plantation owner. I am no judge, but I’m told that I was very pretty.

The first time I remember seeing the faces, there were two of them, I was staring at the wall of an old barn. The wood was pine, pitted and cracked, and there were knots ever few feet. In the swirling lines of a knot about eye level, I saw two faces. One was a young man, the other a girl. It wasn’t as if I saw lines that resembled faces, as people often do. These were bright, clear images.

I tried to show my brother, but he looked, shook his head, and walked away. When I tried to tell my mother, he chimed in and told her I had been out in the heat too long and was as crazy as a scared goose.

I found an old scrap of paper, and a bit of charcoal, and I went back to the barn. It took me until dark to finish, but I drew – as well as I could – the two faces on the wood. I worked until something sort of – shifted – and I knew that I had them. The drawing was crude, but the features on both faces were clear.

I was frightened. I knew that all I should see there was wood, and that if I showed the picture to anyone, they would take it from me, tear it, and make fun of me. There should have been boards, and an interesting knothole. I saw them almost as clearly as the faces.

In the last light of that day, I carefully brushed away the faces. As I went, I drew in the wood as it ought to be, recreated the whorls and pits of the old pine. As the last of the girl’s face was replaced by the grain of the wood, there was a sound – a soft pop – and when I glanced up, I saw something – something silver and bright – snap free of the barn’s wall. It was like a thread had broken, and she was free.

I did the same for the boy’s face, and he, too, disappeared, leaving nothing on the wall, or in my drawing, but old stained boards and a knothole that resembled a dog more than any face. What my brother had seen. What everyone else had seen was all that remained.

But the faces. I felt there was more to them – and I’d witnessed them breaking free and floating up, out of sight in the dark evening sky. That was when I first realized that there was something different about me- possibly special – but definitely private. I spent as much time as I could, after that, drawing things. Faces, bowls and pots in the kitchen, fruit from the garden. I drew pictures of my family, and they smiled and shook their heads at me as if I was wasting time – but they kept them, every one.

DNW: Buy the time you met Edgar Allan Poe, you’d been on the road for a while. What was different about the images you found on the edge of The Great Dismal Swamp?

LENORE: There was nothing different. The images – the trapped souls – are always the same. What was different in that place, and that time, was the people. First, there was the girl at the hotel, Anita. She was not the first person I’d met who could see the faces, but she was the first – and only – who was also able to see when the soul was set free, to experience that moment as I do, and share in it with me. That was very special.

Edgar brought it all to another level entirely. When he was there, writing, and I was drawing, we formed a connection. It is hard to explain, but somehow his story became the story of the face I was excising from the branches of an old tree. I was drawn into his vision, along with Anita, and even his bird – Grimm – the crow that traveled with him everywhere he went. It is possible that Grimm was the bond – he is a very old and very powerful bird.

I would not want to spoil the story for your readers, so I will say only that it was in that place – that hotel – that I first experienced the lives of those I’d set free – first felt them as complete beings and knew who, and what I had freed. I have no choice, you see – if I see them, I am compelled to draw them. That is why I sometimes call my gift a curse. Art does not wait for our convenience – not when it’s real. But you know that. You have my voice in your head, and you know I will be calling to you again soon. There is always more to the story.

DNW: Indeed. I thank you for your story, and your time.

LENORE: As you know, at the moment, I have nothing but time.

If you would like to know more about the character Lenore, her meeting with Edgar Allan Poe, and their adventures in The Great Dismal swamp, you will find what you seek in the pages of my novel, Nevermore – a Novel of Love, Loss & Edgar Allan Poe. You can find more about me, and my work, at my website: http://www.davidniallwilson.com

You can connect with me on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/david_n_wilson

You can find me on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/David.Niall.Wilson

Thank you for having me… I hope you’ll all share in Lenore’s story – and Edgar’s.

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