#382 Inside the Emotion of Fiction THE BOY IN THE RAIN by Stephanie Cowell; published by Regal House Publishing on June 1, 2023.
What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I was not a writer but an opera singer in 1983 when I had a vision of two Edwardian men, one somewhat younger, whose love story would grow into my novel THE BOY IN THE RAIN. From the start, they haunted me. Two singer friends made me a wager to write it down and I completed a rough little story. And then it was a sort of madness for me. I gave up my singing engagements and settled down to write. Then for 39 years (yes, truly!) I kept deepening the story. I wrote and published several other books which did quite well, but it was not until 2021 that I found the right publishing house for THE BOY IN THE RAIN and it came into print in 2023…but of course I had finished it the year before.
https://regal-house-publishing.mybigcommerce.com/the-boy-in-the-rain/
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? When I started it in 1983, I had a typewriter of course, and after when I had taken an office job to pay the bills, I used their computer after work until I could afford my own. My husband made me a little desk with shelves in my New York City apartment and my first laptop went there. I have had a desktop computer for ages but still write every day in the same space. I have papers and pictures that I love on the wall. I would like to say that I had at least fifty readers during the 39 years of writing all of whom helped me in one way or another.
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 almost always write from the time I first get up until I am ready to stop a few hours or more later. I make coffee first. I write on my desktop because my handwriting is illegible. But until several years ago, I had to go down to an office every day because I was supporting my two sons and me, so I got up at about 6:00 a.m. to write. I had huge energy then. Sometimes I wrote at night too.
Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer. BEFORE THIS SCENE: THE BOY IN THE RAIN takes place in the countryside in Edwardian England 1902. Robbie, a shy young artist, has been sent away by his uncle following a brutal argument, to live with an old clergyman the Rev. Langstaff and study for his university exams. Robbie has always been attracted to men, though at this time in England you could be sent to prison if one man was caught in intimacy with another. Robbie has not so much has held hands with another man. He is desperately drawn to Anton, the neighbor down the path who is moody and hiding things, but also only several years older than Robbie, alluring, separated from his wife. He agrees to talk a walk with Robbie but does not come to meet the young artist at the door of Anton’s old farmhouse when promised. Robbie has concealed that he is ill from the old clergyman and gone to wait.
Anton had not returned to the farmhouse.
Shadows crossed the house, and twilight came and after that early darkness. He crossed the small bridge and walked a little down the path that was bordered by low stone walls. Under his hand, the stones grew familiar. He ran his fingers along them, experiencing the peculiar disorientation that always came with his illnesses and fevers.
Darkness folded in upon the path and field; rain was coming. The trees dipped slightly. We can’t walk if it rains, he thought, now standing by the house door. Perhaps we’ll sit by the fire and talk. I’ll take two glasses of the port if he offers it. I’ll sit close so that the back of my hand will graze his. But he mustn’t see I’m sick or he’ll send me home.
Robbie had no idea how much time had passed, because it was too dark to read his pocket watch, an old one that his uncle had given him which was forever stopping and therefore not reliable. It had been a few hours perhaps. Then he heard the horse’s hooves striking the wood slats of the bridge.
Anton was coming at last.
Robbie waited near the door as Anton pulled his mare into the stable. He came forward stumbling a little toward his door, and Robbie emerged from the shadows and burst out, “Hello, here I am.”
Anton stared at him, feeling for the door, swaying a little, reaching out to grasp the wood. The stare was bitter. Robbie thought, Oh God, he’s drunk. He had no idea what to do.
And then Anton turned his back and muttered, “What the hell are you doing here? Go back where you belong and stop following me.”
Robbie gasped. He had no words but turned suddenly and ran toward the high grass behind the house.
Thunder came from far away in the deeper parts of the forest, and he ran toward it. Now it had begun to pour, and he ran on, stumbling on the roots of a tree and falling, bruising his leg. He was crying hard. The rain beat at him, soaking his shirt.
He thought, I’m never going back, never. Not there or to Langstaff. I don’t know where I’ll go, but never there again.
He could hardly see where he went; he fell again. By the lightning he made out a half-fallen stone cottage that he had climbed about a few times. Most of the roof was gone long ago, but a fragment remained, and he crawled to that corner and huddled there. He shivered so hard, he thought, I’ll probably die but then I don’t care.
He was a fool; it was like that master who he thought liked him—he had gone to his office door and the man had stared coldly at him and said, “What do you want, boy?” After all the gentle teasing Robbie had been given! All those signs that said “Come here” meant nothing then and nothing now. That’s what he never wanted to remember.
He might have slept, but he was next aware that the thunder had moved away, and the rain fell more softly. Through the darkness came the gleam of a wavering light. Robbie gazed through the broken windows. He didn’t see the face of the man coming toward him through the gaping hole of a door, but he knew him anyway. “I thought you’d be here,” Anton said wearily. “I used to hide in this place. I’m more sober. Come on now, you young fool.”
“Don’t you call me that! I wasn’t the one who …”
Robbie rose haltingly to his feet and struck out at Anton’s chest and shoulders, his fists hitting the slick rubbery mackintosh. The lantern had fallen to the ground, and what he struggled against now were the arms which pinned his own by holding him closely. He shouted, “Don’t touch me! Let me go!”
Anton said, “You’ll knock us both into the mud; we’re wet enough here without that.” He slowly removed his arms, opened his mackintosh, and pulled half of it over Robbie. “Christ!” he said. “You’re sick as hell. The old man’s half lost his senses worrying over you. I have to try to light the lantern once more. Walk with me, lad. It’s all right.”
It’s not all right, Robbie thought. It will never be now.
They slipped several times going back through the field and didn’t speak one word until they finally reached the vicar’s gate. Robbie lifted the latch and walked alone with as much dignity as he could through the garden to the cottage, where his tutor was waiting for him.
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? The whole of THE BOY IN THE RAIN was so emotional for me to write. Many people have asked me for a sequel which I find so thrilling. I am passionate about all my books but this one most of all. I rewrite so often I cannot recall my first emotions. I know this scene was in early versions decades ago and I remember cutting lines when he runs into the forest in the rain. I wanted it to move quicker. (BELOW: Stephanie Cowell at age 25)
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 cannot remember if there were deletions from this and I revise on the computer so have no markup. At one point I cut about 15,000 words from the book because I wanted the story to move quickly, and I tend to write at too great length at first. I describe too much. In the photo you can see my desk space and last-minute questions I had about the novel formatting and research. (BELOW; Stephanie Cowell on one of her many trips researching for THE BOY IN THE RAIN)
Stephanie Cowell has been an opera singer, balladeer, founder of Strawberry Opera and other arts venues including a Renaissance festival in NYC. She is the author of Nicholas Cooke, The Physician of London, The Players: a novel of the young Shakespeare, Marrying Mozart, Claude & Camille: a novel of Monet and The Boy in the Rain. The Man in the Stone Cottage: a novel of the Brontë sisters will be published September 2025. Her work has been translated into several languages and made into an opera. Stephanie is the recipient of an American Book Award. She had lived in NYC all her life.
https://www.stephaniecowell.com
