Dr Sock Writes Here

On The Road Again

2012-02-05T21:30:00.000-08:00

I am about to make a change in my life, a very big change. I am selling my house, leaving my employer of eighteen years, and moving to another province where I have accepted a new position. I am leaving behind the province where I was born and where I have spent all but three years of my life. I am leaving behind family, and many dear friends.

No big deal, right? People do it all the time - move across the continent for a job, or to go to school, or to be with a new partner. For that matter, I have done it myself many times. I've owned four houses, each in a different city, and now I'm about to buy a fifth. During my university years, I lived in countless rented digs. So why the Sturm und Drang this time round?

Well, the thing is, it is a big deal. It involves jumping off into the unknown. Right now, I am comfortable in my log house. I can walk through the house in the dark in the middle of the night and not bump into furniture. Through experience, I have discovered preferred ways of doing things and I have developed routines. For example, I have a certain way of shoveling the snow, certain favourite walks around home where I take the dogs, and I know roughly when to dig up my vegetable garden, as well as what to plant and when.

I have routines at work for each day and each season. Although I don't know specifically what will happen on any given day, most of the challenges that I deal with are fairly similar to things I have dealt with before. Basically, I'm bored. The day-to-day stuff doesn't engage me anymore, and there is little support from above to move forward with new initiatives. This is the flip side of secure and predictable - boring. Stifling, in fact. I came to the realization that if I stayed on here in this job, I would waste away. I'd become a twisted, dried up little shell of a person.

I really struggled over this decision. In fact, I think I had come close to deciding to leave four years ago, but then I met my husband-to-be, and was gloriously, happily distracted for a few years. (And I am still very happy in love; it's just that dissatifaction with my work life eventually reasserted itself.)

It will be hard to leave our friends, and although our family is a bit scattered, we'll be further away from most of them. These last few months, I have been grieving everything that we will lose. Step by step, we have been doing the things to wrap up our lives here and move on. Now as the time comes close, I am letting go and looking forward. I don't know exactly what we are going to, but it is taking shape in my imagination. We'll buy a house. We'll meet people. I'll somehow figure out how to do a new, quite different job.

Isn't that exciting!

Why a Blog is not a Diary

2012-01-09T21:16:00.000-08:00

Or, more specifically, I am writing about why my blog is not a diary. Now, I well know that when blogs originated in the 1990's, back when they were still called web logs, they commonly were described as personal web pages that either served as a personal diary or as a repository to store (and comment about) links and information found on the Internet. Back then at the newborn baby stage of the social media revolution, people valued the utility of having a paperless personal writing and filing space, and few people envisioned the development of the interconnected social web in which we are now enmeshed, where we not only find and consume information but also write to/sing to/share images with an audience across the globe, and mash-ups are the new black. Back in those early days, it seemed perfectly safe to write anything online, as people just didn't imagine: a) having an audience actually read their stuff, and b) the permanence of postings in such an ephemeral-seeming medium.

So that takes us back to my original implied question, and the answer is quite simple. My blog is not a diary because what I'd write in a diary would be the kind of stuff that I would not want anyone whom I know to read. (I don't really care about strangers; they can read whatever.) Some people who read my blog or who might do so in the future are people I know or might come to know someday. Therefore, I take care not to write the the whining, self-pitying, despairing, or angry kinds of things that that I wouldn't normally say to my broad circle of friends, family, colleagues, and acquaintances, but that I would typically put in a private diary.

For me, a diary is a place to work through difficult things: emotions, relationships, important decisions, and self-critiques. There's quite a bit of misery in my diary (an old fashioned paper and pen type), and not many joys, pithy observations, or intellectual analyses. I save those latter kinds of writing or discussion to share with people, for venues that potentially have an audience, whether one individual, a set of colleagues, or potentially anyone in the world. I hope for and value feedback and discourse relating to those ideas. But I save the ugly stuff for myself alone, in my diary.

Probably I'm a bit old-fashioned in cordoning off a private writing space like that. After all, this is the age of reality TV, and of doing whatever is necessary to get as many blog hits as possible, even if it involves acting out or exhibitionism. Although it may have been said that every person has a book in them, in this age it seems more accurate to say every person's story is a soap opera open to the world.

I'd love to hear what you think about boundaries of public versus private material in online writing. Do you have personal boundaries around what you write online? Why, and what are they?

Never Feed Your Dogs Mexican Pie

2012-01-04T22:40:00.000-08:00

This Christmas season, we had two of our kids home for the holidays. My middle daughter visited from a distant city, where she is in the final year of her Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, and my son, the youngest, has just completed his first semester away at university. It was both bitter-sweet and fuzzily nostalgic, as this was our last Christmas together in the log house.

I have accepted a job elsewhere, and my husband and I will sell the house and move away in the Spring. It is not just any old house, but a unique home constructed of huge cedar logs, with hardwood floors, stained glass windows, skylights, and 25 foot vaulted ceiling. I have a yard full of fruit trees, a greenhouse, and an organic vegetable garden that I have developed from scratch.

Also, this isn't just any old town. It is in a beautiful part of Canada, surrounded by mountains and wild rivers. We have wonderful friends here and deep roots. It is going to be hard to leave. Both kids spent their teen years growing up here. For them, Christmas 2011 might be the last time they ever spend in the log house that used to be their home. Both of them wondered aloud whether they would even come back to visit this town again after we move (it is in a fairly remote, out-of the way location).

Career-wise, I have to move on; it is time. I am thrilled by the opportunity that my new job presents. I know that we are moving to a place that will be wonderful in its own way, and that we will meet new people, and entice our old friends to come and visit us. Although change can be stressful, it is also exciting, rejuvenating, and necessary for growth.

Over Christmas, we temporarily put aside all of the fretting and preparations for the move, and decide to savour our time together. We enjoyed a family Christmas in the log house, complete with all our little traditions and the tallest, skinniest Christmas tree that we could find (high vaulted ceiling; tiny living room). We spent lots of time with friends, and cooked a lot and ate a lot.

I tried to cook things that my kids especially like, as well as the kinds of meals that they might not normally cook for themselves. So, as well as the full turkey dinner (two of them, actually), we had a roast beef dinner, local wild salmon, turkey pie, and so on. I asked my son (who was especially homesick for home cooking) if there were any special meals that he really missed and would like me to make. Homemade hamburgers and Mexican pie were two of the items on his list. (Ha! You were wondering when I was going to get around to mentioning the Mexican pie, weren't you?)

So let me tell you about Mexican pie. It is not a complicated gourmet recipe. It is something that I clipped out of a magazine years ago. Basically, you simmer together sauteed onions, kidney beans, canned corn, a large can of tomatoes, and chili powder, transfer it to a large baking pan, cover that with a cornmeal crust of cornmeal, eggs, and milk, then cover it all with plenty of grated cheese, and bake it. Easy peasy.

Anything with melted cheese is high on my son's list, but I think he has a special soft spot for Mexican pie because he associates it with Halloween, his favourite holiday second only to Christmas. One Halloween, a long time ago when I was a harried single parent of young children, I raced home from work and threw together a Mexican pie so it could be in the oven baking while I was helping the kids get their costumes ready. Friends came to collect my son for trick-or-treating, and ended up staying for supper. We had plenty, and they hadn't eaten yet. After that, my son used to ask for Mexican pie every Halloween, and more often than not, his friends would join us for dinner before going out to fill up on candy. So maybe that is why Mexican pie has a special place in his heart.

Mexican pie might be a fine meal for teenaged boys, but I do not recommend feeding to dogs. We have two dogs, both greedy little plate-lickers. After dinner the other day, we allowed the dogs to clean up the leftover scraps of Mexican pie. Unfortunately, we discovered that beans with their flatulence-inducing, bowel-loosening properties, do not agree with dogs. It was not pretty, and the dogs are not very popular with my husband at present.

So feed your children well, but never feed your dogs Mexican pie.

Small World Images

2011-10-31T23:23:00.000-07:00

I have posted some amazing images on my blog that come from the NikonSmallWorld site. They host an annual photomicrography competition of photos taken with the aid of a light microscope. Every day they post an image of the day. This link takes you to the gallery.

This image below is a "Brainbow" transgenic mouse hippocampus taken by Dr. Tamily Weissman at Harvard University in 2008.

The image below is a "Brainbow" mouse brain stem with auditory pathway axons taken by Dr. Jean Livet from Institut de la Vision in 2008.

The image below is of the wing scales of Urania riphaeus (Sunset moth), taken by Charles Krebs of Charles Krebs Photography in 2008.

Below are Discus fish scales, taken by Dr. Havi Sarfaty from the Israel Veterinary Association in 2009.

This next one is a flow pattern in draining soap film, taken by Dr. Tsutomu Seimiya at Tokyo Metropolitan University in 2009.

There are many more astonishing photos; go take a look!

Looking for Leaves

2011-10-15T23:43:00.000-07:00

We are now halfway through a fourth consecutive month of rain. Last month, there was more rainfall in the first three days of September than the usual average for the entire month. People who have lived here for thirty or forty years say that they cannot ever recall another summer as rainy as this one. "Consequence of global warming," mutters my friend Robert.

Today around mid-afternoon, the clouds lifted a little and it brightened up. No actual sunshine, mind you -- just high cloud cover and diffuse light. Time for a walk, or, "the W-thing," as I said in front of the dogs in a vain attempt reduce their pre-walk frenzy.

So off we went, the dogs and I. For the first block, Kate ran in tight circles barking repeatedly in a high-pitched piercing manner, and Sophie chased her trying to bite her. The usual, in other words.

Once the dogs settled down, I had time to notice the brilliant fall leaves: yellow of the poplar trees, ranging from cadmium yellow light to cadmium medium, and maple leaves in red, scarlet, and yellow. The big yellow maple leaves reminded me of my annual childhood fall endeavour. I used to go out and collect autumn leaves, the most colourful, unblemished ones that I could find, then bring them home and iron them between sheets of wax paper. Do children still do this?

Perhaps I thought I could keep the leaves forever, preserved this way. Somehow I could stop time and freeze their beauty.

Of course those tattered little squares of wax paper are long gone. Now I am walking down the hill on the other side of middle age.

But when I look at the profusion of autumn's colours, my eyes sharpen as I enthusiastically scan the bushes to either side of the rutted track, looking for the loveliest, least blemished leaves. Turns out, it wasn't the collecting or preserving of the leaves that was most important; it was the looking.

Visual Gifts from the Natural World

2011-09-27T22:29:00.000-07:00

I was over at Robot Nine tonight, and I wanted to share a couple of lovely images from that website. Their catch phrase is: "Funny Stuff! Daily Updates!" They do post lots of humorous images, but they also feature images that are powerful and offbeat examples of visual art.

This first image is called Cracked River Stones. It was posted today, September 27. Those of you who read my earlier post about river stones might remember why I am drawn to this photo. I like the way the artist has used chalk on the stones to enhance the spiral, calling to mind the chambered nautilus, the garden snail, and the human cochlea.

This next image was posted September 19 and is called Soap Bubble in Mid Burst. This one pleases me because of the way it has frozen the action, allowing us to see the bubble in a way that we usually cannot. Bubbles are there, and then they are not, and this is one of the things that fascinates us about them. This image is existential. It is about time. And it is about the moment of transition, something I wrote about previously in Rolling Balls of Mercury.

This third and last image, 1.3 Million Birds speaks for itself. This one was published on Robot Nine on September 8. What I see in nature never ceases to fill me with awe. Our little human attempts at creativity and building our world seem so piddling in contrast. Just look at all those birds!

Groceries and the Empty Nest

2011-09-19T20:35:00.000-07:00

Three weeks ago, Rob and I took my youngest off to university. We got him all moved into residence, did a major grocery shop at the supermarket nearest to the campus so that he would be well-provisioned for at least a week or two, went out for a special family dinner, and then waved good-bye. Until Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving seemed to this new empty-nester like a very long six weeks into the future.

I was prepared to be sad. I thought that I might cry a little on the seven-hour drive back home. I knew that I would feel a deep need to phone him (or at least text him) daily. I kind of expected the feelings of glumness and irritability. I wasn't surprised, once we arrived back home without him, that the house seemed way too big and unnervingly quiet.

But I was surprised about the groceries. Apparently Rob and I don't eat anything to speak of. When we left to take my son to university, the fridge and cupboards were quite bare. I knew that I would have to shop the minute I returned home.

Well I didn't. And I still haven't. Yes, we've run out to pick up a couple of small items a couple of times: bread, milk, eggs, beer, and cat food. But that's about it.

I used to to be that woman you'd see in the grocery store late at night, racing up and down the aisles just before it closed with a hugely overloaded cart. I'd have all the usual stuff: two big jugs of milk, several packages of meat, four or five types of fresh vegetables, two or three types of fruit, the giant economy slab of cheddar cheese, and bulk sized boxes of breakfast cereal. And, I admit with a blush, there were several kinds of junk food and prepared foods in the cart too: frozen pizza, cola, chips, cookies. A week or ten days later, there I would be, back in the grocery store doing it all over again.

As it turns out, Rob and I weren't eating that much of the cartloads of groceries. Since the end of August, we have been getting along just fine on the frozen salmon in the freezer that we caught during the summer, the various veggies offered up by my little weed patch of a garden, and the apples that are now ripening on the trees. Regular sized boxes of crackers or cereal now last and last. Whatever I buy stays in the cupboard or fridge, and is still there when I go to cook dinner. I look into the pantry and can't imagine how I will ever manage to use up all those cans and boxes of stuff that I see there. I may never need to shop again!

Oh wait. Thanksgiving is coming soon.

Type A Version of Life Balance

2011-09-17T10:02:00.000-07:00

What a week! This week at work was like skiing a black diamond mogul run: hard, fast, having to make crucial decisions in rapid sequence with the likelihood of poor choices having unpleasant consequences, and simultaneously needing to maximize my physical, mental and emotional performance. And I loved it.

I thrive on challenge, and languish during times of boring routine. I become downright morose when thwarted in my plans and projects, easily sinking into a state of discouragement and lack of self-confidence. Facing challenges gives me a sense of agency, and so I like to manufacture challenges for myself. This benefits my employers because they get lots of creative, effective work from me.

When people write about trying to achieve a balanced life, they usually recommend pulling back from a frenetic pace at work, and making more time for personal, social, and recreational pursuits. And I deeply value those dimensions too (although I have to admit that I sometimes tend to engage in the personal components of my life with much the same intensity as I do in my work life, like skiing moguls).

For me, I think balance is not simply about working fewer hours or taking a more laid-back approach while working. I think, instead, it's more about finding a rhythm. I fling myself into projects, work my guts out, revel in the intensity of complete immersion, and then bring that project or period of work to a temporary lull or rest time. Using the skiing analogy, this would be the time at the bottom of the hill when I standing sweating in the lift line chatting with others and then ride the chairlift back up, admiring the view.

Type A? Yes, definitely. But I like it that way.

Internet withdrawal

2011-08-14T22:54:00.000-07:00

Recently, I have had a lesson in loss of connection. Loss of Internet connection. What I learned surprised me.

While my companion and I were travelling in Europe this summer, our rental car was broken into when we made a short pit stop. The thief got away with both my laptop computer and cell phone. As you might imagine, I experienced many of the emotions common to victims of a crime: shock, outrage, anger, and a sense of violation.

On discovering the smashed car window, we did what I imagine are the usual things. First, in an adrenalin-fueled panic, we pawed through the contents of the car to see what had been stolen. (The idea of being careful not to touch anything in order to preserve fingerprints didn't cross our minds.) Then my partner yelled at me angrily, blaming me for the incident because I had been the one who had wanted to stop at that location. I gave way to hysteria, thinking the thief had also stolen my I.D. (He hadn't.) Then we looked around for the guilty party, questioned others in the vicinity as to whether they had seen anything, and later endured a frustrating morning in the police station in order to make a report to the most bumbling, incompetent officer I have ever met. For the rest of the weekend, I berated myself for having left the car unattended, even for a moment, and for having left anything of value in the car, even though it was all stowed away out of sight. And, then, after a few days, we put the unhappy incident behind us, and got on with our holiday. After all, we had only lost some property, not our health or our lives.

As a result of the theft, we lost not only the two devices, but also our connectivity to family back home and to social media. My partner teased me that I was experiencing "crackberry withdrawal," and, in fact, I was. I was withdrawing from an Internet addiction that I hadn't even known I had. For me it was a shaky feeling of being disconnected, a loss of normalcy, a kind of numb emptiness, and feeling of lack of presence in the lives of others. Three days after the theft, I found a community Internet center, where I spent a happy morning reconnecting with my kids, reading and responding to my email from work, and reading Facebook updates. Oh yeah, I also printed out our flight itineraries and tickets, seeing as I no longer had an electronic way to access this information.

Then we travelled onward, and for the remaining two weeks of the holiday, I did not access the Internet at all, and only used the phone once (a borrowed one) as we waited in the airport for our flight home.

After those first strange days of withdrawal, I rediscovered the freedom of not being connected. For one thing, because I couldn't read my email, I finally was able to fully let go of my work. Usually my email, and therefore my work, goes everywhere with me, and it is as persistent as a cloud of biting gnats that get through every window screen. I also let go of my kids; they were on their own making their own mistakes, which I would not know about until I was back in North America. What could I do about anything anyways from Europe? And the youngest is, after all, eighteen.

Now that I'm back, I've quickly replaced the cell phone, and I'm researching which new computer I will buy. Of course, back at work again, I'm as connected as ever. I'm back to blogging and facebooking in spare time. But, in my non-work hours, I'm not checking my email anymore. . . much. And rather than the dire possibilities I was picturing when I had no connectivity in Europe, my eighteen-year-old seems to have blossomed and matured while I was away.

I'm not going to give up all the things that I love about being connected. But I'm also going to hold in mind the value of all those things in life that happen when I am not online.

Survival of slugs

2011-08-01T23:20:00.000-07:00

One afternoon about a year ago, I had stopped at a colleague's house to drop something off, and she gave me a tour of her yard and garden. As we passed a bush, Connie paused and flicked a couple of caterpillars off the leaves.

"They're terrible things; they've completely infested my yard."

Connie looked around and picked up a child's plastic sand pail. She flicked some more caterpillars into the pail. As we walked around her yard looking at her greenhouse, garden patches, and various bushes, she continued to add caterpillars to the bucket.

"I've been paying my daughter to pick the caterpillars off the leaves," Connie said. "A penny for every caterpillar. I don't want to use pesticides, so I am trying to control them by picking them off by hand."

When she had shown me around her whole yard, we ended up down in the back corner where the lawn ended and the wild growth took over. With a flick of her wrist, Connie flung the caterpillars out of the bucket and into the thimbleberry bushes.

"Connie!" I exclaimed. "You're not going to get rid of the caterpillars by moving them from one part of your yard over to this other corner."

She looked at me shamefacedly. She has a degree in Forest Biology. She knows about pest management.

"I just don't like to kill living things. It's the Buddhist principle of valuing the worth of all life."

As I drove away that day, I chuckled to myself, thinking of all the effort Connie and her daughter were expending to move caterpillars from one side of her yard to the other.

I remembered Connie's caterpillars today, and chuckled again, this time at my own expense. We have had a very wet summer this year and everything is lush and green. I was out in my greenhouse weeding, and picking slugs and snails off of my vegetables. As I threw slugs and snails out the door of the greenhouse onto the lawn, the memory of Connie's caterpillars came back to me. I can't bring myself to kill even slugs. Instead, I give them a fighting chance to survive out there on the grass, a little further away from my vegetables. In fact, when I watch a slug looking for shelter, creeping as fast as it can across bare soil recently denuded of weeds, its head up and its little horns quivering, I feel sorry for it. I guess it's that Buddhist principle at work. And I guess I'm not cut out to be a farmer.

Round River Rocks

2011-04-23T23:13:00.000-07:00

Tonight Rob and I went down to the river to a secret place (sshh -- don't tell CN that we trespassed). We parked the sturdy little car beside the tracks, clambered down the bank, and went along a trail to a wide beach of perfectly round rocks. Plain grey sandstone, granite, black rocks with stripes, green ones, brick-coloured ones, creamy pockmarked ones.

I love rocks. Everywhere I go, I pick up rocks. I have a black rock from the easternmost point in Newfoundland that weighed down my airplane luggage on my way home. I have a piece of molybdenum ore from the toe of the Hudson Bay glacier, which I carried down a very long, steep trail in my day pack. I have several small pieces of ore from the rock crushing plant of the now defunct Grand Duke mine, which used to be a major employer in Alaska and northwestern British Columbia. From Saskatchewan, I have a large piece of limestone filled with shellfish fossils. I have flat white pebbles from Atlin Lake and agates from Haida Gwaii. I have a small ceramic bowl filled with polished rocks that I purchased one allowance at a time from funfairs and carnivals when I was a child. And many other rocks, unlabelled, their origins forgotten (Mexico? California? Switzerland? the local beach?), lurk in boxes, on window ledges, or in the corner of the shed.

Rocks make me happy. I think that is why Rob took me there tonight. Last night was a night of insomnia, the morning given over to worrying, the afternoon to spinning in circles, and all leading up to an evening of nothing accomplished and nothing decided -- whatever am I going to do?!

But instead we went down to the river beach and put our hands on round flat rocks. Rocks ask for nothing. They don't demand answers. Thank-you Rob.

The Love of Dogs

2011-03-24T22:19:00.000-07:00

This evening I listened to a CBC Radio program on dogs, the nature of their independent pursuits, dog life, and how to communicate effectively with dogs. One of the speakers commented that what is interesting to her is not how to make dogs obey humans, but rather their willingness to do what we want. She observed that dogs just adore humans.

This simple and somewhat obvious comment really struck me. We have two dogs and two cats. They do adore us, all four of them. They adore me. Every morning when I get up and open the bedroom door, I see all of the pets waiting for me. Oliver (cat) is patiently positioned on the carpet right outside the door. Sophie and Kate (dogs) race up the stairs to greet me, and Chaucer (cat) stands at the bottom of the stairs looking up and meowing. I greet each one by name and give each one a little pet. If I take the time to notice, they demonstrate in this sort of way all day long how happy they are to be with me/us. (And no, it's not just all about the food!)

Sometimes I get too caught up in language and general busyness to be observant of the clear evidence of caring that surrounds me. I race around in a huge rush, my eyes focused inwardly on the complex of troubles and tasks filling my mind and my time. At the end of a week in which I didn't manage to check off all the tasks on my list, or when some objective was thwarted, I might feel glum and dissatisfied. I finally lift my head looking for pleasurable distraction and entertainment, and if it doesn't materialize at the speed of a click of a button, I am quick to complain. I might feel unloved and unworthy of love.

But it is because I have turned my eyes and mind away from noticing the loving pets and the loving humans that surround me.

A few minutes ago, I opened a kitchen drawer looking for a tea egg. As I groped through the drawer, my hand found a wooden cone-shaped implement with a round handle. There is a story that goes with this object.

For some years, I had been looking for a specialized sort of sieve for making apple butter. The one my mother has is an antique -- a sturdy metal cone-shaped sieve on a stand, with a matching cone-shaped pestle for pushing the cooked apple pulp through the holes, while separating out the seeds and skins. Way in the back of a local specialty store, I finally found such a sieve and purchased it, but it came without the pestle implement. Last summer, visiting my mother who lives in another town, I told her about this. A week or two later she discovered a wooden pestle in a kitchen store and mailed it to me at an exorbitant cost as a "pre" birthday present. (This was the object in my tea egg drawer.)

Meanwhile, my dear partner Rob had decided find his own solution to the lack of a pestle. He went out to his workshop and made not one, but three different sized wooden implements for me to try out with the sieve. Each was beautifully sanded and finished. So I now own four pestles for making apple butter. What a surfeit of love! How very lucky I am! I just have to open my eyes to the love all around me.

Thinking about Moussaka

2011-03-17T00:05:00.000-07:00

This recipe for Moussaka is from About.com. The link will take you to a video and great recipe.

Rolling Balls of Mercury

2011-02-12T18:05:00.000-08:00

Have you ever broken a thermometer and seen the mercury form little silver balls that roll away across the floor?

I have. I was in grade seven and had taken to carrying a thermometer with me everywhere. I was doing a science project which involved measuring my own temperature at different times of the day and before and after various activities, like running a mile or taking a bath, to see how much it fluctuated and what might cause it to rise and fall.

I was reminded of that mercury yesterday evening. I was standing in my kitchen staring blankly at the empty metal sink; I had just heard some bad news. A single drop fell from the tap, and as the water hit the metal surface, the water balled up like mercury and rolled outwards in a star-burst pattern. I tried to cause another drip to fall so that I could see those little silvery balls again, but I was unable to recreate the event.

Later, out for a walk in the rain with the dogs, I thought about "Rosa," an elderly neighbour in my hometown, a close friend of my mother's. Rosa has just received a diagnosis of multiple cancers; it is likely that there is nothing anyone can do. Rosa is the kind of person who is the heart and soul of the community. At eighty-four, she runs the community soup kitchen, drives shut-ins to their doctor's appointments, and helps her neighbours complete their income tax forms. Seven years ago, during the last two days of my father's life, Rosa showed up to sit by his deathbed, spelling family members off for meal and nap breaks.

On my way home, after a grand loop of the neighbourhood and park, I found myself standing under a street lamp, staring up. There they were again, silver droplets, almost solid. Raindrops arrayed around the light, falling hard, hard. Perhaps it was sleet? I inspected the gravel road, the fur of the black dog, and my sleeve for white scurf, a melting crystalline structure. Just rain. Rain plummeting down.

I followed the dogs to the next street lamp, and stared up once again. The silver bullets turned white before my eyes, and wavered in their fall. On my sleeve a tiny tangled substance, like the skeleton of a sea crustacean, before it melted. I was present for the moment of transformation. Rain to snow, silver to white, bones to oblivion.

This is, after all, the way it goes.

The End of Youth

2011-02-06T10:16:00.000-08:00

Getting old -- I never thought it would happen to me.

I used to subscribe to a women's magazine that has a section called "firsts after forty." In it, they present profiles of women in their midlife who have taken up some new sport or endeavor, such as snowboarding, ballet dancing, or playing the violin. I find the idea inspiring. I love the challenge of taking up something new. The world is so rich and full of possibilities that I don't know how I can fit in everything that I would like to do in the time left to me on this earth. In the last five years, some of my new avocations have included playing the guitar, fly fishing, back country skiing, wilderness canoeing, greenhouse gardening, mountain biking, and telemark skiing.

Of course, as I am now in the latter half of middle age, I do not have the fitness and stamina to perform these activities at the level of a twenty-something. I don't mountain bike down the technical trails but rather up and down logging roads. The area where I like to back country ski is jokingly referred to by the back country crowd as "the geriatric run." When I garden, for every half hour of heavy digging, I spend another half hour sitting on my bench looking at the garden and daydreaming about it.

Then there are the little aches and pains that become more insistent and limiting over time. The achy back. The sore, stiff knees. When I was twenty, I didn't think that I had had a good day of skiing unless I had taken twenty runs or more. In the last few years, I have aimed for eight or ten runs. I mostly stick to the groomers and only include one or two or three mogul runs or deep powder runs per ski day. I have become used to feeling stiff and sore all the time. Ibuprofen is now my friend.

But I am not ready to give it all up.

I can live with the idea of only skiing half days, and staying off the black diamond runs most of the time. I can even (reluctantly) accept the idea of quitting soccer, as I can see have reached the stage of being a liability to my team in a league of mostly twenty-year-old ex-high-school soccer stars. But I am a skier. I have skied since I was three years old. Being a skier is part of my core identity. A skier is who I am.

This week, the medical specialist whom I saw about my failing knees told me that skiing is over for me. No more skiing. No more soccer. No high impact sports at all. If I stop now, I can delay the inevitable need for a knee replacement.

It feels like a death sentence.

On the Mountain

2011-02-04T00:13:00.000-08:00

When I am not in front of my computer doing things with words, this mountain is one of the places that I like to be.

Revision: Beyond Procrastination

2011-01-28T00:15:00.000-08:00

Revision, dreaded revision.

Writing the first draft of my novel was fun. I cannot say that it was hard to write it at all. That is not to say that the story just flowed onto the screen. I struggled over sections and got stuck in plot dead-ends. Certain parts didn't work quite right; I wasn't happy with them and not sure how to fix them. But I was happy to sit down to the story and write. Finding enough time to commit to writing was the only hard part (busy life, blah, blah, blah).

But for a year now, I have been in limbo, avoiding getting started on revising. (Moreover, I haven't let myself start writing something else either, knowing that is one of the tricky strategies my procrastinator self uses to get out of things -- like REVISING.)

In November, I began to recognize that some aspects of the manuscript needed work, thanks to a brief but helpful critique from Robert Ray. Although I have read many inspirational books on writing in the past, I began to seek out nuts-and-bolts writing books and websites. I have been reading about plot, subplots, character arcs, back story, building suspense, and so on. And I am finally getting down to working on the revisions.

Here is the good news.

I have a complex, layered story.
I have a good character arc for my protagonist that starts on page one and runs through to the last sentence.
My main antagonist is well-rounded with a good character arc (although his exit still needs a bit of work).
I have tension-building secrets and multiple subplots.
I have a three act structure (with a twist).
I have made good use of different character POVs and differentiated the characters' voices.

But here is the bad news.

Much of the first half of Act 1 takes place inside the main protagonist's head.
By having my protagonist recount, remember, and think about things, I am telling rather than showing, and it is sloooowwww.
I need action, dialogue, and conflict (not just angst)
In many sections (e.g., the opening), the ms. lacks vivid word pictures to place the characters in the setting and show what they look like and what they are doing.
My protagonist's core motivation is not clear.
I have far too many flashbacks and have fallen prey to the dreaded info-dump

That means that I have a lot of rewriting to do.

But at least now I have a better grasp of the task that I face, my revision objectives, and some tools to work with.

Ah, revision. It actually feels better to have finally started revising (even though there are way more troubles than I initially thought, which is as depressing as hell) than it felt to be: a) fooling myself that hardly any revisions were needed (blush); b) realizing that some revisions were needed but avoiding getting started on them; c) in despair that the entire manuscript was unsalvageable; and then d) wanting to revise but having no idea what to do and how.

Gust of Wind

2011-01-18T18:40:00.000-08:00

This oil painting by Melanie Rocan was published in Room Magazine, a wonderful literary and art magazine published by a women's publishing collective in Vancouver, British Columbia. Check out the artist and the journal.

Mildew Writing Exercise

2011-01-15T22:34:00.000-08:00

Today I did a writing exercise. The goal was to write a story of 100 words or less that included the words mildew, snooze, scandal, jasper, and flare. My effort is below:

Eileen groped for the snooze button. Her eyes popped open. Silver dust motes danced in light from the uncurtained window. She hurried to shower, noticing again the chipped sink, running toilet, and mildew around the tiles. The landlord’s rate for these shabby digs was a scandal. She dressed in thrift store duds: short cream blazer with a back flare, chocolate brown wool pants, knotted beige scarf, and some dead woman’s low-heeled pumps. Finally, she placed her grandmother’s jasper ring on her left ring finger where the wedding ring wasn’t. She planned to ace the interview; she needed the job.

It was useful, I suppose, to stretch my mind around incongruous words that do not belong together -- an enjoyable diversion. I also had fun last night reading through my old poems. Next goal -- those revisions!

Rose hips

2010-12-10T00:37:00.001-08:00

Sometimes when I feel frustrated about the endless "to do" lists at work, office politics, my annoying dogs, and so on, all I need to do is go for a walk. It brings me back to a state of gratitude for living in this wonderful place on this wonderful planet.

Out of the Slough of Despond

2010-11-16T23:21:00.000-08:00

I recently fell into the Slough of Despond. Or maybe it was the Pit of Despair. In any case, it was a dark, cold place with no up. I fell in suddenly and unexpectedly. The cause? I found out that when I wrote my novel, I hadn't followed any of the rules. Everyone else seemed to know the rules. I hadn't even realized that there were rules. Therefore, my novel must be crap. (And here I had been so satisfied with my first draft, so certain that the next step was simply to put some time into the manuscript revisions and I would have a substantial work.) There was no light anywhere.

Suspended there, motionless, directionless, and quite grumpy, I had my first insight. Perhaps one reason that I had not been proceeding with revising my novel in a timely way was that I was unsure of how to go about doing so. So, as much as I am always tempted to thumb my nose at "the rules" (I don't like rules), I reasoned (in the murky kind of way that one thinks in dark hopeless places) that I should take a closer look at some of those rules that other people follow to see if I could find some tools or strategies that might help me with my revisions.

Hmm, a faint sickly sort of light above me; I clawed my way upward. I inspected tools and rewriting advice: character grids, plot and subplot structure, archetypes, core stories. I began to analyze my manuscript in a structural way, similar to how I might approach a literary analysis of any other writer's work. Rather than "crap," I discovered interesting complexities of plot, character relationships, symbols, and social commentary there in the manuscript already, along with some flaws that had been invisible to me previously.

And now I'm out of the hole, back in the light, working through additional steps of analysis. I'm almost ready to start a beginning-to-end reread/manuscript markup. I'm not following anyone's exact prescription, but taking bits and pieces that fit my revision needs. And the next step after that, I think, will be to actually start rewriting the thing, with all my new ideas about character arcs and motives, plot points, etc. to guide me and my battered ego.

A Sad NaNo Season

2010-11-11T23:25:00.000-08:00

This year, at the beginning of October, I was looking forward to National Novel Writing Month with gusto. I have participated in it the past three Novembers. In 2007, I wrote over 50,000 words, developing 4 short stories that I had written years earlier into a novel. It was not nearly finished, so I continued working on it for each of the next two Novembers. By November 2009, it was 114,000 words long and the first draft was very close to being finished. A few months later, with some intermittent work on it, I finally had a completed first draft. I felt happy with it.

And then it sat. I made a few halfhearted attempts at revision. I did some research to fill in details that I had been vague on during the initial writing, but not much because that seemed to lead me off into endless digressions (internet surfing). I made a list of (mostly minor) problems with the manuscript that I needed to consider and rework. But then I didn't do it.

So when November rolled around again this year, I considered and rejected the idea of using NaNoWriMo to work on my revisions. Although NaNo might motivate me to work on those pesky revisions and it might add some necessary discipline and structure, revisions aren't really what NaNoWriMo is all about. Is it?

My next novel was rolling around in my head. I was laying out scenes, thinking about plot, building my novel world in my mind -- I was pumped and ready to go!

And then I went to the Surrey International Writers' Conference (SiWC) in late October. In three intense, useful days, I suddenly discovered why I was making so little progress revising my manuscript. It wasn't just that I was procrastinating (although I was), and it wasn't just that I had way too much stress at work (although I did). My revisions were stymied because I didn't really have a clue how to evaluate my novel's structure, story, and style. I didn't know what wasn't working well in it, or how to go about fixing it.

Although it was disappointing to realize that my manuscript was far less finished than I thought, at least I returned from the conference with some great insights about the revisions that I need to do and why. For the last few weeks, I have been evaluating the manuscript in terms of subplot structure, conflict, tension, character development, action, dialogue, and description. I have been developing a plan for the revisions.

So why is it a sad NaNo season? Well, I've shelved my new novel idea for now. It's time to work on those revisions.

Pears and Brie in a Salad

2010-11-07T22:34:00.000-08:00

This great salad comes from Rose Reisman's website Art of Living Well. Check it out; she has many great recipes. I found her site because I looked online for "pear + salad." I was asked to bring a salad to dinner, and as I have a surfeit of pears, I was looking for some new ideas for a pear salad. This one caught my eye because of the combination of pears and brie -- two things I love. When put together with spinach and candied pecans, it was definitely yummy. I only used up two pears though. One slight change that I made to the recipe is that I sprinkled lemon juice on the chopped pears so they wouldn't go brown. Next time that I make this salad, I will mix up a little less dressing, and toss it all at the last minute, as tonight I thought it was it was slightly soggy.

My pears are beautifully flavoured, organically grown winter pears. I like pears a lot, but my family members will not eat pears at all unless cooked into something. I have been making pear jam, putting pears into my barbequed back ribs marinade, and hiding them in pancakes. I have given many away, although I have discovered that many people are not all that interested in being given homegrown fruit and veggies. They apparently prefer to eat the perfectly shaped, unblemished, and often tasteless and pesticide laden produce from the grocery store.

I am on always the lookout for new ideas for pears. . . or friends who appreciate a gift of fruit. So, here's Rose's great salad:

Spinach Salad with Candied Pecans, Pears and Brie

This is the number-one salad in my catering company. The sweet and savory combination of cinnamon-sugared pecans, ripe pears and small morsels of brie is sensational. There is very little oil in this, but you won’t miss it. You can easily make this a main meal salad by adding some grilled chicken or shrimp. Photo by Brian MacDonald.

1/3 cup pecan halves	2 Tbsp orange juice concentrate, thawed
3 Tbsp icing sugar	2 Tbsp olive oil
1/4 tsp cinnamon	1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
1/8 tsp allspice	1 tsp minced garlic
1/8 tsp nutmeg	1/2 tsp liquid honey
8 cups baby spinach leaves	1/2 tsp Dijon mustard
1 cup diced radicchio
1 large ripe pear, peeled, cored and diced
2 oz brie, diced

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Spray a baking sheet with cooking oil.
Rinse the pecans with cold water. Drain, but do not let them dry. Combine the icing sugar, cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg in a small bowl. Dip the pecans in the sugar mixture, coating them well. Spread on the prepared baking sheet.
Bake for 15 minutes in the center of the oven. Remove and cool. When they’re cool enough to handle, chop coarsely.
Combine the spinach, radicchio, pear and brie in a large serving bowl.
Whisk the juice concentrate, oil, vinegar, garlic, honey and mustard together in a small bowl. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss to coat. Garnish with the candied pecans.

Salmon Glacier

2010-10-09T18:17:00.001-07:00

This is the Salmon Glacier. It is located in Northwestern Canada, at the border of British Columbia and the southern tip of the Alaska panhandle. I believe that it is the largest glacier in North America that is accessible by road. I was there this summer and took this photograph.

This week I had a horrible week at work. Nothing bad actually happened except that we were short-staffed, which meant that I was not able to progress much on some big projects that have looming deadlines. However, it suddenly became clear this week that a problem that has been developing for a long time is about to become acute in the next week or two, and it is likely to have very negative implications for the whole workplace.

I am the boss, and for me the week was horrible because I wasn't able to think of a solution to the problem. Yet I could clearly visualize what an impact this problem is going to have on all my colleagues and staff in the workplace. It is a realistic concern as we experienced a similar problem a few years ago, and the result was anger, inefficiency, despair, burnout, and resignations. Also, I worked so hard that time to try to hold things together, get us through the problem, and find solutions that I almost lost my health. I don't want to go through all that again.

I worried myself sick about this problem all week. I could hardly sleep. I talked the problem over separately with two of my closest friends, both of whom are managers of similar organizations. I vented, and they vented to me about their workplace problems, but we didn't really come up with constructive suggestions for each other. I also discussed it with my boss, who listened sympathetically, and we discussed temporary fixes that might help us through the worst of the crisis. But he couldn't come up with any long term solutions either that would address the source of the problem. It is systemic and pervades the whole larger institution.

I played out all kinds of scenarios, and outlined action plans. In my adrenalin fueled exhaustion and anxiety, I was on an emotional roller coaster -- sometimes jolly and encouraging, sometimes grumpy and despairing, and sometimes accusatory towards administrators who should have been helping but seemed to be doing nothing. By Friday afternoon, I had worked myself into such a state that I spoke shrilly to my boss, and critically to one of the other administrators who is usually quite helpful.

I might have alienated them. That certainly hasn't helped solve the problem. By working myself into such a state of worry and responding so emotionally, I have become part of the problem.

Looking at the photos that I took during my travels this summer has helped me step back from the problem a little. Look at the Salmon Glacier, so huge and spectacular. My tiny little problem in a tiny little organization in a tiny little city is only temporary. It is small compared to the Salmon Glacier. If I can see nothing but my small temporary problem, I won't see the Salmon Glacier. And you know what -- it isn't even my problem. Someone else is responsible for the decisions that have led to it. All I can do is identify the problem to my superiors, and do the best that I can to mitigate its effects on my staff. After that, I need to walk away from it, and go home and enjoy my family. And, I need to take time to lift up my eyes and see the Salmon Glacier.

Distant Storm

2010-10-06T23:43:00.000-07:00

I love this artist, Toni Grote! This one is called "Distant Storm." Check out her website. She posts a new painting almost every day.

National Novel Writing Month 2010

2010-10-04T23:28:00.000-07:00

November 1-30 is NaNoWriMo -- National Novel Writing Month -- and I'm starting to get excited. Yesterday I went and peeked at the site and signed myself in for 2010. I'll have 30 days to write a 50,000 word novel.

I participated for the first time in 2007 (a year in which I had a reduced workload) and achieved the 50,000 word goal. Although I had a novel in progress, about 60 pages long at that time, instead of completing it I started writing a new novel. The new one wasn't an entirely new idea. It built on four linked short stories that I had written a couple of years earlier. In NaNoWriMo 2008 and 2009, I continued working on the novel started in 2007, and by the end of November 2009, I more or less had a rough draft of about 120,000 words.

The title of the novel is Memories of a White Girl. In it, I play around with the notion of memoir, and with the role that family and friends play in shaping the adult self. I explore the seductive hold of small community home towns, and their dual nature: deeply familiar yet strangely odd; both exclusive and inclusive; embracing and rejecting; the place you run from and the place you run back to. I touch on the collective making of racism and how racist attitudes become woven, unseen, into everyday practices.

Over this past year, I have done a little rewriting and revision. Memories still needs a little more. But for NaNo this year, I'm embarking on a new project, and the thought of it has me all fired up.

It's almost November. That gives me permission to ignore many of my obligations and write. (Then I'll spend months afterward trying to make up for it!)

In Quest of a Balanced Life

2010-10-03T16:56:00.000-07:00

Like so many other people, most I suppose, I strive for a balanced life. Yet sometimes that quest seems to take the form of simply adding more things to my already crowded "to do" list.

For example, here is a list of things that I do (or try to do) every day:

- exercise
- eat 5 or more servings of fruit and vegetables
- cook a healthy dinner and sit down with my family to eat it
- tell my partner that I love him
- give my teenage son a hug
- drink a glass of milk
- drink 8 or more glasses of nonalcoholic beverages a day
- brush my teeth at least twice
- floss my teeth
- observe nature: the quality of the light, the pattern of leaves against the sky, the reflections in a puddle
- do one extra task, aside from the daily ones
- read something not work related
- talk with a distant friend or family member
- take a multivitamin
- take a calcium pill
- compost organic waste
- cuddle, pet, and give attention to the pets
- listen to or read the news
- take some time to daydream or muse
- write, or think about writing (writing emails related to work doesn't count!)
- spend time with my partner
- spend some time outdoors

Along with the daily things, there are the bigger goals, principles, and seasonal activities and weekly regular activities that are really too numerous to list, but here are some examples:

- grow, harvest, cook, and preserve my own organic fruits and vegetables
- play indoor soccer (twice weekly in season)
- ski (weekly in winter)
- journal (various types, including this blog)
- reflect on experiences and life goals, and plan for the future
- manage my finances in a planful way
- cook from scratch
- spend time with friends; e.g., host dinners
- spend time with my kids
- donate to worthy causes
- make "green" choices
- travel

And, in order to accomplish any of this, there are some things that I try not to do, or at least severely curtail the amount of time that I spend doing them:

- watch TV
- go to bars
- work overtime
- shop (aside from groceries)
- wait (in cars, airports, or doctors' offices; if I have to, I bring stuff to do and multitask)
- turn on background noise
- commute
- eat fast food
- use combustion engines (I do use them; I'm just trying to use them less)
- attend events that do not interest me because of a sense of obligation or politeness

I believe that the main reason that having a balanced life is so hard to achieve is that I work, and my work greedily eats up much of my time every day. Even when I am not at work, the problems of work intrude on my thoughts and use up my thinking time.

You probably have noticed that none of the things I am trying to do to be more balanced are work things. Work is what I am trying to balance against. Right now it tips the scales heavily in its own favour. It is not that I don't value my work. I do, and I'm very committed. It's just that work takes more than its share; it uses me up.

I wonder if I would have mental lists like this if I were retired? Maybe my life would automatically become balanced without work to use up so much of my time. Or maybe I would still have the same lists, only I would be balancing against sloth and ennui rather than work!

The photo was taken at Boya Lake Park, British Columbia, Canada, near the border with the Yukon Territory. Getting away on holidays is a wonderful way to re-balance.

Starting Things

2010-09-28T23:38:00.000-07:00

I love to start new things. And I seem to have no lack of great ideas for new projects. Here's an example.

On Sunday night, as I was about to drift off to sleep, the thought came into my head that it is only one more month until NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, during which crazed people from all over the world hunker down in darkened rooms, consume nothing but chocolate and coffee, and attempt to write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November. But I digress...). Anyways, the thought of NaNoWriMo led to ruminations about my novel, the behemoth that is a product of past Nanos. The thing is finished, mostly, but it still needs more revisions. I am supposed to be completing those revisions. "Shall I use Nano 2010 to finish the revisions?" I asked myself.

"No," I instantly answered myself. "How dull! I will write a new novel." Immediately upon permitting myself that thought, the plot for a new novel took shape in my mind, and proceeded to scroll by for a good hour. It is a science fiction novel, not my typical genre. I am feeling quite excited about it. A nice new project...

Here's another example. Last week I was stranded for a couple of days in the metropolis of Fort St. John, BC. For those who have never been there, Fort St. John is a brash, scruffy little prairie boom town, bursting its seams with oil and gas development. Everywhere you look, there are pickup trucks, young men, and drinking establishments. One sunny afternoon, I went walking along some trails in Fish Creek Community Forest. as I walked, a painting project formed in my mind. I pictured a series of paintings of water -- not landscapes per se, but images somewhat more abstract and close up. And then after that, I could go on to paint a series of cloud paintings, again, zoomed in, without the the context of land to anchor each piece. Hmmm.

And the week before that, a colleague phoned me up to see if I was interested in doing some collaborative research on a particular topic. Well, I haven't been working in that topic area nor had I been thinking along those lines, but in no time flat a great idea came to me for a study that would be interesting and useful, and that would capitalize on the different expertise each of us would bring to it. Another new idea, another new project.

All these great ideas, and no time to do any of them. My life is ruled by the urgent minutiae of administration. Like Sisyphus with his boulder, or like a fisherman trying to untangle a ball of fishing line, the tasks take all my energy, focus, and time. The reward each day is to do them all over again tomorrow, or something very similar.

When I do start on a new project, it takes such effort to steal little bits of time to work on it, and to try to focus in the face of constant interruptions. Inevitably, the project ends up dragging on for months or years, until the beautiful idea that gripped me in the beginning becomes yet another obligation lined up with all the others, clamouring for attention, haunting me with its incompleteness.

I used to comfort myself with the thought that there would be time to do what I wanted to do. But I'm getting older. I've now had the experience of abandoning stale projects that were left too long. And I'm realizing that eventually, time will run out.

I'm back

2010-07-27T23:47:00.000-07:00

Sorry I have been absent from my blog for so long. There really are no good excuses, but here are some: I joined the evil time sink that is facebook. I obsessively had to watch a lot of the FIFA World Cup Soccer matches (mostly late at night, from web archives). I have expanded my veggie garden this year and it has taken quite a lot of time to look after it, and now I am picking, freezing, and canning...). And I have been hiking, fly fishing, biking, canoeing, seeing friends, and seeing family.

But truly, the one really big reason that I have not been writing on my blog much is that work has been sucking my bone marrow out and leaving me with little energy or inclination to write, or even to think. The kind of work that I do is demanding and time consuming in every season. Most years, things slow down a little in the summer, but not this year. It has been an endless year. It's been a good year, but intense, with no breaks.

Work can wear a person down. Lately, I have been too tired at night to even want to read novels. That is rare for me; I am always reading something (except when I am in the flow of a big writing project myself. Then sometimes I purposely avoid reading other writers' novels so that my own writing is not unduly influenced by their work.). I have been too tired at night to even want to watch movies -- usually the activity I turn to when I am tired.

I have been trying for years to get the work-life balance thing figured out. But always the solution seems to be either to work less (something that I have not been able to do -- call me "type A"), or to try to cram more into my day. It seems that I have so much that I want to do, and no time to fit it all in.

My out-of-work time has very little down time; I am not at all good at being lazy. Here is an example of a day off for me: Sleep in until 9:30. Grab some coffee. Feed the cats. Work in the garden for 2 hours. Come in and eat. Sort the laundry and put in the first of five loads. Make a list of all the tasks I and other family members need to accomplish today (before leaving on a holiday tomorrow). Do some emails and phone calls relating to an important work issue that cannot wait until I am back from my holiday, and send a couple of emails related to planning a family event in August (2 1/2 hr). Have shower. Go down town and do some errands. Cook a big supper. Sit down for 30 minutes and have tea with partner. Watch son try out new long board. Work in garden for another hour until the mosquitoes get too voracious. Clean and package the veggies I have picked. Pit cherries. Make sour cherry jam. Freeze cherries. Sit down at computer and check facebook. Write on my blog. Oops, it's after midnight -- time for bed. This was my day today.

Now we are heading off on a two-week camping trip. Most of the time, I will be in places where I will not have internet or cell phone access. I will have some down time. I'm running away from the frenzy that is my life. I hope that when I come back, I will be ready to think and write again.

Gardener as Leader

2010-05-17T23:14:00.000-07:00

Okay, I admit it. 'Tis the season to be obsessed with gardening. I'm out there every second that can spare, digging, planting, weeding, and watering. And then when it's dark, I come indoors to my computer, and instead of working on revising my novel, I connect to gardening websites and read avidly about the mysteries of growing potatoes, or how to mulch properly. Most recently, I have discovered a gardening social network called Folia that allows one to keep a gardening journal online and much, much more.

Lately, I was involved in some leadership workshops. In keeping with my current obsession, I began reflecting on what you can tell about a person's leadership style from the kind of gardener he or she is. Here are a few examples:

plants vegetables, not flowers -- pragmatic leader
plants intensively -- concerned with productivity, and careful husbanding of resources
seeds too thickly -- lacks confidence; failure averse
turns all the garden into lawn -- not a nurturing type
digs and turns over the soil by hand; handpicks weed roots and bugs -- engaged in the day-to-day functioning of the organization; possibly a micro-manager
Uses a motorized tiller -- efficient; seeks power
uses organic gardening methods -- concerned about healthy relationships and team building
uses fertilizer, herbicides, and pesticides -- efficient, possibly ruthless, needs to be in control; any means to an end
Doesn't keep up with the weeding -- dislikes the dirty work; disorganized
Doesn't keep up with the watering -- lacks focus and disorganized; possibly incompetent
Plantings are not suited to climatic zone or recommended planting dates -- lacks appropriate knowledge; doesn't do background research; poor planner
Plants the same thing every year according to schedule -- solid and dependable, but lacks creativity and vision

And so on. Do you have any to add here?

Little Weed Patch

2010-05-04T22:57:00.001-07:00

Here's dirt under the finger nails; planting is the best part of all! You can catch a little glimpse of the composting area and the greenhouse in behind.

The Imperfect Garden

2010-04-22T23:23:00.000-07:00

I recently joined a sustainable living meet-up group. The more popular discussion topics on the group's website all have to do with gardening. I have noticed an interesting thing about the way people talk about their gardens and gardening practices in a public forum like this. . . nervously, defensively, sometimes didactically, and just about always with heavy ego involvement.

Hmm, not unlike writers talking about their writing.

On the above-mentioned site, when I first joined, I was trying to craft a self introduction. I began to write, "I am not a very experienced gardener. . ." Wait a minute, should that be "very amateur"? Or did I really mean "not very good"?

Certainly "not very experienced" is not an accurate description. For I have been dabbling in gardens for more than 40 years, from the time that I first planted my own little flower bed in a corner of my parents' garden (and this is not counting the earlier years of my childhood, standing out in the garden every summer helping my Mom pick raspberries or peas, or crawling along the rows of vegetables learning how to weed). From my initial experiences with marigolds and bachelor buttons, I went on to develop a passion for growing my own vegetables, and, except for a few years in university residences or apartment buildings, I have planted some version of a vegetable garden in every place that I have lived since my early twenties.

Over all of those years, I have managed to grow enough veggies, fruits and berries to put home grown garden salads and other vegetables on the table every summer. I have have made many pies, as well as jars of apple sauce, pickles, salsa, jams, and jellies.

So why is the first self descriptor that comes to mind "not very experienced"? And why do I instantly want to amend it to "not very good"?

Well, there is a lot to learn about gardening. I would have to know much more than I currently do to think of myself as an expert. With my full time work schedule, many activities, and summer travel, I hardly have time to look after my little garden, much less to develop significant expertise.

Mainly though, I think it's because my little weed patch looks quite. . . well, weedy, compared to the beautiful photos of other people's gardens that I see in magazines and gardening books. Rather than long rows of fat, healthy vegetables, in my garden there are dandelions, crabgrass, and the evil invasive comfrey plant trying to take over and crowd out the poor little vegetable seedlings. The raspberries are trying to spread into the herb bed. There are wire worms, slugs, carrot flies, and cabbage worms doing their dirty deeds.

It is an imperfect little garden. But I sure do like it.

Face Art

2010-04-08T00:41:00.000-07:00

Too cool! This image is from Robot Nine.

Reversals, Narratives, and Red Queens

2010-03-20T22:54:00.000-07:00

I found this image, Walking on a Dream, at a bilingual poetry website, Poesia torta|Crooked poetry. This blog by Kenia Crissantos from Brazil features poetry (in both English and Portugese) and some great photos. Check it out!

I have been thinking about representation, and especially reflections, doubles, and reversals, since watching the recently released 3D film Alice in Wonderland by Tim Burton. The film combines elements from both of Lewis Carroll's original Alice in Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass, but adds a narrative line not in the books.

As a child, I read and re-read those two books. In Looking Glass, I found the idea of reversals very interesting; images were reversed, time ran backwards, and social actions often were opposite to convention. Also in that book, Carroll took objects with inherent mathematical patterns, like playing cards and chess pieces, and animated them. It has been a very long time since I last read the book. I should go and dig it out of my bookshelf and read it again.

Burton has produced an interesting mashup that reinterprets and extends the two Carroll books. Many of the central events and characters from the books are present in Burton's film, and faithful to the spirit of the original: the White Rabbit, the Cheshire Cat, the caterpillar smoking a hookah, the Mad Hatter's tea party.

But there are significant differences as well. His Alice is a young woman returning to Wonderland thirteen years after her first visit (which is presented briefly in a flashback). As well, Burton's Mad Hatter and caterpillar are much more sympathetic characters than Carroll's, and Burton's White Queen is a different creature altogether than Carroll's. But perhaps the most significant departure is the addition of a narrative line that brings the bizarre tale into conformity with typical North American narrative structure. In Burton's version, Alice becomes the (reluctant) hero who slays the dragon... er... Jaberwocky in a climactic battle, thus rescuing the enslaved populace from the evil Red Queen, and everyone lives happily ever after. It's familiar, and it works.

Burton's Red Queen, played by Helena Bonham-Carter, is fabulous. Many other parts as well are exactly perfect. I loved the movie, especially the 3D version. But maybe it ended just a little too neatly. And there is much more room to have explored the idea of reversals.

Free the Writer's Mind

2010-03-14T10:47:00.000-07:00

I was reading one of my favourite blogs, The Longstockings, and came across this piece of writing advice from Lisa Greenwald: "think, think, think about your book!" Her point is that the work of writing doesn't occur just during the time that a writer is sitting at the keyboard or in front of a blank page. Rather, much of the work of writing takes place in the writer's mind during the in-between times -- commuting, walking, showering, gardening.

Perhaps this bit of wisdom about writing tends to be placed in the background in many books on writing just because of the truism that until the words are on the page, the story hasn't been written. Many a wonderful idea for a story never makes it to the page. For many writers, the anxiety about putting words down prevents them from even starting. So there is a lot of advice focused on coaching writers to sit down and write -- to just get the words down, and defer any editing and much thinking until a second revision stage.

But, in fact, the daydreaming and thinking time periods are also essential. The story doesn't spring to life only at the keyboard. The story is churning away, under the surface, whenever we let our minds have the freedom to do so. For me, it is so important to have times in my day that are not filled with other fully engaging cognitive tasks. When I use up my thinking on work tasks, or reading, or social interaction, or any activity that is filled with words, my mind does not have the unstructured space it needs to drift to the story at hand. If I let it have the time, my unfettered mind does a lot of the writing for me, in between each session at the keyboard.

Hands in the Soil

2010-03-06T21:42:00.000-08:00

The digging and planting has begun!

Every year, as the last of the dirty grey snow recedes, the pussy willows puff out, and the springtime smell of wet earth swirls on a promising breeze, my thoughts turn to the garden. Now keep in mind that I do not live in the balmy south but in a zone 4 region in Canada where the folk wisdom tells me that the 24th of May weekend ("May Long," in the younger generation's parlance) is when to put in the garden. Anytime before that, the over-eager gardener risks a hard frost.

So what do I mean, the planting has begun? Well, this has been an unusual winter -- little snow, warm temperatures, and a very early spring. Everything is a 5-6 weeks ahead of schedule. I bought a gardening magazine the first week of February, and have pored through it, becoming ever more intoxicated with grandiose gardening plans. A couple of weeks ago, I gave in to the urge to get my hands in the dirt, and planted two kinds of tomatoes and jalapeno peppers in biodegradable fiber (not peat) pots, and set the flat on a south facing window sill in my living room. I also planted five pots of herbs -- basil, chives, marjoram, oregano, and parsley. Everything but the parsley has germinated, and now I am thinking of starting some cucumbers and eggplants.

Okay, if you've done the math, you're thinking I've made a big mistake. Normally one starts seeds indoors 5-6 weeks before the planting out date, and I just told you that the date for this region is May 24. Oops. Do I really think that I can plant tomatoes out in early to mid April, even this unusually warm spring?

Aha! I have a greenhouse. Admittedly, it is kind of rickety, has no heating system, and the south-facing plastic needs replacing soon. But it is a productive little greenhouse. Last year from June to mid October, I scarcely bought vegetables. The greenhouse veggies, along with potatoes, onions, bush beans, and herbs that I grew in a small outdoor plot, fed the family. And I grew it all organically. So the greenhouse is where I'll put the tomatoes, etc., when they are ready to set out, and probably I'll take the added precaution of using hot caps at first. (I've been saving milk jugs.)

Today the gardening fever extended beyond my indoor flats. I turned over the compost (it is not frozen! It should still be frozen in March), and screened a wheelbarrowful. Then I dug up and prepared one bed in the greenhouse, augmenting the nice sandy loam with compost and sheep manure. I planted romaine lettuce seeds, and some mixed winter salad greens (stuff like kale and mustard greens). Let's just think of it as an experiment.

For this truly is a record -- the first seeds in the ground on March 6th.

Skeena Angler

2010-03-02T23:55:00.000-08:00

Check out this link to The Skeena Angler. It's a writerly perspective on life and fishing written by my friend Rob -- writer, angler, musician, red wine imbiber, and all-round good guy. I've also linked it on my sidebar.

Confessions of a Non-Watcher

2010-03-01T00:00:00.000-08:00

I am one of those unusual people who does not watch TV. I grew up in a small town that was, to me, the center of the world, but which other people would describe as "remote," "on the frontier," or "in the bush." Television reception did not come to my town until the winter that I was six. My dad brought one home from the store on spec so he could watch a ski jumping competition on it. I had never seen a television before. I remember that I actually went around to the back of the TV to try to discover how the little tiny ski jumpers had managed to get inside of it. My theory was that they entered single-file through a pipe. However, I didn't have any explanation as to how they could have put the mountain and the snow inside the TV. And why didn't the snow melt now that it was inside the house?

By the following summer, we owned a black and white TV with rabbit ears, which was proudly ensconced in a corner of the living room. It was popular with TV-less neighbourhood children, who dropped in to watch Quick Draw McGraw, Batman, and Bugs Bunny. Over my growing up years, the television remained a centerpiece of the living room. At some point, we had an aerial installed on the roof (remember TV aerials?), and at some later point, we acquired a colour television. However, there was only one channel; it broadcast CBC plus some local programming. Cable did not come to the area until many years after I had grown up and moved away.

Those were the years of my TV watching -- ages seven to age eighteen. That is the only era for which I have even a remote possibility of being able to answer entertainment themed Trivial Pursuit questions. After that, I did not own a TV for quite few years. Then when I was married with children, TV came into my life again, but I seldom watched it. (There was a two-year period around the early nineties that I suddenly started watching two programs: L.A. Law, and Star Trek, The Next Generation. That's it. I guess I was looking for any excuse to avoid writing my graduate thesis.)

At this time of my life, we have a TV with a full cable package that resides in the basement for the benefit of my son. I don't watch it, except for three things. I watch elections. I watch World Cup Soccer. And I watch the Olympics. The Olympics are over now, and so my sudden spate of TV-watching is now finished as well, for awhile. I think my son will be relieved to have the basement TV room back to himself again. Just this last few weeks, I've been able to contribute to the conversation when people started talking about what they watched on TV last night; that's been a benefit. But I will be glad to get back to my old non-watching habits. . . . all that time -- time to do what I want to do.

Hello Old Friend

2010-01-17T23:49:00.000-08:00

Hello, old friend. I have been absent for too long. During the month of November, I worked on my novel almost every day. Writing was what I did around the edges of my full, busy life. I added 20,000 words to the manuscript. I brought it to the point where I could finally say that I had a first draft. (Which is not to say that there is a clear demarcation point. There still are holes in it that need to be filled. And I edited and revised as I wrote it, rather than leaving all that for the second draft.)

Then December arrived. NaNoWriMo ended, and I lifted my head from the screen. I realized that Christmas was almost upon us, and I had done nothing to prepare. My loved ones were grumpy from having been ignored for a month. My son was in danger of failing math. The pets had developed new bad habits. All the deferred household tasks had reached the point of being overwhelming. Work was crazy (annual planning and budget time!). I had a big knot in my right upper back from hunching over the computer all day at work, and then coming home to sit at the computer again, writing. My neck made a clicking sound when I looked to the right; in fact it still does.

So, on December 3, I set the novel aside. I struggled to catch up with my responsibilities and my relationships. We celebrated Christmas and spent time with our families and friends. We skied. I didn't write.

Once I stop writing, I find it hard to start again. Everything seems to stand in the way of opening the document and getting back at it. I don't have enough time right now. I need to put another load of laundry in first, or run downtown, or take a look at the local paper. It's easier to surf the net, or spend time on forums or social networking sites.

But today I sat down to my novel again. There it was, my old friend. My characters, were still there, puzzling through their lives, inventing new opinions and troubles while I was absent. I revised a little. I added a little. It was like coming home.

Living in a Full-Colour World

2010-01-12T22:29:00.000-08:00

In reading over my post from the other day, I can see that I sounded downright gloomy. Grey, in fact. I'd like to state right now that glum and miserable is not my usual habit of mind. More typically, I am a person who is thrilled by the experiences, sensory richness, and social engagements of daily life. And I like colour (even the muted colours of November).

This photo above is one that I took while walking in a field near my home during October. It is a beautiful field for taking a walk, whether snowy, soggy in the springtime with the impossible bright green of the first new growth, lush with lupins and buzzing bees, or red and yellow under autumn's crisp air. I especially love the autumn colours.

The seasons can also be enjoyed from within the coziness of one's house. This fall, I took a series of photos that I call "Views from my Window." The one below is one that I like. If you look closely, you can see a small reflection in the window. I wanted to capture the reflection because, after all, I wasn't out there; I was inside looking out.

I am lucky to live in such a wonderful place, surrounded by landscape views like this on a daily basis.

Work is the new grey

2010-01-09T23:35:00.000-08:00

On Monday, I did not want to go to work. I really did not want to go. I slept late; I dragged out the morning preparations. The Christmas break had sped by in a twinkling. Our cherished children had visited and left again. We had feasted, drunk wine, skied along ridges, played with the dogs. Now Monday loomed bleak and ugly, the start of a new week, a new year, a new decade of work, work, working. Grey. Damp cold that gets in your bones. Inescapable.

I put one foot in front of the other, drove to work, unlocked the office, let myself take it slowly. I watered the plants, dry after ten days of my absence. I greeted colleagues and inquired about their holidays, my voice faint and echoing as if coming from the bottom of a giant tin can. My hands flapped like squid, and my feet dragged along the carpet like disobedient pets. I clasped my hands in front of my belly, wrung my fingers, crossed my legs. I hardly seemed to be in my body, but gazed on its awkward postures with annoyance from outside.

The litany wrote itself inside my brain: overdue unfinished tasks, too much, more work flooding in, trapped, don't show it. I organized my desk, deleted email, and started with some easy tasks. Plod, plod, plod. Made it through the day.

Tuesday, inside a cold grey metal can. Bent under my burden, a basket of boulders. Wednesday, a reprieve. A caring boss talked me through an impossible task, offered help, extended a deadline. His voice was as warm as a mug of hot chocolate.

Thursday, freezing rain coated my car like molten glass. In windy gusts, pins of rain flew at my eyes. Tires left slush puddle ruts. A medical test, finally after months of worry, ruled out the feared possibility. And now there was a yellow glow around me and my flesh was warm and vital. Back at the office, I chatted with staff, made decisions, and completed tasks, each neatly clipped and filed.

Friday, I'm back. Back at work, my usual efficient self. Back at home with a laugh and a hug. The year is full of possibilities.

Thinking of Art

2009-12-27T00:21:00.000-08:00

This plein air watercolour was painted by Keiko Tanabe. It is titled Lake Hodges. Lake Hodges is a reservoir near San Diego, California. Clicking the link will take you to the artist's blog. She has won many awards for her paintings.

Revision Advice

2009-12-14T23:31:00.000-08:00

Well, now that the first draft of my novel is finished (and apparently too long already at 114,329 words in Times New Roman), it is time to start revising. I do not write in the NaNoWriMo style, which involves putting as many words down on paper as fast as possible without editing, but instead I have been editing and revising as I have gone along. However, the revisions have mostly pertained to each small section that I was working on at the time, not to the overall structure of the story.

Another way that my story differs from a NaNo story is that I have written most of it over a period of three years (except for a small core section that started as four short stories written in 2003). So rather than springing out of my head in one short month, my story has had time to percolate and develop over a period of years.

Nevertheless, I do know that it needs revisions. For example, as I was writing, if I came to something that needed research or fact checking, often I just simply inserted asterisks as a reminder to go back later and correct the details, rather than stopping the flow and getting distracted with research right at that moment. (Note: I did not do this for facts that were critical to the plot, just for details and minor events.) As well, I know that there were some shifts in characterization as the book evolved.

What I need to do is sit down and read the whole thing at a sitting to see how it holds together. One of my concerns about revising is that I know that I hate to cut (but am happy to add!). But this manuscript already is too long; I'm going to have to be brutal and cut, cut, cut. Another concern is that I am not sure how to keep it coherent and consistent, given that it is so long. I am used to writing and revising much shorter pieces.

So, if you were hoping for revision advice, that's not really what this post is about. It's more about me looking for advice. I have come across one site that looks very helpful: HollyLisle.com.

writing sites

2009-12-06T00:24:00.000-08:00

I'm just putting a few good writing/publishing links here that I don't want to lose. (That's one of the joys of getting older; you lose things.)

Bookends LLC - A Literary Agency

NaNoPubYe

Words on Top

It's past my bedtime, so more on this to follow...

Absentee blogger

2009-11-10T23:57:00.000-08:00

Sorry, I haven't been around. That's because I have been spending every spare minute over at NaNoWriMo. Visit me there at AnnaHarvey's page.

NaNoWriMo calls

2009-11-01T23:47:00.000-08:00

November is National Novel Writing Month. People from around the world hunker down and go into a frenzy of novel writing in November, with the aim of getting 50,000 words down on paper (or on screen) -- draft quality, of course. I participated in 2007 (when I had a leave from work), then kind of half participated in 2008. This year, I had sadly concluded that I am just way too busy with work to sign up. Missed deadlines! Travel for meetings! Looming obligations! Signing up will just be an exercise in frustration, I told myself.

But this morning, I awoke, and it was November 1. How could I not sign up? It was the first day of NaNoWriMo, and it was a Sunday! So I did register, but I am not going to push myself to pump out 50,000 words. All I really wanna do is finish a first draft of the novel I started in Nano 2007. I know myself, and the structure and camaraderie of Nano help me to sit down and write. I figure that some writing is better than no writing. My starting count is 95,008.

Circular

2009-10-11T23:37:00.001-07:00

I have been playing with my sketchpad again. This one is titled Circular, and I made it with the acrylic brush and ink pen tools. I like the way a random doodle just kind of evolves until it becomes its own unique thing. I need to work more with layers so that I feel less constrained in experimenting with different effects.

I'm so tired this weekend. The last two weeks have been an orgy of excessive work -- very grueling. I'm getting too old for this work, work, working.

Pol Ledent

2009-09-27T22:58:00.000-07:00

I spent a long time tonight looking at the gallery and blog of Pol Lendent, an artist from Belgium. This is an artist who does amazing, colourful paintings. I especially love his landscapes in oils, like this amazing painting of Provence.

Go check out his blog. He also puts his paintings on The Daily Painters Art Gallery (see link in sidebar). He sells his paintings via the web too.

Vehicle Emissions

2009-09-27T21:12:00.000-07:00

Take a look at this video on vehicle emissions testing. This story ran on CKPG-TV last week and it profiles the excellent work being done by Prince George Air Improvement Roundtable (PGAIR).

Lettuce, Fruit Trees, and Apple Butter

2009-09-20T22:16:00.000-07:00

This week I bought lettuce. This might seem unremarkable, unless you understand that this is the first time I have bought salad greens since May. This is possible because I have a little greenhouse. Here in our northern climate where there is snow on the ground often from late October to April, having a greenhouse means that I can grow our own vegetables that we eat all summer long. Recently, I have developed and expanded my outdoor garden as well. It is mostly devoted to raspberries, strawberries, herbs, and potatoes.

Now, I am not a super duper gardener. I like digging and planting. I am not so good at weeding and watering. And I'm really bad at thinning. I always plant too many seeds (because probably most of them won't grow), then I don't want to thin them (because they managed to grow and I want each and every one of those little plants to survive...). Weeds thrive in my greenhouse much more than they should. And every summer I go away for a few weeks on a holiday, and whoever I hire to look after the gardens never waters enough. Don't even get me started on the topic of slugs.

But nevertheless, I have enough fresh-picked organically grown veggies to feed my family all summer. We eat seasonally -- radishes, spinach, lettuce, green onions, and sorrel show up first, then peas, swiss chard, sui choy, carrots, beets, kohlrabi, beans, cucumbers, kale, tomatoes, and hot peppers. (This year, the cabbage worm decimated most of the sui choy, rutabagas, kohlrabi, and kale. Every year something fails to thrive.)

Growing vegetables is very satisfying. I love picking and preparing food that I have grown myself. For example, tonight we had lasagna (made with onions, swiss chard, and tomatoes from the garden, and locally raised organic beef). From the garden, we also had green beans, and cucumber salad, and a tomato, onion, & basil salad.

One trouble, though, is that it is hard to keep up with whatever is in season. I try to use or preserve or give away everything that I grow. I have a busy working life, so my gardening and food preparation is relegated to evenings and weekends, where it competes with hikes, bike riding, seeing friends, and all the fun stuff.

Right now, apples are in season, and I have three heritage apple trees. I spent every spare moment this weekend doing things with apples. Yesterday I picked up all the usable windfalls. I sorted out and washed all the good eating apples. I made apple-plum clafouti for yesterday's dessert. I made a batch of apple jelly. Then tonight I made a batch of apple-rhubarb butter. But there are still bags of apples waiting to be dealt with -- and we haven't even started actually picking them yet!

Just a word about apple butter-- don't make it. Every time I make it, I say to myself that I will never make apple butter again. It just takes way too long to push the pulp through a sieve. I have tried many different methods, and all of them are time consuming. (Tonight I used cheesecloth and a colander.) Once you've finally got some strained pulp to work with, it takes a long, long time to cook down, and you have to stir it constantly or it will scorch. Altogether, sterilizing the jars and equipment, chopping the apples and rhubarb, the initial cooking, the sieving process, cooking down the butter, filling jars, and processing in the hot water bath took about two and a half hours tonight, all for six little jars! But it is delicious. I guess that's why each year I "forget" and make it once again.

Thai Seascapes

2009-09-14T22:05:00.000-07:00

I came across a wonderful set of paintings of boats, water, and shore posted by Thai artist Asnee. His amazing use of bright jewel-like colour in his seascapes especially caught my notice. Take a look at this slide show, Seas of Thailand, and you will see what I mean.

As well as his use of colour, he also does some really interesting things with texture and line. He works in a variety of media.

As I am beginning to dabble just a bit in making images again, I am curious about exploring other media. Oils are my usual medium of choice. . . but I am thinking about branching out. Maybe it will help me get out of this very long "dry" period.

Digital Doodle

2009-09-12T23:23:00.001-07:00

I played with my new graphics tablet for a little while this evening (birthday present), and this is the image I created -- my first digital art (more of a doodle really).

Water and Sky

2009-09-11T20:35:00.000-07:00

I went on a week-long canoing expedition in August. In between hauling the canoe over portages, braving thunder storms, looking after my blisters, and trying to choose the least stinky clothing left in my pack, I got into some photography. Besides the usual snapshots and sneaky candid shots, I'd say sky reflections in the water was my theme. Here are a couple:

A Painting a Day

2009-08-12T00:07:00.000-07:00

Tonight I found a cool website by Painting a Day Artists at: http://www.dailypainters.com/. Everyday members post a painting that they did that day. Viewers can view the thumbnails or snap to large versions of specific paintings, or directly to each artist's website. The paintings are for sale, too. I've attached a wee clip to wet your appetite.

A painting a day. . . I am green with envy.

Black Dogs of August

2009-08-05T00:15:00.000-07:00

In folklore, there are phantom black dogs that roam through graveyards and patrol boundaries like roads and footpaths. Large and shaggy, with glowing red eyes, these ghost dogs may appear just prior to a death. Some say that if they look directly at you, you will die. In other myths, they appear to play the role of protector, for example, of the souls of the dead buried in a graveyard.

A myth dating from August 4, 1577, tells of a black dog appearing during a thunderstorm in a church in Bungay, Suffolk, killing two people and injuring a third. The same day, a similar black dog appeared in a church in nearby Blythburgh and people died there as well. Bob Trubshaw summarizes a number of folkloric accounts of black dogs, and another interesting website specifically on the August 4 events is at everything2.

Our black dog is medium sized, has brown eyes rather than red ones, and is merely high strung -- not ghostly and ominous. She's not a hell hound, just a brat.

More on Writer's Voice

2009-08-03T15:35:00.000-07:00

If you haven't read Jack Ross's rant in the previous post, do so now. He has an interesting take on the topic of writer's voice. He first acknowledges common descriptions of writer's voice as a writer's literary fingerprint or personal writing style. He remarks that many creative writing courses emphasize the importance of finding one's voice. This is what concerns him, and is the main focus of his rant.

Essentially, he points out that going on a quest to "find one's voice" is counterproductive; it will have precisely the opposite of the desired effect and will yield writing that is bland and twice chewed over. Instead of navel gazing and fretting about how one appears to others (I am taking liberties with my paraphrasing here), he instructs writers to focus on what they want to write about, and to be aware of who their readers are. He cites portions of an essay written by Kathy Acker, who describes the quest for writer's voice as akin to wanting to be godlike and control the meanings that can be taken from one's writing -- something that narrows possibilities and puts writing in a cage. In contrast, Acker sees writing as play, and eschews all rules.

I think that Ross and Acker are onto something. In most forms of human endeavor, being overly concerned about how one appears to others and others' opinions about oneself is truly a motivation killer. Just think of the NaNoWriMo mantra -- Get it down on paper. Don't edit. Don't worry about how bad it is. It's just a first draft, so get those words down!

So getting caught up in trying find one's voice in the first place, then trying to replicate it, and worrying what others will think of it does seem like a pointless kind of digression. I mean, how many of us actually are any good at self awareness in the first place? It seems to me that a characteristic writer's voice is something that is easier to notice in others than to observe in oneself.

That said, I *do* pay attention to the tone I am taking in a piece of writing. Moreover, I think that my "writer's voice" varies depending on the kind of writing that I am doing and the way that I position myself in a piece. I write in a variety of different forms and genres -- nonfiction, including scholarly chapters and articles; long fiction; poetry; and life writing/memoir. I think my voice might be quite different across these genres. I don't think that I have one consistent "fingerprint" voice.

Finally, I consciously attend to characters' voices and strive to let them speak for themselves. Character voices differ from my narrator voice (whether omniscient or not). Yet, because they come from me, they are part of my repertoire of voices and registers.

I wonder if the quest for one's unique writer's voice is simply an artifact of creative writing instruction. So many beginning writers start by emulating the style of writers that they admire (and generally they do so badly). So, instructors have to point out not to copy -- "Try to find your own voice," they say. It sounds more palatable than, "Quit copying other writers all the time."

Writer's Voice

2009-08-01T01:16:00.000-07:00

I have been mulling over the notion of "writer's voice." Personal writing style? An individual writer's fingerprint? Something fundamental to strive for, or something that the writer can and does alter depending on the genre, the story, the characters? More on this later, but for the moment, I just want to put a link here to Jack Ross's rant on the topic of writer's voice.

Blue Earth Lake

2009-07-23T23:57:00.000-07:00

Blue Earth Lake is located in a provincial park in the southern interior of British Columbia, Canada. You climb high into the hills above the desert and find this gem of a lake and (almost) no people.

There is a story. The road gets much much, worse. Do not believe the maps of the area. If you keep going, soon there is no road, and nowhere to turn around. You will need to drive through creeks, bottom out in mud holes, and chop down trees that block the way. Eventually (if you make it through), you will find yourself on a ranch, with a heavy chain preventing the possibility of exiting to the road.

As going back the way you came is not an option, here is a hint. Combination = 4000.

Scary Literary Agents

2009-07-21T23:33:00.000-07:00

I came across a link to Janet Reid's blog. She is a literary agent who publishes advice on her blog for writers who aspire to publish their work. The blog is fascinating in a chilling kind of way. And useful, and very funny. . . .

How Much Editing?

2009-07-16T09:18:00.000-07:00

A member of my writing group is in the process of rewriting a draft of her novel. She recently wrote on her blog about the dilemma of editing. How much is enough? When do you stop? Of course, she wrote about this question in a way more eloquent manner than this. You can read her post here.

So here are some of my thought on editing:

I think it really depends. When I write a poem, I write in bursts. Words and images come, I set them down, then contemplate, and put down a few more words. It's word by word and line by line. I write slowly, but then when I have written the draft of the poem, it is close to being finished; I do very little editing.

When I write nonfiction, articles and chapters, I also write slowly, crafting each sentence as I go. Each time I sit down to write some more, I reread what I have already written, and edit it. So then by the time I have completed a draft, it needs little editing. Usually, I package it up and send it off quickly. Partly this is because I have *no time in my life* so I am forced to be efficient, and partly it is to prevent myself from adding any more to it (because, invariably, my editing takes the form of adding, and the manuscripts are always too long already). The reviewers always have suggestions for revisions, and by the time it comes back, I have some distance from my piece, and usually I make a number of editorial changes then. (Sometimes I even cut a bit!)

But for my (almost completed) novel, I am way less sure about how I will accomplish the editing. I have tried not to get stuck into editing mode while still getting the first draft down on the page. But, as with the other genres, I still have written very slowly, crafting as I go. (I thought I was finished some time ago except for a short transition between sections, but the transition keeps growing, chapter by chapter.) The challenge that I am finding is figuring out how to keep the coherence and flow consistent in such a long manuscript. I think my editing problems will be at that level more than at the word-by-word level.

Writers' Conference

2009-06-18T00:45:00.000-07:00

Here's a link to the Surrey International Writers' Conference in Surrey, British Columbia, Canada. I have never attended, but have heard great things about it.

Narratives online

2009-06-17T23:46:00.000-07:00

I have spent most of the last six weeks travelling (for work). I am back home again, tired, and way behind on everything, including posting to this blog.

I have been spending some time surfing the net looking at examples of work by young people that involves constructing narratives using multiple modalities (e.g., text, images, animation, voiceover) and posting them online. Very typically what people do is use resources in existing software utilities, like role-playing games. They draw upon the game to create characters (robotic soldier), settings (futuristic battleground), and actions (jumping, shooting), then put together a storyline or short episode. Machinima (machine + cinema) is an example of this creative genre.

The video below provides a tutorial of how to create machinima using the game World of Warcraft. It also models character creation, and plays with the boundary between exposition and fantasy.

I find it fascinating that the power of story is such that people find ways to create narratives using whatever is at hand. Around each of these types of creativity, a community springs up, offering an audience, critique, and suggestions. At the same time, commercial enterprises that create the games, films, and products (all interlinked) have a huge role in shaping the fantasy worlds, character options, and narrative themes that are possible. Hmmm.

I am trying to get my head around how this fits with the traditions of written literature (e.g., novels) especially, and also oral storytelling, performance, and film.

We are storying beings.

Another Alessandro Andreuccetti Watercolour

2009-05-06T00:04:00.000-07:00

Here is another painting by Alessandro Andreuccetti that I just love. What first strikes me is the movement, like autumn leaves in a breeze. The theme (autumn trees), the colour palette, and the impressionistic looseness are characteristic of my own painting style (when I used to paint, although I work in oils, not watercolours).

Free write: A Rock

2009-05-05T23:46:00.000-07:00

Here is the beginning of a story. What would you write next?

Evan stood on the beach facing the grey inhospitable sea. At the farthest distance, the rough woolen sky was separated from the clay-coloured ocean by the merest smudge of a horizon line. In the middle distance, the ocean was like stippled granite. Then closer to him, grey-green waves with foamy tops rose up and raced toward him up the beach, stopped just short of his dirty canvas runners, then slid back down carrying away little rivers of beach pebbles.

Pebbles. Rocks. In his pocket, a weight against the top of his thigh. A rock. A rock like the heat of an egg yolk, an eyeball, a heart pulsing in his pocket. . . .

Tuscan Hills landscapes

2009-05-01T22:55:00.001-07:00

This watercolour was painted by Alessandro Andreuccetti. Images from his recent show were profiled on the Urban Sketchers site. I especially like this painting because of the sense of spaciousness and the quality of the light.

You can go to his blog at: http://aandreuccetti.altervista.org/blog/ and view other images of his paintings.

Excerpt from WIP

2009-04-26T23:27:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been thinking about, but not writing much on my novel in progress. However, tonight, after a happy, tiring day of digging in the garden, I actually worked on the novel for a while. Here's a short excerpt from the evening's writing:

It is amazing what happens to time when you are having a major life experience like your first relationship. It gets completely filled up. Every single moment becomes intensely saturated with significance. Later, when you look back, there are all these events, emotions, and significant moments packed in one after another and you remember them all perfectly. So it seems incredible when you realize that only, say, three weeks have gone by, yet more has happened than in three normal months. And those three months that you would have typically had in the past seem so pale, empty, and pathetic compared to every colourful, jam-packed hour in your current eventful life.

That’s how it felt for me when Percy and I began going out together. It’s like all my senses got switched from sleep mode to full on. I smelled coffee with an intensity that almost made me faint, and suddenly I could see things around me with the clarity of an artist – the colours, the composition, the pattern of twigs against a winter sky. Yet at the same time, every little nerve ending was like an antenna tuned to the frequency of Percy; every part of my body was alike an octopus tentacle reaching towards Percy. The pop music singers always sing about the “electricity” of love, or the “magnetism” of their lover, and I totally discovered what they meant. I felt astonishingly alive, the blood pulsing under my skin, and I could hardly even recall how dull and vacant my life had been only weeks before.

Yummy chicken recipe

2009-04-19T00:31:00.000-07:00

Chicken with Dark Beer (Coq à la Bière)

"Southerners in France like their chicken cooked in wine, preferably a rich red, but northerners go for the caramel intensity of dark beer laced with plenty of onions. The sweetness of the beer is enhanced with a spicing of juniper berries and a shot of gin, the local tipple. I enjoy a puree of celery root or lentils on the side, but the traditional accompaniment would be mashed or boiled potatoes. The chicken can be prepared ahead and refrigerated in its sauce up to three days, or freeze it up to one month. Thaw, reheat, and add the yogurt and vinegar before serving." —AW

Yield

4 servings

Ingredients

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 bone-in chicken breast halves, skinned
2 bone-in chicken thighs, skinned
2 chicken drumsticks, skinned
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon canola oil
3 tablespoons dry gin
3/4 cup chopped celery
3/4 cup chopped peeled carrot
1/2 cup chopped shallots (about 3 medium)
3 juniper berries, crushed
1 (8-ounce) package mushrooms, halved
3 sprigs fresh thyme
3 sprigs fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 bay leaf
1 cup dark beer
1/4 cup whole-milk Greek-style yogurt
2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Preparation

1. Combine first 3 ingredients; sprinkle evenly over both sides of chicken. Heat butter and oil in a large deep skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken to pan; sauté 5 minutes on each side or until browned. Remove pan from heat. Pour gin into one side of pan; return pan to heat. Ignite gin with a long match; let flames die down. Remove chicken from pan; keep warm.

2. Add celery, carrot, shallots, and juniper berries to pan; sauté 5 minutes or until vegetables are tender, stirring occasionally. Add mushrooms. Place thyme, parsley, and bay leaf on a double layer of cheesecloth. Gather edges of cheesecloth together; tie securely. Add cheesecloth bag to pan. Return chicken to pan, nestling into vegetable mixture. Stir in beer; bring to a simmer. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 45 minutes or until a thermometer inserted in the meaty parts of chicken registers 160°. (Breasts may cook more quickly. Check them after 35 minutes, and remove them when they're done; keep warm.)

3. Discard cheesecloth bag. Remove chicken from pan; keep warm. Place pan over medium heat; stir in yogurt. Cook 1 minute or until thoroughly heated (do not boil, as the yogurt may curdle). Remove from heat; stir in vinegar. Taste and adjust seasoning, if desired. Place 1 chicken breast half or 1 drumstick and 1 thigh on each of 4 plates; top each serving with about 3/4 cup sauce and vegetable mixture. Sprinkle with chopped parsley.

Nutritional Information

Calories: 370
Fat: 16g (sat 6.6g,mono 5g,poly 3g)
Protein: 30.8g
Carbohydrate: 15.1g
Fiber: 1.4g
Cholesterol: 103mg
Iron: 2mg
Sodium: 465mg
Calcium: 55mg

Anne Willan, Cooking Light, JANUARY 2009

Okay, I haven't tried this recipe from Cooking Light yet, but I plan to. . . .

bobble head poem

2009-04-18T22:56:00.000-07:00

Here is the first draft of a poem I wrote last night:

band-aid diagonal across my red magnetic
lips can speak no
intertextual references
chinese bobble heads
rubberneck swivel for slim waisted girls
hot my thighs kiss
across your lap round paunch
warm as bath blood
content in
wordless middle age
boundaries signified by
skin soft as
limb length of touch
me and snooze entangled
in somnolent
couch
complete it is
enough

I had a set of kissing bobble heads when I was a child, but mine wore red.

This image comes from the Flickr photostream of MacaDamien.

Stepping Out

2009-04-13T23:52:00.000-07:00

Why did the chicken cross the road?
To get to the other side.
Okay, okay. I know it's a rooster. And it's crossing a stream, not a road.
But the point is the same -- ya do what ya gotta do.

But wait! This rooster is visualizing something. Faced with a problem -- a body of water between him and his destination -- he saw the board and employed the praxis of using it as a bridge.

Behind him is a clutch of hens, waiting, wondering, "Will he make it?" " Will he fall in?" Perhaps they are considering stepping out onto the bridge, fretting about the possibility of falling in, not wanting to look a fool in front of their hen house mates.

It can be read as leadership versus conformity. It can be read along gender lines. After all, is whatever is on the other side worth risking one's feathered self? The breed is not entirely flightless (although flighty), but does one really want to test it in such a high stakes situation?

The other side -- we are all heading there. Some of us embrace new landscapes, and others hang around the chicken yard as much as possible pecking at bugs in the familiar patch of dirt. I'd like to think that I am one of those exploratory other side type of birds.

The photo is from Robot Nine.

Silly Pigs and Poem

2009-04-12T22:10:00.000-07:00

I wanted to post this picture of pigs that amused me. There is something about pigs -- especially ones with very pink noses, dog paddling in twos across a very green stretch of water -- that needs to be noted. Sadly, this image came to me in an email with no info about where it came from, so I can't attribute the source. Thanks, photographer, wherever you are.

The other thing I wanted to mention tonight has nothing to do with pigs. I came across a blog by Tony Mancus called Into the Headland. He writes an entry every day, and every entry is a poem. That is inspiring. Much better than my strategy of just waiting for inspiration to strike! Here is a small fragment of one of his recent poems:

"i will speak encryption with tiny keys.
my tongue a salt lick--the animals come rushing."

Go check out his blog to read the whole thing.

Dark and Light

2009-03-24T23:05:00.000-07:00

I want to post some of my favourite photos from Ericalokichicken's Flickr photostream. The first one, Sailboats, is incredible because of the patterns of light and dark. As well, I like the contrast between the spikey linear masts and the round shapes of the boat hulls. Finally the wavery reflections suggest the emphemeral aspect of this moment in time.

This next photo, The Drive Home, also uses light/dark contrasts in monochromatic blue to create a haunting and dramatic mood. The interior shot, the shade of blue, and the childlike reflected face suggest the psychological interior of memory.

This next one is called Shadow Reflection. As the title tells us, it is another exploration of reflection -- self in the world. This photo is a lovely use of negative space, with the body shadow appearing as a transparent silhouette against trees, which as themselves are silhouetted against the sky. All of these layered images are but reflections themselves. I think. It is very interesting and complex, both as an image and also in terms of the ideas the photographer is playing with.

sock puppet art from robot nine

2009-03-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

I was looking for images of sock puppets, and came across this great photo of sock monkeys on the website Robot Nine. This website has lots of interesting photographs and arty images.

Here is another great photograph from Robot Nine. It is from a series called "Lonely Trees." This site especially focuses on quirky themes, like "Food Art," "Trailer Trash Dolls," and "Skeleton Sculptures."

Making Pizza

2009-03-12T23:36:00.000-07:00

Food, and the making of it, has always been an important part of my daily life. Cooking is an act of creativity and a gesture of love for the people that I care about. It is also work, especially at the end of a long, exasperating day, when I am hungry and haven't given a thought to what's for supper until the minute that I walk in the door.

It is also work in a satisfying way. With the work of my hands and creative mind, I use the bounty of the earth to fashion something to please the appetite and all the senses. Together, we sit down and share food, talk, and tell the stories of each of our days.

I have always believed that it is important for a family to sit down and eat together. I also believe in cooking from scratch (although I am not dogmatic about this; yes, I do use canned tomato sauce). I like to use food that I have grown or gathered. But winters are long here.

So it is pleasing to me that each of my children has grown up appreciating food. Each of them enjoys cooking and is, or is becoming a good cook.

These pictures that I have included here show a pizza that my son made when he was fourteen. He made the pizza dough, spread the sauce, found various things in the fridge to use as toppings, grated cheese, and added herbs.

(Cheese, of course, is one of the fundamental food groups for teenagers.)

He baked it and served it to us for supper. What a satisfying meal, and what a great way to be a family together! It also was a wonderful lesson for him about the value and rewards of daily work.

Urban Sketchers

2009-03-10T22:50:00.000-07:00

The images above, titled Bounty Hunters, were created by Cathy Gatland from South Africa. This art is posted on Urban Sketchers, a cool art blog that includes artists from all over the world. Participation on Urban Sketchers (USk) is by invitation. All of the images are sketched on location and must have an urban theme. There is also a Flickr group that is open to all, and a Google discussion group.

The Canadian Rocky Mountains

2009-03-05T20:29:00.000-08:00

This is a photo of the Rocky Mountains near Banff/Lake Louise. I drove through this area in October and took this picture.

I love mountains, and am fortunate to live in a mountainous area. Sometimes after sitting in an office all day at my computer solving problems, I come away grumpy and full of worries. But it only takes a long look out the window at the mountains to put things back in perspective again. On a sunny day, I can see mountains from my office window.

Even better, I can do more than look out the window. I can and do spend lots of time outdoors. In the winter, I ski, both downhill and cross-country. Recently I have started back-country touring, and also I am learning how to do telemark turns. The photo above is a view from our local ski hill -- spectacular!

Landscapes often inspire my photography and also my painting. In fact, quite a few of my poems include landscape imagery as well. Place, and the natural landscapes that surround me, are very important to me and influence the choices I make about where to live, work, and play.

The Realist Dreamer

2009-02-24T23:46:00.001-08:00

This is a painting by Erica, published on her blog, The Realist Dreamer. The title is Colourful Nudes. I like the feeling of movement in this painting.

Crossing the Unknown Sea

2009-02-18T23:04:00.000-08:00

In his book, Crossing the Unknown Sea: Work as a Pilgrimage of Identity, David Whyte writes:

Work is where we can make ourselves; work is where we can break ourselves. It is a making and an unmaking that can ultimately never be measured by money alone. In work we can indeed, and in a moment, build or ruin our fiscal fortunes, or we can slowly and imperceptibly, over long years, destroy the inner complexion of our character. Sometimes to our despair, we know instinctively that work is never done. At its worst we are Sisyphus, pushing the boulder over the last incline only to see it fall back and away, out of our grasp, to the very bottom of the slope, to be pushed back up with the same despairing effort the following Monday morning.
At its best, work seems never-ending only because, like life, it is a pilgrimage, a journey in which we progress not only through the world but through stages of understanding (2001, p. 12).

This quotation speaks to me. I find myself suddenly at this stage of life going through a transition -- a midlife crisis of sorts -- in which I am asking if the work that I am doing is the right work for me, or if it is "a sleep and a forgetting" that is distracting me from the true purpose of my life.

character sketch

2009-02-03T22:38:00.000-08:00

Holy wow, time has passed and I have had a horrible two months of excessive unpleasant overwhelming work. No time for life. Stress and all that.

I finally made it to my writing group tonight. We did a writing exercise in which we wrote a character sketch with the aim of portraying a sense of who the character was primarily through sensory description. This what I wrote:

Kevin stood in the doorway, poised with his weight on one leg, uncommitted to enter, already, one imagines, on his way down the hall. This was as much as could be hoped for -- a moment of pause, a dry observation intoned nasally, delivered with a wicked hook disguised as humour. Then down the hall he'd go, as quiet as a big cat, taut as a bicep, moving as if he were invisible, as if his steroid-built body was hidden by the Indian cotton shirt, as if there was not an electric four inches of impenetrable air space between him and anyone else passing down the hallway.

Okay -- one paragraph. That's a start.

HO HO OH NO

2008-12-08T00:03:00.000-08:00

Well, it's December, and there's no doubt about it; Christmas is on its way. I hate the consumer frenzy of Christmas -- the running around town desperately trying to buy presents for everyone (many, many, many) on my shopping list, spending way too much money, wrapping up and mailing parcels, and negotiating with the extended family about where we are going to spend Christmas this year. Most years involve packing up and travelling to somewhere else to spend Christmas trapped in someone else's house for too many days. And all this preparation always happens at a time that is really busy for me at work, too.

It sounds like I'm a total grinch, doesn't it? But I'm not. There are some parts of Christmas that I love. I love to cook a big Christmas dinner and to sit down to it with lots of family and friends. I like trekking out into the woods to select and chop down a Christmas tree, and then bringing it home and decorating it. I love to choose special gifts for my children and partner, and a few close friends, and wrap them and deliver them. I like to go skiing at Christmas time, and to sit around drinking special hot chocolate afterwards and playing board games with the kids. I like Christmas lights, and this year I invested in the new low energy outdoor LED lights so I can be energy-conscious but still enjoy the lights. I get misty-eyed when I'm cuddled up with my partner in front of the Christmas tree listening jazzy Christmas music on a snowy night. I also like to make donations to several favourite charities at Christmas time. I'm very firm about taking time off from work for Christmas week and spending the time with family and friends.

So, I guess the part that I don't like involves the sense of being obliged to spend a lot of money buying stuff for people, knowing that even though I have tried to choose things they will like, in fact, they neither want nor will enjoy most of the stuff. As much as I spend, I still feel as though I did not spend enough to get them something "really good" -- I was too "cheap." Then afterwards, there is the worry about having become overstretched financially. The time pressure of trying to orchestrate it all, while also being so busy at work, is stressful.

Just as the media portrays the perfect body, the perfect family, and the perfect home, it holds up models of Christmas that are impossible to attain (consistently). For me (and many others, I think) Christmas is associated with feelings of guilt -- guilt about those I didn't buy for or didn't buy enough for; guilt about not showing up at, not or being invited to, or not hosting Christmas do's; guilt about substandard decorating or Christmas dinner efforts; and guilt about those who have so little while I/we have so much (and seem to endlessly want more). This sense of guilt, I believe, is manufactured quite intentionally by marketers to ensure we keep on shopping and spending so that they can keep on selling and profiting. (And the landfills keep getting more and more full, and the raw materials of the world become more and more depleted).

Spending money shopping is not a moral good. Spending time doing things with people that you love, however, is good. This year year I am simplifying Christmas.

Gideon Sockpuppet

Wrimo update

2008-11-28T22:06:00.000-08:00

According to the NaNoWriMo home page, there are two days, 1 hour, and 52 minutes left until the end of NaNoWriMo 2008. I have written 19,061 words so far this November. That makes my novel 89,352 words in total now (300 manuscript pages). My monthly total is less than the 50,000 words that all good little Wrimos try for, but. . . my personal goal is to finish a first draft of my novel this month, and I am closing in on it. Whoo-hoo!

If you'd like to read an excerpt, click on the following link, then on my author page, click on the novel info tab: http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/256685

Here's the first sentence of the excerpt just to tempt you: "As soon as Steven left the hotel room, he made his way straight to the liquor store."

Oh Those Forums!

2008-11-08T22:49:00.000-08:00

Okay, here's the story. This is November, the month that I am supposed to be devoting to writing 50,000 words of a novel. The eighth day is now drawing to a close, and how much have I written? 1773 words.

Here is my list of excuses:

1. I am working on completing the same novel that I started last year, and so I began by editing, which removed more words than it added.

2. My work, which is always really demanding, has been absolutely crazy this past week -- immovable deadlines, the annual plan and budget projections to complete, a grumpy boss, etc., etc.

3. I'm learning to play the guitar and I have to practice.

4. I'm in a fairly new relationship, and I love spending time with my significant other (not to mention my kids, friends, and pets).

5. I spend way too much time reading and contributing to the writing forums.

That's it -- now back to the novel...

NaNoWriMo

2008-10-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

Books are never finished. They are merely abandoned.
Oscar Wilde

November is National Novel Writing Month. My novel-in-progress is a little over 60,000 words, mostly written last November. I am trying to figure out how I am going to steal a little time each day from my 70 hour work week to write again during November. The novel needs to be nudged along. I would rather abandon it in a more complete state than the way it is now, in promising pieces.

The Horn Book Podcasts

2008-10-04T16:28:00.000-07:00

I just found this site which has great podcasts about children's books: The Horn Book Podcasts.

Grow local

2008-09-29T23:43:00.000-07:00

Today the sun shone, and although it is nearly the end of September, it was as warm and summery as August. I harvested the last of my carrots (small, stunted things. Note to self -- next year plant them farther apart or thin them). Then I canned them as dilled carrot pickles.

I also picked tomatoes, onions, kale, potatoes, and parsley, which I prepared for dinner. I picked some apples off one of my apple trees, and had hoped to make an apple dessert, and/or boil them up for jelly, but ran out of time. Oh well -- tomorrow's task (after work).

It is very satisfying to grow our own food, harvest it, and eat it.

A Frustrated Artist

2008-09-24T23:32:00.000-07:00

I was looking at Chirtie's art on her blog again tonight. It brings a rush of feelings -- awe at her creativity that she shares so generously; curiosity to read about and view the techniques she explores; hunger to pick up my paintbrush; and . . . sadness.

Yes, I am sad. I am not painting. I haven't touched a canvas in ??4 years. I yearn to paint again -- to do any art. But whenever I get the creative urge, a big, huge wall impedes me. It is a wall of hopelessness. The wall is made of stones of excessive overwork.

This is what happens. An idea for a cool project pops into my head. Or maybe I see some new art material and think that I would like to try using it. And then, immediately, the voice in my head speaks to me in dire tones and says, "There is no point in even starting. You have no time to paint. Other projects you have started *years ago* are sitting around the house, unfinished, gathering dust. You can't do everything. You can't do art."

I should know all about this creativity-destroying nasty anti-art voice, because I am also a writer, and I have worked very hard to nurture my writerly self and protect it from the voice of doubt. And I *am* writing. (That god for that!)

But I also am caught in a loop of way too much work, and it takes a great amount of effort to even carve a little space in it to have a life. And that little space does not seem big enough for my artist's soul. I don't want a bite -- I want a meal. So if I can't have the meal, I won't even take a bite.

How's that for a sad, sad, circle?

Art Wall

2008-09-09T12:25:00.001-07:00

This photo is of a floor-to-ceiling ceramic wall at the Royal Tyrell Museum in Drumheller, Alberta, Canada

Cool Art Blog

2008-08-21T09:20:00.000-07:00

I wanted to share this cool art blog called Chirtopolis. This great sunflower painting posted there was done by an Edmonton artist and teacher. As well she has posted pieces of art produced by elementary school students.

Dr Sock

On the Road>

2008-08-16T18:21:00.000-07:00

I have been travelling south and east for two weeks in a thirty-year-old motor home with my partner and my teenage son. We have been fishing, hiking, and mountain biking, far from civilization and out of range of cell phones and the Internet. After several days, we head into a town or city, visit, shop, eat, and connect, then retreat again to the bush.

Right now, we are visiting friends at their rural lakeside home for a few days. We have enjoyed good food, red wine, and conversation. One of the friends is about to leave on a week-long canoe trip, so my partner has spent much of the day helping him prepare his boat for the trip. We have joked about role reversal, as the two men sit sewing a sail, and the two women lounge in lawn chairs, reading and drinking beer.

Tomorrow, we will depart, and head for the mountains. Then, we'll attend a music festival, then travel to a city where I have to attend a meeting, and then we'll drive back home. I am glad to spend three weeks this August travelling, as soon it will be September, and my work will be very busy, and there will be little time for contemplation.

Holidays -- It would be nice if more of our time was holiday time and less was work time. But, I guess that is called "retirement."

Gideon Sockpuppet

Dr Sock gets her feet wet

2008-07-25T23:08:00.000-07:00

Tonight gideon sockpuppet, aka Dr Sock, dips in a toe. Picture this: it is a stripy sock-clad foot with individual repositories for each striped toe. And what will Dr Sock talk about in her little blog in the big global ocean of blogs? Hmmm. Writing. People. Love. Life. Art. And, of course, food. I leave you with the first few lines of a poem that I have just started. . . any suggestions about how to proceed?

memory becomes unanchored
did I climb to the birdman's tin shack
on a cliff above the river, two black eyes
blank toward tidal flats
each broken rung slippery
with tears or rain
or