Santa Claus
The dhredel
Christmas trees
Pomegranites
The Nativity
All of them are symbols of the holiday season. Hanukkah, Yule, Christmas, Kwanza - December is a sacred month for several belief systems. Understanding why some thing are relevant, and to which belief system can be a challenge for any child, even more so for an autistic child who has trouble making connections.
My friend asked me to search for one book that explained all of the season's stories in simple easy to understand language. She wanted a book that not only dealt with the belief systems but also discussed the numerous stories that are told at this time of year - Father Christmas, Black Pete, and Frosty just to name the first three that popped into my head.
I couldn't find such a book. So my challenge to you, and myself, is to share a holiday story or tradition. I'm going to spend the year gathering them all together(a task I suspect could actually take much longer) as a gift for my friend's son next year. Different cultures celebrate in a multitude of ways. This young man, is questioning all of them. I'd like to give him some answers.
Have a wonderful holiday season!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Need to know
Lani Diane Rich is a wonderful time sink for me. Her books and blogs always make me think, and laugh. Or laugh and think. It doesn't matter in which order but there's insight mixed in with the amusing bits.
The other day she wrote this about a self published book that is brilliant. It's called Need to Know by Christine Merrill. And I got sucked into the excerpt on Christine's website. So deeply entranced was I that I was almost late for work.
Need to know is a self published book by a published author. Apparently the book defies marketing's ability to slot it into genres. It's a little bit of several things. It's unfortunate that publishing has those parameters because they're losing a great story. It's fast-paced, descriptive and I was hooked right away. It is a good read. But don't believe me, or Lani. Go check it out for yourself. Then go tell Christine.
John Grisham started out self-published and selling books out of his car trunk. It's a lot faster, and less suspicious, to use the Internet these days to help Christine sell copies.
The other day she wrote this about a self published book that is brilliant. It's called Need to Know by Christine Merrill. And I got sucked into the excerpt on Christine's website. So deeply entranced was I that I was almost late for work.
Need to know is a self published book by a published author. Apparently the book defies marketing's ability to slot it into genres. It's a little bit of several things. It's unfortunate that publishing has those parameters because they're losing a great story. It's fast-paced, descriptive and I was hooked right away. It is a good read. But don't believe me, or Lani. Go check it out for yourself. Then go tell Christine.
John Grisham started out self-published and selling books out of his car trunk. It's a lot faster, and less suspicious, to use the Internet these days to help Christine sell copies.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Creativity
I've been crazy busy trying to get all of my holiday gifts made. Playing with lots of fibre and yarn has fed my creativity quite a bit in the last few weeks. Something about all of that colour and texture just makes me happy.
On Sunday I went to the Fiber Garden - and didn't buy a thing.
The guys had some beautiful fibre - bison, Icelandic and targhee. There were several skeins of merino hand dye that I adored but they were laceweight. I'm not proficient in lace yet.
One of the other things that stopped me was the realization that I have two writing projects that desperately need my attention. My spinning wheel inspires a great deal of material for the sweater book but even she's been silent the last couple of weeks. Until all of the holiday gifts are complete I have to manage my time very carefully.
One thing I've been sure to do is spend a few minutes every day with my writing. I've alternated between Heal Casey and Hell to Pay. Not much gets done by this method but progress, no matter how minor, is a step forward instead of standing still.
Right now my creativity is racing in many different directions. I'll let you know where it all leads.
On Sunday I went to the Fiber Garden - and didn't buy a thing.
The guys had some beautiful fibre - bison, Icelandic and targhee. There were several skeins of merino hand dye that I adored but they were laceweight. I'm not proficient in lace yet.
One of the other things that stopped me was the realization that I have two writing projects that desperately need my attention. My spinning wheel inspires a great deal of material for the sweater book but even she's been silent the last couple of weeks. Until all of the holiday gifts are complete I have to manage my time very carefully.
One thing I've been sure to do is spend a few minutes every day with my writing. I've alternated between Heal Casey and Hell to Pay. Not much gets done by this method but progress, no matter how minor, is a step forward instead of standing still.
Right now my creativity is racing in many different directions. I'll let you know where it all leads.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Reasons I haven't written this week
I've knit four scarves, two hats and one shawl.
Casey just did a head stand in order to fit the entire earth in his mouth. He used his brace slightly for leverage. Ky has the world now.
Gene Kelly in a sport coat wandering the fields of Scotland. (Brigadoon)
Cary Grant striding up the gangplank in a full suit and tie, complete with hat (Houseboat)
Fred and Ginger. Forget Dancing with the Stars - these two set the standard over seventy years ago.
All that romance, gentlemanliness and grace have made it difficult to look at my crude demon with any enthusiasm. Truth be told, those movies were great research. I need to get away from the hard core erotic word choices in some of my scenes. They give the wrong flavour for the book. These three classic movie stars may be old-fashioned but their wit and style are full of taste.
I'll get back to Hell to Pay shortly. Right after I watch North by Northwest
Casey just did a head stand in order to fit the entire earth in his mouth. He used his brace slightly for leverage. Ky has the world now.
Gene Kelly in a sport coat wandering the fields of Scotland. (Brigadoon)
Cary Grant striding up the gangplank in a full suit and tie, complete with hat (Houseboat)
Fred and Ginger. Forget Dancing with the Stars - these two set the standard over seventy years ago.
All that romance, gentlemanliness and grace have made it difficult to look at my crude demon with any enthusiasm. Truth be told, those movies were great research. I need to get away from the hard core erotic word choices in some of my scenes. They give the wrong flavour for the book. These three classic movie stars may be old-fashioned but their wit and style are full of taste.
I'll get back to Hell to Pay shortly. Right after I watch North by Northwest
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Computer vacation
I've taken a serious vacation from my computer the past week. I've been editing on hard copy. There's something about all the handwritten words scribbled in purple all over the neatly typed pages. It's a visual cue that the story is gaining substance. While I still haven't settled onto one project, progress is being made on both fronts.
I don't know about you but when so much is going on inside my head, I get quieter. I can chitchat with the best of them but once it's time to get down to work, I do it. Less time is spent in my own conversations when I'm listening to my characters. I used to process out loud. The sound of my own voice often led me to some interesting insights.
I'm not sure what changed but lately I need silence. I need the peace that comes from the hearing pen scrape across the page. The crisp Autumn air fills my lungs, the rain splashes against the leaves and my brain gets to work. Perhaps it's the continued mild weather. Perhaps it's the noise in the rest of my life. Whatever caused this new working method, I have no real desire to examine it too closely. It's working. I'll switch it up if this stops.
In the meantime, don't expect much in the way of profound thoughts. I'm distracted with the work in front of me.
I don't know about you but when so much is going on inside my head, I get quieter. I can chitchat with the best of them but once it's time to get down to work, I do it. Less time is spent in my own conversations when I'm listening to my characters. I used to process out loud. The sound of my own voice often led me to some interesting insights.
I'm not sure what changed but lately I need silence. I need the peace that comes from the hearing pen scrape across the page. The crisp Autumn air fills my lungs, the rain splashes against the leaves and my brain gets to work. Perhaps it's the continued mild weather. Perhaps it's the noise in the rest of my life. Whatever caused this new working method, I have no real desire to examine it too closely. It's working. I'll switch it up if this stops.
In the meantime, don't expect much in the way of profound thoughts. I'm distracted with the work in front of me.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Platitudes
"Confidence - fake it til you feel it."
"If you don't believe in yourself, no one else will." Which is usually followed by "It's not rocket science. Anybody can write a book."
It's amazing to me that we even continue to write. Through life dramas, illness, jobs, and day-to-day living, authors still carve out enough time in their day,whether it's pre-dawn or past the witching hour, to create little worlds in which the rest of us can escape.
I'm sure you could sense my growing despondence with the lack of progress in my own writing career. A lot of it was generated by unrelated issues that crept into all aspects of my life. While most people were encouraging about the writing, one friend was about two sentences away from sharing the idea of monkeys producing Shakespeare, aka the 10,000 monkey theorem.
That's when I took a good hard look at why I write; at the sense of accomplishment I feel when the story is told; how powerful it is to create worlds and manipulate characters; how satisfying it is to have total control over that one aspect of my life, whether it comes to my attitude, commitment, dedication or schedule.
What drives me back to the computer time and again is not the platitudes plastered all over office walls and self-help books, but rather the need to know where my imaginary friends are going and how they're going to get there.
Both my curiosity and imagination must be appeased.
"If you don't believe in yourself, no one else will." Which is usually followed by "It's not rocket science. Anybody can write a book."
It's amazing to me that we even continue to write. Through life dramas, illness, jobs, and day-to-day living, authors still carve out enough time in their day,whether it's pre-dawn or past the witching hour, to create little worlds in which the rest of us can escape.
I'm sure you could sense my growing despondence with the lack of progress in my own writing career. A lot of it was generated by unrelated issues that crept into all aspects of my life. While most people were encouraging about the writing, one friend was about two sentences away from sharing the idea of monkeys producing Shakespeare, aka the 10,000 monkey theorem.
That's when I took a good hard look at why I write; at the sense of accomplishment I feel when the story is told; how powerful it is to create worlds and manipulate characters; how satisfying it is to have total control over that one aspect of my life, whether it comes to my attitude, commitment, dedication or schedule.
What drives me back to the computer time and again is not the platitudes plastered all over office walls and self-help books, but rather the need to know where my imaginary friends are going and how they're going to get there.
Both my curiosity and imagination must be appeased.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Dilemma
I spent the afternoon at The Purple Purl with great friends. On the car ride up, a passionate conversation ensued about the sweater book. Book or film? What serves the story better? How best should it be told? Think of all the colours. They are so rich and visual.
Once there, other conversations quickly took precedence while I gave Stashaholic the opportunity to convert more wondering souls to the beauty of spinning. She had a few new drop spindles that made their way into my bag. Sadly, she made me give them back.
I pulled out my Icelandic wool and own heartier drop spindle to show my film buddy. She's always argued for the film version of the sweater book and today was no exception. How could mere words capture the textures and vibrancy of the fleece, yarn and community in which we were immersed?
I'm truly torn. There are compelling arguments for both mediums. Pen and paper are readily available; not to mention self-reliant. It's just me and my thoughts to consider. The film requires a crew and budget to accommodate a trip to Iceland for all of us.
The thing is I have the entire synopsis broken down into scenes, turning points, and character arcs which can be tweaked for either/or. Finally my friend turned to me and spewed the very words I fed her back in May at HotDocs "Write a proposal." Maybe that will help clarify the dilemma. I hope so.
Once there, other conversations quickly took precedence while I gave Stashaholic the opportunity to convert more wondering souls to the beauty of spinning. She had a few new drop spindles that made their way into my bag. Sadly, she made me give them back.
I pulled out my Icelandic wool and own heartier drop spindle to show my film buddy. She's always argued for the film version of the sweater book and today was no exception. How could mere words capture the textures and vibrancy of the fleece, yarn and community in which we were immersed?
I'm truly torn. There are compelling arguments for both mediums. Pen and paper are readily available; not to mention self-reliant. It's just me and my thoughts to consider. The film requires a crew and budget to accommodate a trip to Iceland for all of us.
The thing is I have the entire synopsis broken down into scenes, turning points, and character arcs which can be tweaked for either/or. Finally my friend turned to me and spewed the very words I fed her back in May at HotDocs "Write a proposal." Maybe that will help clarify the dilemma. I hope so.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Contemplating
When something doesn't work it's madness to continue. That's not to say one should shift goals but rather the method by which one hopes to obtain those goals. Our local's writer's group did a wonderful experiment several years ago to increase one's productivity. We each made a list of our writing limitations (ie. I can only write on the computer as the click of the keys triggers a creative response) After examining the list our challenge was to write in as many different venues, with as many different tools(pen, paper,sand, branch,pencil, etc.) as possible. Productivity for the group overall increased and mine was shot from a cannon now that I didn't need the laptop.
I feel that I'm standing at another crossroads. For the past year I've been writing something completely different - Casey's non-fiction story. It's hard work, no two ways about it. In one sense I'm merely recording the healing process but in another I'm analyzing our interaction, studying what works and what doesn't then evaluating our roles in all of it. I can't hide behind fiction but have to stare the bald truth in the face and acknowledge the ways in which I've failed as well how I've helped triumph. Honesty is painful.
At the same time, it helps people connect to the subject matter immediately. As soon as you read first person, you're immersed in the story. As a reader and a writer, my preference is for third person. I like omniscience. I'm the person, who not only wants to know everything, often thinks she does.
In the last year as I've worked on Casey's story, while playing with another paranormal and a women's fiction, I've noticed my reading habits have undergone a huge transformation. One of my favourite books in that time frame was The Host. I was shocked at how quickly, and deeply, I identified with the main character given that it was written in first person by an alien. One of my other favourite series was Outlander, also first person. And let's not forget The Art of Racing in the Rain" - another first person point-of-view, even if it is a dog's.
All of which leads me to the conclusion that if readers aren't connecting with my third person protagonists, perhaps it's time to consider first person. That's a daunting task for someone who likes to be omniscient.
I feel that I'm standing at another crossroads. For the past year I've been writing something completely different - Casey's non-fiction story. It's hard work, no two ways about it. In one sense I'm merely recording the healing process but in another I'm analyzing our interaction, studying what works and what doesn't then evaluating our roles in all of it. I can't hide behind fiction but have to stare the bald truth in the face and acknowledge the ways in which I've failed as well how I've helped triumph. Honesty is painful.
At the same time, it helps people connect to the subject matter immediately. As soon as you read first person, you're immersed in the story. As a reader and a writer, my preference is for third person. I like omniscience. I'm the person, who not only wants to know everything, often thinks she does.
In the last year as I've worked on Casey's story, while playing with another paranormal and a women's fiction, I've noticed my reading habits have undergone a huge transformation. One of my favourite books in that time frame was The Host. I was shocked at how quickly, and deeply, I identified with the main character given that it was written in first person by an alien. One of my other favourite series was Outlander, also first person. And let's not forget The Art of Racing in the Rain" - another first person point-of-view, even if it is a dog's.
All of which leads me to the conclusion that if readers aren't connecting with my third person protagonists, perhaps it's time to consider first person. That's a daunting task for someone who likes to be omniscient.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Nomads
Everyone knows the old adage, "write what you know". My characters are nomads. Most of them haven't lived in a place longer than five years, and most view homes are transitory places of abode. One is just the same as the next. Their attachments are to people not houses. Nea takes that to the next level by not residing anywhere.
I'm not quite that bad but I did grow up on the move. Military families are like that. One never knows when marching orders will come in or where they are sending you. Apart from family and prized possessions, it's a new life every few years.
I'm not only third generation Canadian but my great-grandparents weren't exactly stationary back in Scotland either. My paternal great-grandmother moved every few years as well. The only two siblings who were born in the same village as each other were the twins. Given that great great Grandpa Campbell married a MacDonald may account for some of that moving. But for the most part, I think I just came from people with a low boredom threshold. Both maternal and paternal grandparents changed residences several times in their lifetimes.
As much as I love this area of Niagara, as much as I consider it home and always have (most of my paternal family settled in and around here) we're not exactly well known in the community. We can't trace our lineage back to the founding of the town.
My Dad's cousin's family settled here a little more solidly than our branch. They owned and operated a butcher shop on the main street that it seems like half the town worked for at one point or another in their life. They were support beams, not pillars, for the church. The minister went so far as to call my Aunt Marg a saint the other day at her funeral. Their roots were firmly settled into the ground here. When someone expressed surprise the other day that I was related to them, that they were my people, I felt this clutch in my belly. I was able to see my context in the web of this small town. It was both unfamiliar and welcome.
In that moment, I truly understood what is missing from Nea's life. What few tenuous connections she does have to people and places have all been torn from her. I'm not writing what I know but rather what I thought I knew. What a relief. Who wants to live like a rejected demon?
I'm not quite that bad but I did grow up on the move. Military families are like that. One never knows when marching orders will come in or where they are sending you. Apart from family and prized possessions, it's a new life every few years.
I'm not only third generation Canadian but my great-grandparents weren't exactly stationary back in Scotland either. My paternal great-grandmother moved every few years as well. The only two siblings who were born in the same village as each other were the twins. Given that great great Grandpa Campbell married a MacDonald may account for some of that moving. But for the most part, I think I just came from people with a low boredom threshold. Both maternal and paternal grandparents changed residences several times in their lifetimes.
As much as I love this area of Niagara, as much as I consider it home and always have (most of my paternal family settled in and around here) we're not exactly well known in the community. We can't trace our lineage back to the founding of the town.
My Dad's cousin's family settled here a little more solidly than our branch. They owned and operated a butcher shop on the main street that it seems like half the town worked for at one point or another in their life. They were support beams, not pillars, for the church. The minister went so far as to call my Aunt Marg a saint the other day at her funeral. Their roots were firmly settled into the ground here. When someone expressed surprise the other day that I was related to them, that they were my people, I felt this clutch in my belly. I was able to see my context in the web of this small town. It was both unfamiliar and welcome.
In that moment, I truly understood what is missing from Nea's life. What few tenuous connections she does have to people and places have all been torn from her. I'm not writing what I know but rather what I thought I knew. What a relief. Who wants to live like a rejected demon?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Connections
I was remiss with a post last week because I was enjoying good friends and great conversation on Stingray Point in Virgina. I'm so used to Internet connections all over the place that I didn't prewrite my post to automatically publish on Sunday. I just assumed (always dangerous) that I could post from the cottage.
While I was away, I did absolutely no writing, not a single word scribbled down, despite the ever present Casey journal and a stack of paper in the living room. What I did was listen to my friends talk about books. There was literally a two hour discussion of a Linda Howard book that her avid fans didn't enjoy. They analyzed what they liked and didn't, why they forgave her that one book and made allowances for trigger points that the author knew nothing about. Those readers have a strong connection to that author's work. They enjoy not only her characters and storylines but her writing style as well.
Robin Sorrentino is a brilliant storyteller. Sitting in a circle of Adirondack chairs and listening to her describe the next project, George's Book, was so much fun. She pointed out the island across the way which served as inspirtation, used her entire body to describe his journey and made us laugh with all of her research questions. We might not all be agile enough to hide out in the trunk of a car but we'd all fit. Just not all at the same time.
It was fascinating to listen to everyone share their love for reading; for good books and excellent story-telling. At any given time over the weekend you could enter any room of the cottage and see someone reading. There were even a few occasions when one person would be reading aloud to others.
As a writer, stuck alone in the attic with only your characters for company, it's easy to lose track of your audience. We get so focused on the words on the page, on making a particular scene shine or another scene come to vivid heart-stopping life, that we lose sight of who we're bleeding on the page for.
It's one thing to write for yourself; and honestly I'm my first reader, I need to feel/enjoy/engage with my project. In order to be a successful author, the connections have to radiate across the sky to bathe a multitude of readers in the warm glow.
That awareness came home with me. I was able to keep an open mind when Kate, my brilliant critique partner, told me how difficult it was to connect with Nea. Demons by their very nature are not sympathetic creatures. Understanding what made her so nasty might make it easier for the Reader to go on this journey with her. So the prologue is written.
Casey is so darn easy to connect with that his story naturally flows. As his journey is ongoing, the challenge will be knowing when to stop writing and just continue to live with him.
While I was away, I did absolutely no writing, not a single word scribbled down, despite the ever present Casey journal and a stack of paper in the living room. What I did was listen to my friends talk about books. There was literally a two hour discussion of a Linda Howard book that her avid fans didn't enjoy. They analyzed what they liked and didn't, why they forgave her that one book and made allowances for trigger points that the author knew nothing about. Those readers have a strong connection to that author's work. They enjoy not only her characters and storylines but her writing style as well.
Robin Sorrentino is a brilliant storyteller. Sitting in a circle of Adirondack chairs and listening to her describe the next project, George's Book, was so much fun. She pointed out the island across the way which served as inspirtation, used her entire body to describe his journey and made us laugh with all of her research questions. We might not all be agile enough to hide out in the trunk of a car but we'd all fit. Just not all at the same time.
It was fascinating to listen to everyone share their love for reading; for good books and excellent story-telling. At any given time over the weekend you could enter any room of the cottage and see someone reading. There were even a few occasions when one person would be reading aloud to others.
As a writer, stuck alone in the attic with only your characters for company, it's easy to lose track of your audience. We get so focused on the words on the page, on making a particular scene shine or another scene come to vivid heart-stopping life, that we lose sight of who we're bleeding on the page for.
It's one thing to write for yourself; and honestly I'm my first reader, I need to feel/enjoy/engage with my project. In order to be a successful author, the connections have to radiate across the sky to bathe a multitude of readers in the warm glow.
That awareness came home with me. I was able to keep an open mind when Kate, my brilliant critique partner, told me how difficult it was to connect with Nea. Demons by their very nature are not sympathetic creatures. Understanding what made her so nasty might make it easier for the Reader to go on this journey with her. So the prologue is written.
Casey is so darn easy to connect with that his story naturally flows. As his journey is ongoing, the challenge will be knowing when to stop writing and just continue to live with him.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Soundtracks
I'm sitting upstairs at my desk, listening to Ky barking his head off (what a visual) at the apartment door. Casey had raced up the stairs and had his head poking through the cat door. He has a strong need to be acknowledged by me first thing every morning.
Right now I can hear him playing downstairs in my parents' living room. He has this funny step-clump stride that comes from the brace hitting the floor. The only time he is silent is when the brace is off. I can hear him pounce on his toys, the crash of the bookcase when he flings his stuffed bear into it and the step-clump bounce move that he does when he's playing ball.
My dad claims he likes to balance his earth-shaped Planet Dog ball on top of the Pilates ball. I've never seen it myself but nothing would surprise me where Casey is concerned.
I mention all this because it's an interesting back drop of sound while I work on the first draft of his story. Unlike my other work, this one is ongoing. Even when I'm not at the computer recording Casey's progress we're living the book. It's happening right now as I type. Sometimes I have to stop writing and go experience it.
When I listen to him play, or watch him leap across the room onto Ky or hear the distinct step-clump on the wooden stairs outside my door I'm reminded that Casey's story isn't just about the medical. It's about what it means to live with him. Day in, day out, through frustration and triumph, he's a blur of energy and exuberance. All he cares about is playing with his pack, getting his belly rubbed or leaning on his people. Figuratively and literally.
Step-clump. Step-clump. Step-clumpstep-clumpstep-clump. This is the soundtrack for his book.
Right now I can hear him playing downstairs in my parents' living room. He has this funny step-clump stride that comes from the brace hitting the floor. The only time he is silent is when the brace is off. I can hear him pounce on his toys, the crash of the bookcase when he flings his stuffed bear into it and the step-clump bounce move that he does when he's playing ball.
My dad claims he likes to balance his earth-shaped Planet Dog ball on top of the Pilates ball. I've never seen it myself but nothing would surprise me where Casey is concerned.
I mention all this because it's an interesting back drop of sound while I work on the first draft of his story. Unlike my other work, this one is ongoing. Even when I'm not at the computer recording Casey's progress we're living the book. It's happening right now as I type. Sometimes I have to stop writing and go experience it.
When I listen to him play, or watch him leap across the room onto Ky or hear the distinct step-clump on the wooden stairs outside my door I'm reminded that Casey's story isn't just about the medical. It's about what it means to live with him. Day in, day out, through frustration and triumph, he's a blur of energy and exuberance. All he cares about is playing with his pack, getting his belly rubbed or leaning on his people. Figuratively and literally.
Step-clump. Step-clump. Step-clumpstep-clumpstep-clump. This is the soundtrack for his book.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
New goals
Hell to Pay is off with my critique partner. I am confident she is completely engrossed and unable to put it down for even the tiniest of instants.
In other news, Stashaholic is visiting this weekend. Which of course means we had to got play with yarn and fibre. A wonderful shop opened up in Jordan Village last week. It's a spinner's delight. The Fibre Garden has a wide range of sheep fleece (we found the Scottish Blackface that I picked up from a field in Scotland) as well as bamboo, silk, corn and milk fibres. I bought a lovely ruby red bamboo to spin with Ky's soft black and white fur. Casey may be telling his story but Ky's creating a sweater. No, it will not have that wet dog smell.
As always, a visit with Stashaholic results in good conversation, our own stimulus of the local economy and a renewed fervor to write the sweater book. The research stage has been a lot of fun.
While I play with our purchases, my next writing goal is to finish the first draft of Casey's story. In the next two weeks. My darling nephew is moving west this week so I'll need a big distraction. I can meet that goal.
Which title do you like best?
Heal, Casey
Casey Heal
Heal Casey, Casey Heal
In other news, Stashaholic is visiting this weekend. Which of course means we had to got play with yarn and fibre. A wonderful shop opened up in Jordan Village last week. It's a spinner's delight. The Fibre Garden has a wide range of sheep fleece (we found the Scottish Blackface that I picked up from a field in Scotland) as well as bamboo, silk, corn and milk fibres. I bought a lovely ruby red bamboo to spin with Ky's soft black and white fur. Casey may be telling his story but Ky's creating a sweater. No, it will not have that wet dog smell.
As always, a visit with Stashaholic results in good conversation, our own stimulus of the local economy and a renewed fervor to write the sweater book. The research stage has been a lot of fun.
While I play with our purchases, my next writing goal is to finish the first draft of Casey's story. In the next two weeks. My darling nephew is moving west this week so I'll need a big distraction. I can meet that goal.
Which title do you like best?
Heal, Casey
Casey Heal
Heal Casey, Casey Heal
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Deadlines and commitments
Long before I wrote for the newspaper, I wrote to deadlines. They were usually self-imposed but they were a good practice. I still operate that way. Without a publishing contract, it would be very easy for me to write whenever I felt like it. I've certainly slid in my productivity a time or two. But this is a business as well as pleasure, so I impose deadlines.
Whenever I dally too long on research or goof off with other things, I give myself a writing goal. Last week was creeping along until I realized I had a writer's meeting tonight. So I sat down every day to input Hell to Pay from the page on to the computer. At the same time I was playing with Casey's story. I intend to have a rough draft of his saga on paper by the middle of October.
Today's deadline looms. I'm making great progress towards it. If I don't meet it then I'll finish up by Wednesday to give the ms to my critique partner later in the week. Barring the discovery of any great plot holes or character deficiencies, I'll be sending that project out at the beginning of next month.
It's important to make and meet deadlines, even self-imposed ones. That commitment to your craft can make all the difference in this business. You're more likely to get the book written.
Douglas Adams was always one of my favourite writers. But his legendary inability to make a deadline means that readers were denied a great deal more of his work. Not that I have the audacity to compare my writing to his brilliant perspective but that deadline flaw keeps me at it when I'd rather be sitting on the porch drinking a glass or three of wine. Due to Adams's sudden death in 2001, The Salmon of Doubt remains unfinished. A book published under that title contains several short stories, interviews and essays and the eleven chapters from the unfinished sequel to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It's an unsatisfying end to a story that has spanned thirty years, every medium available in his time and a great deal of joy.
It also serves as a valuable reminder to reject his famous quote, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."
Whenever I dally too long on research or goof off with other things, I give myself a writing goal. Last week was creeping along until I realized I had a writer's meeting tonight. So I sat down every day to input Hell to Pay from the page on to the computer. At the same time I was playing with Casey's story. I intend to have a rough draft of his saga on paper by the middle of October.
Today's deadline looms. I'm making great progress towards it. If I don't meet it then I'll finish up by Wednesday to give the ms to my critique partner later in the week. Barring the discovery of any great plot holes or character deficiencies, I'll be sending that project out at the beginning of next month.
It's important to make and meet deadlines, even self-imposed ones. That commitment to your craft can make all the difference in this business. You're more likely to get the book written.
Douglas Adams was always one of my favourite writers. But his legendary inability to make a deadline means that readers were denied a great deal more of his work. Not that I have the audacity to compare my writing to his brilliant perspective but that deadline flaw keeps me at it when I'd rather be sitting on the porch drinking a glass or three of wine. Due to Adams's sudden death in 2001, The Salmon of Doubt remains unfinished. A book published under that title contains several short stories, interviews and essays and the eleven chapters from the unfinished sequel to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It's an unsatisfying end to a story that has spanned thirty years, every medium available in his time and a great deal of joy.
It also serves as a valuable reminder to reject his famous quote, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Crash
After finishing the revisions on HTP last week, my productivity hit a wall. I did go to Niagara Falls and wander around Alex's place, took a few pictures and stared at the water rushing over the edge. My friend Theresa completely understood the siren call of the river but agreed that it's difficult to express the strength of that call without actually experiencing it. That conversation gave me something to consider when I'm inputting the changes this week.
Casey's story is progressing in the journal. In reality, we went for another brace adjustment and a swim. He's holding his leg up more than I think he should so I'd like to put Pilates back into his routine even though the brace gives him more flexibility now. I suspect his therapy will be ongoing throughout his life.
Wednesday was our anniversary. It's been one year since that brown bundle of fut bounced through the front door and completely rearranged our lives. There have been some tough times but all worth it to see the joy on his face as he greets each morning.
My writing goal this week is to get back to the computer and actually input all of the work I've done this month. HTP first, then Casey's journal. I can see the pages falling off the calendar. Where has this month gone?
Casey's story is progressing in the journal. In reality, we went for another brace adjustment and a swim. He's holding his leg up more than I think he should so I'd like to put Pilates back into his routine even though the brace gives him more flexibility now. I suspect his therapy will be ongoing throughout his life.
Wednesday was our anniversary. It's been one year since that brown bundle of fut bounced through the front door and completely rearranged our lives. There have been some tough times but all worth it to see the joy on his face as he greets each morning.
My writing goal this week is to get back to the computer and actually input all of the work I've done this month. HTP first, then Casey's journal. I can see the pages falling off the calendar. Where has this month gone?
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Can't talk. Writing.
I've been using Twitter (over there in the right of my sidebar) to keep track of my progress. It's been good. In fact, I might actually finish the edits on Hell to Pay late tonight or tomorrow. I've been handwriting Casey's journey. Pretty pleased with myself.
After this, I'll be inputting everything into the computer. And that's where I fall down. I've been changing desks, painting office furniture and trying to get outside to enjoy the end of summer. Who wants to be stuck at the computer any more than necessary right now?
But I set myself a challenge. To write every day for as long as Maggie Shayne is on her 40 Day Challenge. That is her non-negotiable deadline. I jumped on it for support. I'm honestly not sure where we are in the timeline but I'd guess about halfway. It's my goal to have the first draft of Casey's Journey, and the final version of HTP by the end of the 40 days.
So while it's always great to chat with you, I have some work to do. We'll talk again soon. I have to go write.
After this, I'll be inputting everything into the computer. And that's where I fall down. I've been changing desks, painting office furniture and trying to get outside to enjoy the end of summer. Who wants to be stuck at the computer any more than necessary right now?
But I set myself a challenge. To write every day for as long as Maggie Shayne is on her 40 Day Challenge. That is her non-negotiable deadline. I jumped on it for support. I'm honestly not sure where we are in the timeline but I'd guess about halfway. It's my goal to have the first draft of Casey's Journey, and the final version of HTP by the end of the 40 days.
So while it's always great to chat with you, I have some work to do. We'll talk again soon. I have to go write.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Pirating
I was driving in rush hour traffic on the DVP in Toronto the other day when a line from The Art of Racing in the Rain came to me. "The hands go where the eyes go." I couldn't remember if the quote was your hands/eyes or the hands/eyes so I looked for the book when I got home. Couldn't find it anywhere. I must have lent it to someone. I loved that book and shared it with everyone who expressed an interest. I work at a library. Lending books is something I do.
My nephew maintains that burning music is the same thing.I'm fairly rigid about copyright law. I don't want my stuff stolen so why would I steal? Karma pretty much rules my life. Burning music and movies is not the same as sharing a book. I've had many a debate with friends and family on the subject of pirating. The word "pirating" doesn't say it all?
In the case of books, either the library or I have bought and paid for those books,CDs and movies. In several cases, we've paid for a special license in order to share them. When you rip a file onto your computer, the artist/publisher/studio wasn't reimbursed for that property. And if everyone pirates and no one pays then the artist/publisher/studio will go bankrupt. In that scenario there are no more books/music/movies. It's a simplified black and white equation. There have been many arguments made for pirating. I just don't buy any of them.
I am constantly amazed at the number of artists/performers/writers who pirate other people's work. I don't understand it. If you really don't want to pay for that article, then go take it out of the library. Don't steal it off the Internet. If you want to share it with someone then tell them where to get it or buy it for them as a gift.
Is pirating different from taping/TiVoing/DVRing your favourite television show? Those shows aren't for sale. Revenue isn't being lost, unless you count the fact that people zip through the commercials. Is the primary difference borrowing versus keeping?
The sale of Intellectual Property, is hotly debated by people far smarter than I. Computers and the Internet make everything so accessible. That doesn't make it right to take. Educate yourself.
Jumping down off today's soapbox. Kinda high. Anyone want to sell a ladder?
After writing the above I went surfing and stumbled across this post that explained it all from an author's perspective. Piracy sunk a series.
My nephew maintains that burning music is the same thing.I'm fairly rigid about copyright law. I don't want my stuff stolen so why would I steal? Karma pretty much rules my life. Burning music and movies is not the same as sharing a book. I've had many a debate with friends and family on the subject of pirating. The word "pirating" doesn't say it all?
In the case of books, either the library or I have bought and paid for those books,CDs and movies. In several cases, we've paid for a special license in order to share them. When you rip a file onto your computer, the artist/publisher/studio wasn't reimbursed for that property. And if everyone pirates and no one pays then the artist/publisher/studio will go bankrupt. In that scenario there are no more books/music/movies. It's a simplified black and white equation. There have been many arguments made for pirating. I just don't buy any of them.
I am constantly amazed at the number of artists/performers/writers who pirate other people's work. I don't understand it. If you really don't want to pay for that article, then go take it out of the library. Don't steal it off the Internet. If you want to share it with someone then tell them where to get it or buy it for them as a gift.
Is pirating different from taping/TiVoing/DVRing your favourite television show? Those shows aren't for sale. Revenue isn't being lost, unless you count the fact that people zip through the commercials. Is the primary difference borrowing versus keeping?
The sale of Intellectual Property, is hotly debated by people far smarter than I. Computers and the Internet make everything so accessible. That doesn't make it right to take. Educate yourself.
Jumping down off today's soapbox. Kinda high. Anyone want to sell a ladder?
After writing the above I went surfing and stumbled across this post that explained it all from an author's perspective. Piracy sunk a series.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Unexpected sources
One of the things this week has reminded me of is the fact that the more frequently you write, the more productive you are. Not just because obviously you're increasing your output by sheer persistence but also because you gain momentum.
That said, I've just spent a significant portion of the day outside trying to repair my pond. It's leaking but darned if I can find the source of it. In an effort to see all four sides of the structure, I ripped out some weeds, a giant pumpkin plant that had migrated from who knows where and long vines of honeysuckle that trailed into the pond.
I don't wear gardening gloves. I love the feel of dirt squishing between my fingers and beneath my nails. I like separating roots by feel rather than tugging til they snap. I enjoy the green stain from crushed leaves and the way my skin carries that aroma long past a thorough scrubbing with soap and water. There are disadvantages to that practice.
Today I learned that honeysuckle is stronger than I thought. It sliced across my fingertips and my palm when I tried tugging one tender young vine from the ground. Holy smokes, it was tough. You could make rope out of it. Or use it to garrote someone(I'm reading Jeffrey Deaver novel at the moment). My fingers are screaming at me.
Because I've been in writing mode (diligently making my goal every night before bed, if not sooner) I wondered about other plants and how they could be used as weapons. While Bracken and Bryna have been shoved to the background, I couldn't help but think of the world they inhabit and how they would use the resources at hand. But if the plants are living things, would the H/H sacrifice the vegetation to stop their enemy?
Shoot. I did not want to get sucked into their story. I've been doing great this week with Casey's. But I love when one unrelated activity leads me back to writing.
That said, I've just spent a significant portion of the day outside trying to repair my pond. It's leaking but darned if I can find the source of it. In an effort to see all four sides of the structure, I ripped out some weeds, a giant pumpkin plant that had migrated from who knows where and long vines of honeysuckle that trailed into the pond.
I don't wear gardening gloves. I love the feel of dirt squishing between my fingers and beneath my nails. I like separating roots by feel rather than tugging til they snap. I enjoy the green stain from crushed leaves and the way my skin carries that aroma long past a thorough scrubbing with soap and water. There are disadvantages to that practice.
Today I learned that honeysuckle is stronger than I thought. It sliced across my fingertips and my palm when I tried tugging one tender young vine from the ground. Holy smokes, it was tough. You could make rope out of it. Or use it to garrote someone(I'm reading Jeffrey Deaver novel at the moment). My fingers are screaming at me.
Because I've been in writing mode (diligently making my goal every night before bed, if not sooner) I wondered about other plants and how they could be used as weapons. While Bracken and Bryna have been shoved to the background, I couldn't help but think of the world they inhabit and how they would use the resources at hand. But if the plants are living things, would the H/H sacrifice the vegetation to stop their enemy?
Shoot. I did not want to get sucked into their story. I've been doing great this week with Casey's. But I love when one unrelated activity leads me back to writing.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
I just spent a great twenty-four hours with my friend Elen. We talked about writing, drank wine, ate real stovetop popcorn and brainstormed. One of the things I enjoy most about her company is Elen's word choices. She used reciprocity in a sentence in such a way that I rolled that word around in my head all morning long. She inspires me to step up my game and stretch my vocabulary. She renews my faith in humanity, in writers, in the industry. She reminds me that writers are some of the most prolific readers as well and that if we can entertain each other we're doing well.
I showed her my spindle and Icelandic fleece. We discussed the sweater book in detail as well as the way I'm being pulled in at least three different directions. Elen had some great suggestions for how to deal with that. I'll explore those over the next few days and see how viable they all are.
We also spent a considerable amount of time poring over each other's vacation photos as well as Jon Gustaffson's photography. He's quite talented and should update his website more often. Regardless, his creativity never fails to ignite mine.
All of that combined to send me home with a renewed enthusiasm and purpose for writing. I have several different avenues to explore as well as a concrete plan and some goals.
Maggie Shayne is writing a book in forty days - and blogging about the process. You all know how much I love a writing challenge. She's doing a great job of meeting her daily goal. So I'm going to play along at home. From now until Maggie reaches her goal, I'm going to write, or edit, five pages a day. Once in a writing regimen, it will be easier to stay on track.
It begins tomorrow. Anyone else want to join in?
I showed her my spindle and Icelandic fleece. We discussed the sweater book in detail as well as the way I'm being pulled in at least three different directions. Elen had some great suggestions for how to deal with that. I'll explore those over the next few days and see how viable they all are.
We also spent a considerable amount of time poring over each other's vacation photos as well as Jon Gustaffson's photography. He's quite talented and should update his website more often. Regardless, his creativity never fails to ignite mine.
All of that combined to send me home with a renewed enthusiasm and purpose for writing. I have several different avenues to explore as well as a concrete plan and some goals.
Maggie Shayne is writing a book in forty days - and blogging about the process. You all know how much I love a writing challenge. She's doing a great job of meeting her daily goal. So I'm going to play along at home. From now until Maggie reaches her goal, I'm going to write, or edit, five pages a day. Once in a writing regimen, it will be easier to stay on track.
It begins tomorrow. Anyone else want to join in?
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Write what you know
For the past fifteen years, I've been trying to think of how to write bout an interesting four month period in my life. One of my concerns was libel but if I only told my part of the story I might be able to avoid that. I've never be sure where to start. Chronological makes the most sense but isn't necessarily the most interesting. I tried fictionalizing it once but got frustrated when what really happened messed with my plot, or vice versa. So I turned it into a great ice-breaker conversation at parties or with people that intimidated me.
For reasons beyond my control, and against any sane rational arguments, I had lions and a tiger living in the garage where I lived. It was a very bad idea, and poorly managed but the cats and I did our best with what we had. I'm not sure if it was the sound of my voice, the companionship or the subject material but they would listen intently every night, gathering to the ends of the pen where I sat on the haystack reading Outlander by Diana Gabaldon.
This week I lost my last tangible link to that time frame. Hera, the tiny little Tabby cat that taught me everything I know about felines, succumbed to kidney failure. That's her in the header when she was about a week away from giving birth to four kittens. Seriously. She was always tiny.
She was a stray living in my neighbour's barn when she first crawled beneath my garage door. Fortunately, I was in there tending to the lions. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough to scoop her up. One of the guys who was supposed to look after the big cats, grabbed the kitten and stuck her in front of the adolescent male lion's face. Zeus sniffed the kitten and she retaliated by popping him on the nose with her wee paw. He was horrified and jumped to the back of his pen.
Eventually I had to keep her in the house because she was fascinated by Zeus and his sister (that's his tail in the left of the picture)
Sadly this is the only photograph that remains of the lions and Hera(who else had the temerity to face down the all mighty Zeus). When the lions moved on from their temporary hide-out, Hera remained with me.
She was a tough little spirit disguised in a tiny package. She had the heart of a lion, and more courage than Zeus. She reminded me every day that things are not always as they appear, that we're more resilient than we can imagine and that resilience comes from being flexible. Bend what you're given to make it work.
The other night I dreamt that she was curled beside Zeus's belly, the two of them sleeping, and I knew beyond a doubt that it was time to let her go. I'll miss her head butts.
Maybe some day I'll be able to tell the story of lions in the garage. Until then, I have some great memories about the kitten who punched the lion in the nose.
For reasons beyond my control, and against any sane rational arguments, I had lions and a tiger living in the garage where I lived. It was a very bad idea, and poorly managed but the cats and I did our best with what we had. I'm not sure if it was the sound of my voice, the companionship or the subject material but they would listen intently every night, gathering to the ends of the pen where I sat on the haystack reading Outlander by Diana Gabaldon.
This week I lost my last tangible link to that time frame. Hera, the tiny little Tabby cat that taught me everything I know about felines, succumbed to kidney failure. That's her in the header when she was about a week away from giving birth to four kittens. Seriously. She was always tiny.
She was a stray living in my neighbour's barn when she first crawled beneath my garage door. Fortunately, I was in there tending to the lions. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough to scoop her up. One of the guys who was supposed to look after the big cats, grabbed the kitten and stuck her in front of the adolescent male lion's face. Zeus sniffed the kitten and she retaliated by popping him on the nose with her wee paw. He was horrified and jumped to the back of his pen.
Eventually I had to keep her in the house because she was fascinated by Zeus and his sister (that's his tail in the left of the picture)
Sadly this is the only photograph that remains of the lions and Hera(who else had the temerity to face down the all mighty Zeus). When the lions moved on from their temporary hide-out, Hera remained with me. She was a tough little spirit disguised in a tiny package. She had the heart of a lion, and more courage than Zeus. She reminded me every day that things are not always as they appear, that we're more resilient than we can imagine and that resilience comes from being flexible. Bend what you're given to make it work.
The other night I dreamt that she was curled beside Zeus's belly, the two of them sleeping, and I knew beyond a doubt that it was time to let her go. I'll miss her head butts.
Maybe some day I'll be able to tell the story of lions in the garage. Until then, I have some great memories about the kitten who punched the lion in the nose.
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