HotDocs

HotDocs was an experience. I went up there as an audience member rather than as a participant. Part of my intention was to get a feel for the documentary film festival as it's the setting for the climax of one of my w-i-ps.

One of the things I discovered was that the industry people had better parties than the audiences. The website said no tickets required so my friend and I crashed it. I also learned that pitching at a film conference is the same as at a writer's conference; nerve-wracking and thought consuming, but with much better props.

HotDocs expanded my awareness on many levels. I had drinks and great conversation about the process of film-making with friends at various levels of experience in that business. I had some serious quality time with my nephew wandering through the streets of Toronto while discussing the variety and effectiveness of communication in this day and age.

I walk around with my eyes raised to the sky and as such tend to be oblivious to what's going on around me. I know there is corruption and injustice in the world. I know there are people who don't care who or what they hurt in their quest for power, wealth or status. I also realize that exposing those stories makes for interesting documentaries.

One of my favourite parts of HotDocs was listening to the filmmakers talk about their experiences, or reasons for making their films. After The Cove, Simon Hutchins said he'd never set out to be an activist. It was a natural progression from observing the destruction of the world's oceans.

I was still thinking about his words a few days later as I walked to work in my red shirt. I'm dedicated to being non-political but still have many issues I care about. I strive to teach through example, to show rather than tell. If I don't wear placards, protest or shout my opinion to the world, does that make my commitment any less?

How does all of this relate to writing? To a certain extent, we can only write that which we know; subjects about which we are passionate. Not all documentary film makers are activists. They aren't all part of the stories they document. What they are is driven - to illuminate and educate.

In fiction, message stories tend to alienate their readers. Entertainment is the goal. That's not to say you can't write with an opinion. Just don't let it become the story.

I'm juggling two works of fiction with one non. It's been hard to document Casey's story because I'm part of it. try taking a picture of a seventy pound pup getting cast for a new brace when you're lying on the floor holding him still. I'm not that talented. Or flexible. Because of my involvement and personal experience, I can wave the flag for alternative healing and commitment to animals in the forum of non-fiction.

HotDocs made me take a long hard look at the world in which I live; at the people who inhabit it; and what I'm willing to do to change things. It also clarified certain aspects of the wip that sent me there in the first place.

I'm writing a book about a sweater. A gorgeous sweater. And how one woman's obsession with that sweater affects her relationships. I'm sure there's a message in there but it will be subtle.

Unconventional Mother's Day Tribute

For those of you who find this day a painful reminder of the mother you've lost, or never had, this blog is dedicated to you.

A mother is a female who gives birth to a living being. I am not a mother. But I am a Mama Lion. For lots of reasons I won't go into here, my nephew and I have a closer than usual relationship. Even in utero he always responded to my voice. When he was a day old I sat with him and pointed out all the shapes and colours on his receiving blanket. Everyone thought I was nuts for conversing with him as if he was an adult. Just because he couldn't answer didn't mean he didn't understand me. One of his first words was blue, correctly identified on a giant bear at Sears.

He's always been curious about the world and the way it worked. One time I took my nephew into the bird barn to watch ostriches in the incubator. Five years old and asking questions about gestation periods, incubator temperature, wiring, power failures, how long chicks can survive inside the incubator once they hatch, how they adjust to room temperature. His attention to detail was incredible.

He wrote stories about his stuffed dog Pup in which they cured cancer, saved little children, traveled the world and conquered hunger. He was going to grow up to be a paleontologist/SPCA agent/rock star.

Due to space issues, his playpen was in front of the piano. A little protege, he would pull himself up and instead of pounding on the keys, he would touch them in a way that made music. As he got older he switched to my guitar. At two years old, he was plucking the strings in a way that sent all the adults searching the house for the musician. No one ever believed it was the baby.

As he's grown, we've continued to spend time together. Our conversations are merely advanced versions of the ones we had when he was five. We go to auto races and film festivals together. We discuss the esoteric and the practical. He has a sharp mind, a dry wit and a well of compassion so deep it humbles me.

I'm so proud of this kid who has weathered trauma, heartache and life storms with his heart and soul intact. He's been no different than any other teenager at times but that's never altered who he is at his core.

My lion cub has grown out his mane. Moved to the edges of the pride before he strikes out on his own. He's independent now. Able to fend for himself. I still watch with one eye peeled for danger in case he needs my help. One signal from him and I'll be in there with teeth bared.

He is my boy but he is not my son. I love him. I adore him. I will never leave him. And I understand that can never be enough. I'm not his mother but I couldn't love him any more than if I was.

How I spent my week

Hiking along the Niagara Gorge with my nephew...

*playing with puppies...

staring into these beautiful brown eyes...

and writing. Three more pages on one book and some really strong insight into character development on the other. It was a good week.

Today I'm off to HotDocs in Toronto. This documentary film festival is the setting for the climax of one of my projects. It's going to be a great week.

*To clarify - these are NOT my puppies. I am not keeping a puppy. I was merely visiting them. They were warm and soft and cuddley. They belong to other people. I already have my hands full with a puppy that does not belong to me. It is Casey's first birthday on the 14th, he gets his new splint on this Tuesday. Yes it really will be a great week.

All photos taken with my Blackberry Storm which I adore. Remember when phones were these big black clunky things with rotary dials and sat on a special table downstairs in the hallway? I do like convenience the Storm affords. And quality photographs.

Again with the perspective

Life is good. I don't have to trek overland through drought parched terrain for a drink of water. Or lose my footing and slide on my belly right into the sharp claws of a hungry cheetah. Why yes, I did go see Disney Earth at the movie theater last night. The cinematography was amazing. Absolutely stunning. There's just something about watching nature in all its tooth and claw on the big screen that makes me realize how easy my domesticated life actually is.

I have my health, mobility and all of my senses. A friend of mine is struggling with ALS, cancer and the stupidity of a drunk driver who punched him in the face last week. The driver almost ran down my friend who was crossing the intersection on his medical scooter. Harsh words were exchanged. Then one brutal punch. Who hits an old man in a wheelchair? Fortunately, the primary witness was a police officer.

I have friends and family, jobs I like, food, shelter and wonderful companions. I'm easily amused and entertained. I get out. Travel. Life is good.

It's not perfect. We all have our trials and frustrations. Watching my friends cope with the imperfections in their lives helps me get perspective on my own.

How many times as writers have we struggled with scenes or characters failing to do what's best for the story? Often, switching the point of view will strengthen it. Who has the most to lose? The most to gain? Who is altered most?

After tossing the impaired driver into the squad car, and taking care of first aid for my friend, the cop asked him,"What's your story?" And that made me think. No matter what angle you see something from, there's always another way to look at it. I'm looking forward to hearing the driver's version. Was it fear, guilt anger or relief that made him get out of his car in the first place? What was he thinking? I'm curious about his point-of-view.

Perspective keeps life, and good reads, interesting.

Rainy days are made for reading

It's finally a rainy day - perfect for reading. I am grossly unmotivated to do anything else. This past week has been a study in frustration as far as Casey's Journey to a Healthy Leg goes. Unlike my other writing projects, the non-fiction account of Casey's leg trials is ongoing, demanding and exhausting. Nor can it be put aside because I keep dropping the spindle, can't figure out genetics or how Iceland shapes the character of two protagonists.

We are running out of time. Casey will be a year old soon and his bones will start to set. Because of the atrophy in one of his shoulder muscles, he turns his leg at roughly a 35 degree angle. I'm swimming with him every other day, using a Pilates ball on alternate days and sending him out for daily walks and shoulder stretches. The brace keeps his leg straight but the boot does not. The consequences of walking him with the foot turning inside his boot are painful (yay, he has feeling in his foot;boo, it hurts)and damaging to tendons and ligaments. "It's always something."

SO, I'm trying to redesign the entire leg/foot support system.

Which is why I spent last night and today reading.
Travellers Iceland
Let's visit Iceland by I.O. Evans
Lucky Man by Michael J. Fox
Basket Case by Carl Hiassen
Save the Cat: The last book on screenwriting that you'll ever need by Blake Snyder
DK Eyewitness Scotland - Why do they not have one about Iceland???
Fool by Christopher Moore and finally
Men in Kilts by Katie McAlister.

Really. In the last 24 hours I've picked up, started or finished every single one of those books. Somewhere in there lies the answer to this current Casey riddle. Because thinking of it directly has failed to net any results. And Michael J. Fox makes me think I can accomplish anything. It's all attitude.
Truly.

Research, research, research

First of all - someone needs to write a really good travel guide to Iceland. I went down to Chapters the other day and looked at the only three books they had on that beautiful country. I bought one as the other two weren't that helpful. I ordered three more through the library. I'll let you know how useful they are but from the quick look I got at all of them, they are lacking.

Stashaholic was here for the weekend. We did the usual red wine, ChedaCorn and a movie. We crocheted our fingers to the bone to finish up a couple of comfortghans. I dropped the ball, or more accurately, ran out of balls, so that I had to do some shopping before we could finish the last one. It's almost done and spread out on the spare room bed.

We also played with fiber and her spinning wheel. Wow, that's a workout. I couldn't believe the pull in my calves, thighs and butt. Way better than Pilates. I reacquainted myself with my three spindles and looked at plenty of sheep. Stashaholic is a walking encyclopedia of knowledge on all of the above. I wish I'd taken notes. She's an invaluable resource.

We talked a lot about Sturla's Sweater; both the book and the actual article of clothing. So much of our own interactions, interests and activities are the basis for that book. We watched Wrath of Gods again and tried to freeze the DVD to get the perfect shot of that sweater. It was so like the opening scene that I'd already written, I couldn't help but laugh. No, I don't think he bought this sweater at WalMart.


Thanks to Jon Gustafsson for the still from Wrath of Gods

The importance of good research

Last week was incredibly productive but not in the way I had expected. Thanks to the mindless bubble popping game I had found the solution to Kelli's identity,as well as a flicker of insight into DNA sequencing. It should have been a simple case of sitting down and writing what I knew.

For some unfathomable reason, Kelli's name was still giving me trouble. A quick email to Jon revealed the problem. Women's nicknames don't end with an "i" but rather an "a". That stopped me cold. He sent me a great link with Icelandic female names that led me to Brynja -which means armor. As her name was changed to protect her, that works. I've spent the last couple of days thinking of Kelli as Brynja.

In the meantime, I spent some time online researching airfare to Iceland. It's an essential scene in Sturla's Sweater. How does Callie decide that they should begin that journey? August has the best deals if anyone is interested. I have to watch Wrath of Gods again soon as that film precipitates the entire story. The opening scene involves that film, a bottle of wine and two life-long friends.

I'm not quite ready to go forward with Rootless Trees. Jon's input made me realize how much we depend on intrinsic knowledge to flesh out our writing. This book has two unfamiliar settings, Iceland and North Carolina. While I'm blessed to have friends who live in both locations, I've never personally walked the ground at either one. There are bound to be mistakes that have the potential to rip the reader out of the book.

That explains why Sturla's Sweater is progressing better. A large chunk of it takes place in surroundings with which I am familiar. The research I have to do is similar to the process one of the characters will go through so it's actually a part of the storyline. It's easier. Not to say it's without its own set of challenges. It does require some footwork in Iceland as well. And some quality time with sheep. But at least I won't blunder character names. Or have to worry about a hard science like genetics. You know that's going to take some serious research.

Distractions

One of the children at the library introduced me to Poppit. Do not click on the link unless you want to lose days.

Pond scum can be skimmed from the surface to reveal clear fresh water beneath the slime. Scum of the earth oozes up from somewhere well below the surface. It's better to date pond scum.

Writing a scene that has its origins in an actual event is much harder than it would seem. It took me awhile but I think I've managed to detach from reality(stop snickering) and start Sturla's Sweater with two wonderful characters who are unique in their own right. They are not Stashaholic and I with younger bodies.

These are three of the things that have amused me while I looked at new names for Kelli. You were all most helpful in that department, even emailing me privately with links and suggestions. Nothing clicked. Absolutely nothing. Because she's Kelli. That's her name. It's been her name for years as she formed and grew in my mind.

Round 12,893 of Poppit and I realized that was the solution. Her name is Kelli. I'll make it the derivative of something Icelandic, or a nickname, then give her a Latina birth name in honour of her mother's roots. Just another connection that was stolen from her.

The moral of the story - follow the distractions. It frees your brain up to work out a solution.

Family

Families are the foundations on which we all grow. Embrace them, reject them; there's no getting away from their influence.

Bracken has turned his back on his family. Kelli has been ripped from hers.
He grew up surrounded by family at every turn, beneath every leaf, inside every tree. His entire life was practically incestuous.

Kelli, on the other hand, was adopted when she was three years old. She has a dim recollection of the petite, accented brunette who ruled her life with love and precision. After her mother's death, Kelli lost everything that was familiar. Including her name.

I'm stuck while I try to find the right name that is completely Icelandic, sounds nothing like Kelli and yet suits her.

Suggestions?

Honesty

A lot of people mistake meanness for honesty. As in "You're already fat. Wearing orange just makes it worse. You look like a short fat pumpkin." No one has said that to me but I've certainly heard it enough. It goes along with, "You're barely literate enough to write your own name. What makes you think you could write a book?" Again, not something that's been said to me.

It would be so much nicer, and just as honest to say, "I like the way you look in red. It really brings out the colour of your eyes." or "There's a great writing course being offered at the community college. At the very least you could make some good connections there." Wait a minute, I have heard the latter. Hmmm.

Rude is not a necessary component for honesty. It's not manipulation to make someone feel good about accepting your opinion. I like bold up-front characters who can be counted on to tell the truth. They call a spade a spade. (I usually call it a shovel but that may be a regional thing.) They're colourful, dynamic characters who really liven a piece up.

How one shares their opinion is one of the many little clues to people's personality. If your character is "painfully honest" be careful with that. Those are difficult people to be around over a long period of time. There's an edge to them that should manifest in other ways. I was toying with giving that trait to one of my characters but hesitate because it's uncomfortable for me to write harsh edicts - which is why I should do it.

Writing outside my comfort zone might make the community college writing course unnecessary.

Heroes

A hero is the protagonist, or main character, who overcomes immense challenges to win the girl and save the world; whether it's on the gridiron, the court, the field, or even out in space. He must beat the bad guy, defeat the obstacles and push on no matter how bleak the outcome appears. He is the hero. That is what he does.

Hero is a word you hear everywhere. Sports figures are heroes. So are entertainers, scientists and businessmen. Anyone whose actions change the lives of others is a hero. Cops, firefighters and soldiers are obvious subjects for romance writers. The men come with their own mythology and code. They define heroism.

It's a word I've heard a lot this week. Three more Canadian soldiers were killed in Afghanistan on Tuesday - Warrant Officer Dennis Brown, Cpl. Dany Fortin and Cpl. Kenneth O'Quinn. The image of WO Brown's widow, Mishelle standing tall and proud as she called her husband, "My hero" has been all over the news media. A true military wife, she was as prepared as she could be for this eventuality. Her husband believed that he had no other choice in life than to protect and defend those who needed him to do so. In his civilian life he was a special constable with the Niagara Regional Police. In the military he was a reservist with the Lincoln and Welland Regiment.

Growing up military, the loss of every soldier is personal. We belong to a community that exists outside of borders, isn't hampered by distance or geography. It's a community that stands together, shoulder to shoulder and back to back, against all threats. While I've never agreed with a lot of where our troops go, they are my family.

When the call came, the men rallied to their fallen brother. They flew in from all corners of the globe to surround his family, his friends and each other. They took care to see he was carried home with respect and compassion. They gathered their grief close and banded together. Four van loads of men drove from the regiment to Trenton so that he came home to familiar faces. Fellow officers were on hand to ensure the police escort was made of guys he knew. People lined the Highway of Heroes to thank the three men for their service to our country.

Heroes. All of them. The people, faces twisted in anguish and grief, who put aside their politics to pay tribute to the three men. The men with red-rimmed eyes and rigid jaws who locked arms to carry the body of their friend. The mothers who stood tall and proud with roses and flags as they welcomed their sons home. The boys who held the salute while their young eyes followed their father's casket. The wives and girlfriends in their bright red scarves determined to stand strong; the friends and families who held tight despite the pain that overwhelmed them all; the ones who stood for hours in high winds to honour the men who passed below.

If heroes overcome adversity to win the day, each and everyone of those people did so this week. And will continue when Dennis finishes his journey home and is laid to rest.

Non Nobis Sed Patriae
Not for ourselves but for our country

Innovation

I've never been a fan of improv or jazz. The structure is too chaotic for me. Last night, I went to see my friend Jim Slominski jam with his buddies in Fa Crowned. To be quite honest, I thought it just sounded like a lot of loud noise when I first walked in. Once I'd been there awhile, and had relaxed, I was able to hear the way the three men played off each other. One would take off one musical direction then the others would follow, sometimes racing past. It was exciting to listen to the interplay. I was glad I adjusted my listening and could enjoy their style.

Reading can often be the same. We pick up a book with certain expectations of an author. When they aren't met, disappointment sets in. Jennifer Crusie is discussing this very thing right now.

It's all subjective. We don't all like the same things. Add to that the fact that people read for different reasons; comfort, entertainment, educational. I have books from multiple genres for a variety of moods. It's the same for music.

There's a trend to find something that works then clone the living hell out of it. Even as a writer, I look to what's popular - style, voice and subject matter. I rarely fit in that category but I've always looked to include elements that people are comfortable with.

The reality is that all of the innovation in the world won't see the light of day if it doesn't appeal to someone. It has to sell somewhere. And it's a real balancing act between originality and popularity. It's important to take chances so that we don't stagnate. Not just creatively but in every aspect of our lives.

Fortunately, I stepped away from my preferences last night and found something new. I'm going to do the same thing with an author tomorrow. Just grab something that doesn't fit into my usual pile of familiar reads. I'm certain it will make me a better writer.

Dueling projects - still

The pre-writing has begun its transition. I changed my desktop photo away from the gorgeous Icelandic sunset to a rich contrast between a fern and a birch. Although both projects start in Iceland, that photo sustained me through the final stages of Hell to Pay. I needed a fresh image.

I spent a significant portion of Tuesday and Wednesday pouring information on to the page about Rootless Trees. There's a strong outline to start from. I plan to start writing the first scene from Kelli's perspective on Monday.

On Thursday I switched to Sturla's Sweater. The characters are Tess, Callie and Nick(who was first Mark then Eric). Poor Tess changed names a couple of times as she and Stashaholic argued over the correct one. Tess is very self-assured, and quite adamant that her name was one syllable. It was funny to hear the two of them get quite heated about it, when one of them is imaginary. Ouch. That head slap hurt. Tess doesn't want to meet a man. She's doing quite fine in her life without that complication. Her money, her time, and her bed are her own. NO one is messing up her schedule.

So the characters, setting, premise and turning points are there for Sturla's Sweater. The starting point hasn't jelled, before Iceland or there - but I'll just continue to jot down notes until I'm sure where the story truly begins.

I'm having fun alternating between the two projects. Neither one of them has solidified to the point where I can go full steam ahead. As both have significant time in Iceland, I've been watching a lot of video to get a feel for the location. I'd prefer to walk around there but that will have to wait. While airfare is reasonable(that's one of the perks of the Internet - quick ticket info)the travel is out of my budget. In the meantime, my imagination will have to do.

No, Tess you cannot spin camel hair. This is a book about sheep.

Brainstorming

I'm sorry the blog is a day late but I was busy watching this and then this while I was in Dayton, Ohio for the Dogs and Goddesses book signing. It was a fantastic weekend with some good friends. There was cheesecake. And margaritas. Other people saw men in uniform.

A good time was had by all. During the drive down, Me and I discussed our current projects. We brainstormed the Big Bad in Rootless Trees. That means I shot down every single suggestion she had. My reasons were valid but it was frustrating for both of us. Her ideas were sound but failed to resonate.

While shampooing my hair Saturday morning, I found the answer. Without a shower crayon in sight. I repeated it several times, rinsed, dried off and dressed quickly so that I could burst into the living room to share it with the eager masses. We ran through the Big Bad from several angles. It worked every time. We were unable to shoot holes in it. It makes sense, gives a credible backstory, sets Bracken and Kelli up for danger and makes them allies despite their conflict.

The only remaining hurdle was setting. And thanks to Jenb's generous offer to use her home on Ocracoke Island in the Outer Banks, I think North Carolina may be a winner. We had several conversations about the the state, its geography, environment and the beauty it has to offer. She even has a brilliant brother who can answer some of my scientific questions.

All in all, it was a great weekend.

Two projects

Right now I'm working on Rootless Trees which is connected to Heaven Coming Down and Hell to Pay. I couldn't continue with the theme in the title but as a previous post explained, this was the perfect title for Bracken and Kelli. I'm still not sure who threatens, and unites, them.

While my brain puzzles that out, it came up with another idea. Sturla's Sweater is based entirely on a film idea I was trying to sell to Stashaholic and Jon. Given that it could take two years for filming alone, it's not a project that is likely to materialize. Neither Stashaholic nor I want to be on-camera either, but the idea is so good I don't want to lose it. After a great deal of thought, I decided to write it as a book. Two women decide to make a documentary about spinning wool from fleece to sweater. Trust me, it will be fascinating.

I keep going back and forth between the two projects because neither one has solidified to the point where it can no longer be ignored. I hit a snag on one (the villain in Rootless Trees) then move onto the other where I write an outline. Until I hit a snag (better names than Stashaholic and Keziah)Back and forth I go.

Part of my dilemna is the difference in tone and genre between the two projects. The first is a paranormal romance in the vein of the other two books. Sturla's Sweater is not. It's women's fiction. Perhaps some romance and woo-woo stuff because those are elements that are integral to my identity. My story. My rules. There's nothing out there like it. I know because I looked. And while it sets me apart from the rest, publishing houses don't like to take risks. Especially not these days. So it will probably take me two years to write it(hey, we could have filmed the documentary after all) because my focus will naturally go to Rootless Trees.

What do you do when you have multiple projects?

Challenge met

Despite the dedicated procrasti-writing that I did last month, I did reach my goal for the second annual January Write off the Deep End challenge.

I finished revisions on Hell to Pay, started re-reading its predecessor Heaven Coming Down which entailed a few minor edits as well, and jotted a few notes about the successor, Rootless Trees.

Most importantly, I wrote every day.

Despite the trauma of losing my parents' dog Tara at the beginning of the month, a return of therapy for Casey, an injured wrist, a dentist trip from hell then book ending the month with a critical trip to the vet for my cat Hera, I wrote every day.

Every day. Even when it was procrasti-writing. That eventually turns into decent words on the page.

As my brilliant poet friend Jim Slominski reminded me, as writers we are ALWAYS (his caps)writing. No matter what we're doing, it's all absorbed into our psyche, which in turn gives depth to our writing.

Writing is not what I do, it's who I am.

I am a writer.

Book rage

Some people suffer from road rage, I suffer from book rage. It's the curious buzzing that occurs when someone slams a genre or style of writing. I certainly have my own preferences but after working at a library for eight years I've learned that there's no such thing as "frivolous reading" as one of my colleagues suggested. Her stance is that romance is trash(red haze descended that day), that the only fiction worth reading is mystery or suspense.

In the eyes of many people romance is mindless reading or unrealistic. Because so many of us have been stalked by a serial killer and so few have ever fallen in love. Okay, I'll cut the heavy sarcasm.

Reading, whether it's a gossip magazine, scripture or anything else with words between the pages, is never frivolous. It's not mindless either. Because the very act of eyes moving across the page and brain processing those letters is far more than some people are capable of doing. Imagine what it would be like to be illiterate. Imagine no words, just symbols. Worlds of knowledge would be closed to you. Reading is a privilege.

It's also great exercise. Your brain is engaged in a myriad of ways. You learn with every single word that is revealed. It might not be earth-shattering or life-altering but it's still important. Geography, cuisine, fashion, family dynamics, astronomy, classical music, artificial intelliegence, theology, zoology; they're all subjects I've learned about from mass market fiction. Little tidbits of information are stored for future use. Because I read about a heroine who had to walk ten miles in high heels shoes during a blizzard, when traveling I've always made sure to wear footwear appropriate to the weather. That actually paid off when my car wouldn't start and I had to walk across town. Before that book I would have worn the shoes I wanted to, not the ones that were practical. Silly example but that's my point. You never know what sticks with you.

Tomorrow is Family Literacy Day in Canada. Read with a friend, even if it's not up to your usual standards. You might learn something interesting. Or not. But you'll exercise your brain regardless.

Progress?

This is what I'm working on.



It was supposed to be a quick read-through but I can't stop myself from editing. I still don't know whether Alex or Gabriela is older. I am enjoying the story. That's encouraging.

After this, back to revisions on Alex's story so that I can send it out. Kellie and Bracken continue to bubble away on the back burner while I revise and edit. Sounds painful.

Moving forward

I had a great dream last night in which an editor actually approached me. She could see an old manuscript in the clear plastic bag I was carrying. It was in dire need of a rewrite but I did end up selling her the two most recent works. I actually remembered the name of the publishing company when I awoke and have since added it to my list. Interesting dreams.

My office is in a real state of flux at the moment. The room has been taken over by a friend and repainted. I moved the computer into the attic which has a beautiful view of the Welland Canal, provided you look past the neighbour's back yard. In the summer his pear tree is in full bloom and blocks most things from view. In the winter, ice covers my windows so he still has his privacy.

Part of the moving process involved a relocation of some files. A binder spilled open onto the floor and revealed a manuscript that would actually make an interesting screenplay. It's no surprise that's the story I dreamt about last night.

I also rediscovered a more in-depth article about the differences between men and women than the thoughts I shared here a couple of weeks ago. I'm not sure what to do with it. Languishing in a drawer seems unfair to its brilliance.

As part of the revisions on Hell to Pay, I've had to re-read Heaven Coming Down. I wasn't sure which sibling was older but then I fell back into the story. I'm really pleased with it. I'm going to submit it to a couple of agents this week and get it back out there. It also deserves better treatment than an antique hatbox.

As I ease into this new calendar year, I'm slowly building momentum and moving forward.

Life and death

It's been a strange sad week with a big moment of euphoria. The contrast between the two moods means I've done little writing and a lot of reflecting.

On Monday I learned that one of my long time patrons from the small rural library died. On Tuesday my friend told us her husband had passed on Boxing Day. That was the same day we made the appointment to have Casey's canine companion put down. Not that the two even remotely compare but grief was unlimited in our house that day.

The next day, Wednesday, another friend of mine was thrilled when she went to the doctor and was pronounced cancer-free. I was over-the-moon thrilled and we celebrated a lot that day.

I felt guilty about it at times. So many people I cared about were devastated by their losses. Other people I know continue to wage a battle against that disease. Our joy seemed callous in the face of all that grief.

Thursday and Friday were solemn around here as we prepared ourselves and Tara for her passing. It's a cruel twist that our non-human companions, those who teach us about unconditional love, live but a few glorious years by our side.

Tara was a good dog. A smart dog who was loyal and dedicated to my parents. A dog who protected my mom and heeded my father's command to keep the house free of space invaders. It was his only real demand of her and to my knowledge we never once had an alien choose our home as an intergalactic B&B. She did her job well.

A dog reminded me that life, no matter how short or long, is to be lived to its fullest. That we are here to share ourselves with others, to protect and guard and love those we hold dear.

I know my friends mourn the loss of their husbands. I know they had wonderful lives together full of joy and sorrow throughout the years. I know a dog's life doesn't compare to theirs. I do know that my one friend has many years ahead of her to share with those she loves. And those she hasn't met yet.

Her joy in no way diminishes everyone else's sorrow. In a way it highlights the losses. She is well aware of not only how fortunate she is, but of the opportunities that lie within her grasp. I'm not sure who said it but, "A life worth living is worth living well."

The lives we mourn were well-lived. The rest of us should do the same.