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.

Show and tell

One of the most difficult things to do as a writer is balance showing versus telling. If there's too much action and not enough interaction the reader doesn't connect with the characters. Too much introspection and the story doesn't move the reader along. They get bored.

It's the same with men and women. I have this theory that men hold tight to their emotions because their anatomy expresses their interest as soon as awareness passes through them. The female anatomy is not as easy to read so women tend to verbalize their thoughts. Men show, women tell.

Men are generally action oriented. They're in a near constant state of movement, even when just sitting around; pages turn, channels surf, and worlds are invaded. Women talk;about their day, how they feel, what they wore. Men eat. Women discuss the menu.

These are generalizations truly but for the most part the hero makes the plan and enacts it. The heroine discusses the plan, the emotional ramifications of said plan and then talks all the way through it to make sure that the plan has not changed.

Oftentimes men and women encounter a few difficulties in their interactions because of these generalizations. It makes for great fiction but rocky relationships. I'm exploring new characters in two different projects. In both cases the heroines are more introspective than the heroes. There's a lot of analysis on their parts as they explore all of the changes in their lives. The heroes picked up stakes and moved to explore new worlds when they couldn't fix what was wrong with the old ones.

It's not that men are incapable of talking about how they feel. They are more comfortable with showing. They bring flowers and chocolates, build a potting shed, or drive to the dentist. Women say "I love you".

If you're struggling to understand the opposite sex watch the man, listen to the woman. You never know what you might learn.

Merry Christmas

It's been three weeks since I finished reading The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. While I don't think you need to care for motorsports, I do think you need to appreciate dogs as the entire book is told from the dog's point of view. I don't need to tell you why it resonated so strongly for me.

Subject matter aside, it was beautifully written. A nice clean writing style that used every word. Nothing was wasted or extraneous. I was impressed with the way the author carried the racing metaphor throughout without overdoing it.

"Your car goes where your eyes go." Every driving instructor tells you that in driver's ed and it's true. If you're looking to the left, the wheels will drift in that direction. I've been looking forward with Casey and it's paying off. (thank you all for the words of encouragement) In racing winning is important but so is finishing the race. You never know when you'll need those points further down the road to the championship.

Right now my eyes are on my family and friends. The car is parked for the next week and I plan to enjoy the holidays. I wish you all the opportunity to do the same.

In that vein, Merry Christmas

Opening sentences

Nathan Bransford, an agent with Curtis Brown literary agency had a contest in which people posted the first paragraph of their novel. There were 1364 entries.

I had a difficult time deciding between Alex's story and Gabriela's. They're both good. Her's had a better opening but his was more recent. I tweaked the heck out of Alex's beginning.

I've always loved the opening sentence. It's rhythm, word choice and energy sum up Alex's mood and set the tone for the book.

By the time the Niagara River rushed northward, spilling over itself and careening off rocks in its haste to crash against the base of the old power generating station less than a mile from the crest of the Horseshoe Falls, its anxious roar was the perfect accompaniment to the mental state of the building’s lone occupant.

The other thing it did really well was slow down the action and jar the reader when the second sentence was from Alex's perspective. I cut it.

In the end, I was entry number 11-something.

Commitment

Writing non-fiction has it's own set of challenges when the subject is on-going. It's difficult to set writing goals when I don't know what each day will bring. I haven't written much in Casey's journal this week because I've been too busy experiencing it all.

Wednesday's vet trip took the wind out of everyone's sails. He suggested the atrophy in Casey's shoulder is too severe to be overcome. Suddenly the entire healing team deflated. Everyone was depressed and defeated.

I was angry. We agreed to give it one month of intense daily therapy. Swimming, acupuncture and chiropractic. Not to mention daily massage. The plan was to throw everything we had at the problem, surround it with positive energy and get the job done.

Yet everyone was talking like there was no point in continuing. It didn't help that he'd had his vaccinations and was unable to swim that day. The next day we were overwhelmed with vermin and had to resolve that issue. On Friday he was dry-heaving so three days of swimming were lost.

It was suggested to me by several sources that perhaps it was time to quit. What happened to giving it a month? It's a lot of work for Casey and I. Battling negative energy is a drain we don't need right now.

It's taking a toll on both of us. On our enthusiasm and strength. It's below freezing outside right now and the trip to and from the hot tub in the garage is an endurance race. Our swim today was lacking.

As I was stepping out of the hot tub I heard a man's voice. "You're not giving up already. Why are you giving up so easily?" I quickly realized it was my neighbour's boyfriend talking to her not me but that was the full extent of the conversation I heard. Timely.

Every published author I know got that first contract, and kept it, because they refused to listen to the naysayers. Their personal vision of holding their own published book in their hands was stronger than those who dismissed that belief. They were positive, committed and determined regardless of how "realistic" that was.

I've been struggling this week to hold on to my personal vision of Casey running along the canal with Ky. I've given in a time or two to the edited vision others have of three legs instead of four.

This isn't about whether he'll adapt to that vision. It's about the commitment we all made to reassess in a month. The first week of January. That was our goal. Sometimes you have to continue, climb obstacles, find alternate routes and stop being realistic. The impossible is possible. Commit to it and follow-through.

If the expectations of others are holding you back, just bite through those restraints. Or get a friend to help you.




Casey's commitment to Beowulf's freedom entertained obedience class

Fine line

Every time I take Casey to the chiropractor she asks me if I've figured out why he's come into our lives. I have several answers; he's healing us, he's not limited by his disability,he doesn't recognize he even has a disability, not to give up even when it's hard.

As writers we show that which serves the story best. I don't know the end to Casey's story. I hope it's triumphant - with four legs running along the canal beside his brother Ky. When I write in the journal the victories that lead to that happy ending are the ones I record. The hiccups and obstacles that could lead to the loss of his leg are glossed over; not even written until they are hurdled.

Today was different. And I'm recording it here, without edits and as few slants as I can manage, for a variety of reasons. I'm no longer sure that my optimism isn't delusion. I'm no longer certain of his commitment to the battle. The big picture is still influenced by my will.

He cried in the car all the way to the appointment which isn't like him at all. He's great in the car, neither his bladder nor bowel needed emptying. Once there he sniffed around outside then jumped up to hug his beloved healer with both front legs. Inside her office he lay down on the adjustment table and whimpered. His shoulder hurt. A thorough examination revealed that on top of everything else, Casey has slipped his rotator cuff(that was not the technical diagnosis). A specific massage was added to the rest of his therapies. And this time when asked why he came into my life I answered, "Because he teaches me not to give up."

On the way out to the car, we were approached by a woman who does quantum healing from a distance. While I have little idea what that is, we agreed to let her work on Casey. She didn't need our presence, only his name and we're grateful for every positive thought sent his way.

Driving home, he started to cry again. I glanced in the back seat to see him lying on his injured side. "Silly dog. Get up and lie on the other side. It will hurt less," I told him. He immediately did as I suggested and stopped crying. Smart boy! I was so impressed he listened.

At home I changed, clipped him into his life jacket and jumped into the hot tub. This was the first time doing it on my own. I couldn't reach the jets and hold him. I forgot the timer. So he swam while I counted. Slower and slower until he just stopped.

No matter what I said, he wouldn't swim. I lifted him, turned him, stretched my arm to reach the jets. Nothing. He hung there limp and stared at me.

I sank to my knees and let him drift his weight onto my thighs. He tucked his head on my shoulder and we sat on the bottom of the hot tub. And I wondered if maybe he wanted to quit after all.

So I asked him. I told him there was no shame and that it was okay. That if he was tired, we could stop. If he wanted to give up the leg and run fast with three that we could do that too. I told him it was his body and up to him how we proceeded.

With just each other in the relative silence we sat together and I let him decide what to do next. I have no idea how long we sat there while the water boiled around us, bubbles popped around his chin and my arms. Mist hung over the garage and tears blurred my vision.

With a tentative kick, Casey slid off my knees and started paddling. Slow at first, then stronger, steadier, faster. I stood up and supported him. Cheered him and praised him.

There may be no quit in Casey but today he reminded me that there are times when you need a little break.

Creativity

It takes many forms. Right now as I revise one book and pre-write the next, I'm letting my brain free flow. I'm working on some knitting and crocheting because the textures open my mind up in a way that is beyond visual. I don't create patterns or stitches but the twist and turn of the yarn around the needle reminds me of story lines. Right now I'm using yarn that has a plethora of knots in each ball. I'm forced to stop, untie the knot then weave the ends in as I pick the shawl back up. As you know, I prefer to write in layers, clean up the loose ends when I'm finished. It's the same for yarn work. It's a personality trait, I'm sure. It's made me look a bit more closely at the two writing projects to see what I can work in as I go along.

Casey as a writing project is also moving along. I'm writing in the journal more often and with a deeper slant than merely reciting his therapy. The poor boy has one challenge after another and I can't help but learn from his response to all of it. There is no quit in Casey. As I'm the one jumping into the hot tub with him every day and holding his fifty plus pounds above the water slightly so that he doesn't touch bottom(puppies grow inches overnight)I'm directly affected by his determination. And it adds to mine. We've had to get quite creative to keep him in the hot tub that is not big enough to accommodate his length. I'll post pictures next time we take some. We're quite the sight. We're going to increase his acupuncture treatments as cutting back coincided with a step backward in his progress.

He's still such a happy pup. Full of energy and joy.

I have my hands full of creativity these days. And I am incredibly grateful for it all.

Critiques

Just when I figure out Bracken and Kelli's theme is betrayal, I get back the critiques on Alex and Nea's. I sent it out to several readers before I submitted to the editor. I want Hell to Pay to be the best possible piece of writing it can because the characters deserve that. And after the fifty-eighth read-through I'm no longer objective.

In the meantime I critiqued two full manuscripts for other writers. It's hard to shut off editor brain and read simply for joy sometimes. Every nuance and word choice is studied like it contains the recipe for gold. Characters are put through rigid examinations worthy of parole board hearings. The entire process can take as long as writing the original draft.

Three of the four readers who had Alex and Nea have returned them along with comments. Thank goodness they all liked the story. The most interesting aspect of the suggestions were how each person interpreted the story-telling. Two loved a particular technique and the third was lukewarm. I'm revisiting that to see if I can keep the elements the two loved while strengthening it to excite the third reader. It's all about what serves the story best. It's not like I can enter into a dialogue with each individual reader once it's published and explain what I meant in that scene.

Constructive criticism is invaluable. It's great to reach the reader and involve them within the story but when that fails to happen, the criticism is one more tool for unearthing the gold.

Writing, like life, is a never-ending journey full of adventure.

Connections

I had a burst of brain storming this week. I know where the story starts and where it ends. I know who both characters are and what they want. I even know how they oppose each other. The old Gift of the Magi conflict. I'm really psyched about these two. When Bracken stepped out of the forest into the scene with Nea and her mother in Hell to Pay, I knew his story was next.

I still don't have my setting. While I was location scouting in my brain, I got tangled up in some entertainment. When I followed them the plot took shape.

It started with Gerard Butler. As you all know, an interest in that fine actor led me to the brilliant documentary, Wrath of Gods. That film hooked me up Jon Gustafsson's blog Live from the Arctic Circle.

I've been playing over there for months, losing track of time in his photographs and running through his blogroll. None of it is research. It's all been for fun. I've been particularly fascinated with the genetics link, deCODEme. You might not know anything about yourself or personal history yet your DNA can reveal all. And what it reveals could save your life.

While I was researching Bracken ferns last week, I was focused on its environment and physical properties. Almost every hit on google mentioned it's carcinogenic component. Hmmm, aren't fiddleheads a delicacy? Seems a bit of a contradiction to me. More research is required.

Meanwhile, I've always known that Kelli was adopted. Last week I discovered it had something to do with her nymph ancestors who posed a very real threat to her.(still working on that part) So much so that her father had her sent to live with friends of his above the treeline - in Iceland. I wasn't trying to use Iceland as a jumping off place for the story but it made so much sense. Once I accepted that premise it naturally followed that she work for the genetics company as she knows nothing about her heritage. When she learns the truth about her origins, at the beginning of the book, she leaves all that is familiar (still not sure where she ends up) to search for her own truths.

All of this was running around in my head, bumping into ideas and themes but nothing stuck. Until I was driving home from work, listening to a CD by an artist I discovered through Jon's blog - Damien Rice. The song? Rootless Tree And with that all the pieces fell into place. Now it's just a matter of sitting down and writing it.

I celebrated by completing the circle to watch Mr. Butler in his latest flick, RockNRolla. Life is good.

Thanks Jon.

Spinning

My friend Stashaholic is visiting. It's a wild weekend of wool. We're playing with a variety of fibre then spinning it on spindles. Very old fashioned.

She brought me a book about natural dyeing to use as a reference for a book I'm writing about a spinner. I'm not writing a book about a spinner. According to a dream she had I will be. I would have laughed except that as I played with the fibre and loaded the spindle I lost myself in the interplay between the two. Colours and textures changed in the spin and I could feel a character take shape.

We're on disc four of Most Haunted Season One. It's hilarious yet creepy at times. I could so set a book in that environment. So far there hasn't been a single haunted spinning wheel but lots of hooded figures. Last time Stashaholic was here we watched Wrath of Gods countless times so she could get a still shot of Sturla's sweater. She hasn't recreated the pattern yet but I'm sure that's simply a matter of time.

It's never a dull moment around here. My brain is circling closer and closer to the conflict between Kelli and Bracken. Both of their internal conflicts are shaping up. No one is a spinner in that book either, but they're both very tactile so we'll see how that works out.

You never know how one creative act affects another. Happy spinning to you all.

Never Surrender

When I was in film I wanted to make a movie that would change people's lives. Not a giant blockbuster that would bring me fame and fortune but a quiet little flick that had a profound impact on individuals. And I did it with my second documentary which is a good thing because making that film changed my life in a variety of ways; one of which was that I had to get out of that business due to health reasons.

It was a half-hour documentary about multiple sclerosis that came out at a time when the disease was terrifyingly misunderstood. The drug treatments were as debilitating as the disease itself and a diagnosis led people to despair. The film was entitled Never Surrender and showed three individuals and their families who were living successfully with the disease. Don't google it. You won't find it. The section with the state-of-the-art testing is hopelessly out-of-date and the film is no longer available.

I met one of my closest friends while making Never Surrender. I met a really cool band,just starting out, who agreed to provide music for the soundtrack. As their career grew so did their involvement with the Multiple Sclerosis Society of Canada. There were no websites, no google,no positive resources and very little awareness of the disease. My film came along at the perfect moment. It garnered a lot attention, won awards. But most importantly, it gave people reason to believe they could manage the disease and go on to live full productive lives. I still have letters from people thanking me for that.

So when I was diagnosed this week with a plethora of ailments I couldn't help but think of Never Surrender. The attitude behind that film came in handy. I've read up on things, talked to people I know who manage the ailments and done a fair amount of research. There are so many more resources today than when we made that film. And what influenced my outlook wasn't a film at all.

It was a book that had nothing to do with any of those things. It was a work of fiction about a woman whose coping skills were so self-destructive I knew that I'm doing well. I'm older, wiser and my situation is neither dire nor severe. It simply happened to be the book I was reading this week. Yet it changed my perspective.

I want to write fiction that changes people's lives...

Photographic memory

This is how I spent my week, with my camera in hand.

Autumn is still here in all it's glorious colour.



And I have a thing for trees.


So while I try to figure out where Bracken is going, and why Kellie can't allow that, I've been focused on Casey's therapy.


Today it was the hot tub. He's growing. I'm not sure how much longer he's going to fit.

How was your week?

Comfort zones

As I've mentioned before there are some authors - JoAnn Ross, Greg Iles, Maggie Shayne, Lisa Gardner, Jennifer Crusie and Susan Wiggs - whose works I buy as soon as they hit the stores. There's another author I've been reading since she was first published - Karen Marie Moning. You don't have to be a romance reader to enjoy these writers. They are all gifted as well as skilled when it comes to the written word. They never fail to enthrall and entertain me.

I'm savouring Faefever, the latest from Ms Moning. It wasn't a series I was expecting to fall into so completely but I have. The next one won't be out for another year so I want to take my time to enjoy the characters for awhile. The fast pace and constant danger don't lend themselves well to that plan. It's almost impossible to put down.

The thing is all the above mentioned authors can suck me into their worlds so completely that I feel like I'm part of the story. They're all known for brilliant characterization as well as intriguing plots. I was thinking about how they manage to make me care so deeply about the growth and well-being of their characters. The emotions are real and messy, not romanticized or polished.

Of course that realization took place in the shower and suddenly I was reaching for my bathtub crayons. Bracken's first scene took shape right there on the back of the shower wall - full of action that showed all of his emotion. He's leaving his comfort zone(thank goodness because I have yet to travel to Scotland) with a ticking clock bundled within his cloak.

I have yet to figure out how Kelli prevents him from reaching his goal or even why for that matter but I'm not too concerned. Once I look at her and how she feels I should be well on my way.

I write in layers. Every book is different from the one before. I suspect this time I'll be writing the emotion first, then the setting and finally dialogue. I have no idea where Bracken is going to end up but I think I need to write outside my comfort zone so it won't be here. My roots are in Niagara but it's time to pull up stakes, fictionally speaking, and check out somewhere new. I just have to figure out where in the world best challenges Kelli and Bracken to grow.

Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving weekend. The leaves have turned orange, red and yellow. The fish in the pond are sluggish. The tomato plants are leggy and ragged. I sat outside with Hell to Pay yesterday and started the final read-through. I didn't get very far. It's so warm outside and the dogs wanted to play ball. Or dig in my garden. Or share chestnuts with me. They were so active that I decided to take a cue from them to live in the moment and enjoy the bonus nice weather while I could.

At dinner later that night, my nephew informed us that he'd like to go work in Australia for a year. This is not the first time he'd said that. It's a plan I heartily encourage. By traveling a great distance to leave home and all that is familiar, he'll truly learn his strengths and desires. The experience will be life changing. I was only eight years old when we moved back to Canada from Germany but those three years taught me valuable lessons that still hold true today.

Living so close to the border, we are heavily influenced by the United States. Our cultural identity can be overwhelmed at times. Listening to my niece's interpretation of Thanksgiving was one of them. Ultimately whether the holiday was started by the Pilgrims and Indians or as a celebration of the harvest isn't as important as giving thanks for all that we have.

I've been particularly blessed this year with great friends and a good family. There have been some tough times and these are the people that have helped me keep perspective or brought me back from the brink of insanity. These are the people who inspire me to keep going when all I want to do is lie down for a month or two. These are the people who point out the irony of injuring my back while setting up a hot tub. Who fly across the country for a house-warming party. Who remind me that spinning and knitting are valuable talents. Who show me the world through amazing photographs and brilliant films. Who bring different cultures into my awareness. Who spend most of Movie Night sharing their own healing trials so that I can benefit from their experience.

These are the people who bring laughter and sorrow, wounds and healing, challenges and rewards, anger and love into my life. These are the people who bring out the worst and the best in me so that I'm as well-rounded as I am.

These are the people for whom I give thanks. You are these people.

Thank you.

Autumn colours my world

There is something about Autumn that has always appealed to me. I suppose the vibrant colours are a huge part of it. Perhaps it's the beginning of the school year. Or maybe the fact that we always moved at the end of September(the military wasn't worried about dependents or their education) It's been a long while since I was a kid getting a hair cut and a new wardrobe to impress the kids at the new school, but the smell of wood and lead as I sharpen pencils is as important today as it was back then.

I like to start new projects in Autumn. It's the season of pre-writing for me. I go out with my camera, play with the colours and lighting and think about the new characters. I imagine how they'd be spending the day, how they feel about the crisp Fall air; the scent of apples, grapes and decay. I wonder whether they enjoy the quiet or abhor it.

It's a season full of opportunities, beginnings, and reflection for me. This is the time of year I fall in love, start fresh with my exercise regime and celebrate the harvest. I try new foods, listen to unfamiliar music, play with textures. I absorb Autumn through my pores and my senses are sharper than at any other time of year.

We bring in the summer's harvest, fill our storehouses and prepare ourselves for the long months of dark to come. While the plants become dormant, the animals hibernate and winter winds keep us indoors, it is Autumn that provides us with the tools to survive. Mulch the flower beds; carpets of leaves and nutrients leach into the ground to feed the roots.

My roots, both literal and figurative, are sustained by the excitement and vibrancy that is Autumn. I stretch and grow and breathe deeper now. I suppose some would consider me to be in the Autumn of my life. Great. This is when I feel most alive. Alert. Exhuberant.

I have no desire to fly south.

Tangental thinking

My brain is all over the place. Not literally. No need for shovels to clean up the mess. But my thought processes are not linear. I don't think they are at the best of times. It seems worse at the moment largely because I'm between writing projects. I'm unraveling from Nea and Alex. Bracken and Kelli don't have their hooks in me yet.

Casey's physiotherapy is a full time project in and of itself. When we're not actively engaged in massage, chiropractic, acupuncture or hydrotherapy we're reading, researching or playing with him. He's a puppy and full of energy who hates his new splint. It means he can't sleep on his back with his front legs over his head. He likes to dig. He likes to pounce on Ky.

I managed to squeeze in some reading time this morning and whipped right through the latest Tess Gerritsen. It was brilliant as usual. Archaeology is a fascinating subject and I'm enthralled by the ancient past.

It's an interesting contrast to the Hadron Collider. It's an incredibly complex machine that hopes to recreate the milliseconds after Creation. It's also fascinating and fraught with opportunities for disaster. Conversely, the possibilities for knowledge are incredible.

For some reason both make me think of my great Grandpa Fenton. He came to Canada with all of his worldly possessions in a trunk which now holds my craft supplies. He had a sharp mind and a strong curiosity. At least we know who to blame for my constant questions about the past and the future. Sometimes I'm even interested in what's happening right now.