Even when it isn't, it's always about writing

I've read a few blogs lately that suggest writing blogs can't be about writing forever. There's only so much you can say about writing; readers don't want to hear about the process; it takes away from creating the book about which you're blogging.

I disagree for several reasons. This blog has been invaluable in helping me clarify plot points, characterization or meet deadlines.  I receive plenty of emails about how sharing that process has encouraged readers to keep coming back (think special features on the the DVD) But the main reason I think writers can blog about writing indefinitely is that no matter what we're talking about, it's writing related.

We're writers. Everything in our life is filed away for future use. That doesn't mean that I mentally record every conversation or confidence so that I can plagiarize your life.  I notice the body language that accompanies those confidences. I remember the cadence of your voice.  I notice how weather, colours, food, music and scents evoke certain responses in different people. I listen.

When I'm out walking Ky or doing Casey's exercises, or swimming with the kids or exploring the gorge, my brain sorts through plot ideas.  A perfect day with Stashaholic bred a book.  I've put that project aside but it's interesting how many times a day I think of something to add to the ever expanding notebook I have for that particular book.

Writing takes place in our minds.  We take our consciousness with us everywhere we go throughout our day.  It's an essential requirement for all of our interactions. We can't get away from our own thoughts. Therefore no matter what I discuss on this blog, you can be sure in some way shape or form, it's related to my writing process.

Random posting about friends visiting from out of town - how do my characters interact with their communities? Do they hide from friends and coworkers, preferring to keep to their own company? Why? Are they gregarious, the life of the party, trying to drown out the screams of lonliness?

Random post about Yoda the Quaker Parakeet - do the characters have pets? Do they work with exotic animals? Do they empathize with the caged bird who refuses to come through the open door? Are they afraid to take control of their life?

Little of those thoughts end up spelled out so clearly in my final projects but they are all part of the process. Of course I steal from my own life when possible - Heal, Casey is an excellent case in point - but I also have a wicked imagination.  My brain takes a little bit of this,(a photgraph taken by a friend) mixes it with a dash of that (a lifetime of listening to Scottish mythology), adds a soupcon of spice(the light and shadows in the photograph)  and voila nymphs and demons in a pivotal scene from Hell to Pay.  I grew up believing in nymphs, fairies, little people and magic. It didn't take much for me to extrapolate a story out of all that.

My blog will always be about writing - even when it reads like rambling about the weather (HOT! and HUMID) this summer, a review for BB's Robin Hood or junk drawers

Enjoy

Writer insecurity

I finished Heal Casey this week and it's out to readers. 
My stomach is queasy and I think every single word is crap.

That is normal.

The only control writers have over their work is the actual writing of it. After that, there's a score of people who take over; readers, agents, editors, more readers.  It's scary to let go and trust others to recognize the brilliance of your creation. It's scary to pour yourself heart and soul onto the page for the world to read. It's scary to be so exposed and vulnerable knowing that not every word is perfect or golden. Someone somewhere is going to want some of those words changed. How many is my biggest concern.

I don't truly believe I'm a lousy writer. I'm simply nervous. I want to do this story justice and tell it in a way that moves people.

As I was writing this blog, one of my wonderful readers called to tell me how much she loved this book. Yes, it had a few problem areas but nothing that couldn't be easily tweaked.  She cried all the way through the book, even though she knew the story and how it ended. I was able to move her, but what thrilled me most about her call, was that this story, on this day, helped her cope with some serious issues in her own life.

Yet again, Casey heals.

Stuck

I'm having some tense trauma.

In the last post you may have noticed that I used past tense all the time I discussed Sir Guy's past experiences. But when I switched to what he was going through in season 3 my tense use switched as well. Past/past present/present.I was aware of it and left it alone on purpose.

But now I'm stuck with Casey's story. Most of it is told in first person, present tense. I'm using journal entries as the basic format. I've filled in the blanks or expounded on ideas, described techniques and therapies in contemporary past tense. I've added photos in this draft as well but that doesn't involve as much hindsight as the narrative asides.

When reviewing it the other day, it read strange with the back and forth of the tenses.; So I switched to present tense for the narrative and used italics for the journal entries. Perhaps, I've read it both ways too often but, neither one feels right. The first chapter is all narrative and past tense so it's possible that's what's throwing me off. It feels wrong to use present tense there as none of us had the understanding and awareness in the beginning that could only come from looking back at the consequences of our actions.

Here are two examples. The first is present/past:

As this was going to be a team effort, and to keep her both aware and involved, I asked Mom to keep a journal of the pup’s progress.His healing was her project, her idea and she’d fought hard to get him to us.I was concerned that she would feel left out once we’d gotten into the practical application of his therapies.Besides, he lived with her. She would be able to record more of his behaviour.

Mom’s Journal September 10/08

Casey joined us on September 9, 2008. He had his first appointment with Dr. Susanne Langdon who did an assessment and an adjustment. Dr. Langdon suggested that we contact Dr. Lisa Burgess, a veterinarian/acupuncturist for treatments which might improve the nerve damage in his leg. There is no feeling below the shoulder and Casey walks on his leg rather than his foot, with the leg bent upward. Moosonee Puppy Rescue’s vets decided the foot was fused backwards but Dr. Langdon says not so. Bones have not developed yet. The walking on his foot is a result of nerve damage to Casey’s leg. Dr. Langdon feels this may be correctable. Good news.

The second example is present/present:

Mom asked about his progress, mentioned Lisa’s prognosis of floppy foot forever. So Susanne brought out her reflex hammer. No real response. Out came the pizza cutter. He was so laid back – until she got to his baby toe (or that’s what it would be on a human foot anyway). The outside toe was sensitive. She ran it over that toe again and again from every angle and direction. It was the only toe to react but she felt the tendon contract every single time. He wasn’t all that aware of it but she said it was HUGE progress. Tomorrow we swim :)

Dad’s primary input into Casey’s therapies comes as the occasional driver, money man or hot tub assistant. The latter means he coaxes Casey out to the garage and the hot tub. Once I’m settled in the water, he hands the struggling pup over the side and into my arms. He also turns on the timer, hits the button for the jets and yells encouragement. Most of the time, he’s telling Casey to swim across Lake Ontario, chase the geese or head for shore. 

So which do you prefer?

More reasons for good back story

Several years ago, my friend Sage shared her obsession introduced me to the sheer entertainment that is BBC's Robin Hood. We're a year behind over here in North America but we've been buying the complete seasons when they've become available on DVD.  It's good clean fun the entire family can enjoy together.

There have been times when the writers have dropped the ball, or completely rewritten the legend so you never quite know what you're going to get.  Much has been made on the Internet of the Robin/Marian/Sir Guy love triangle.  For some strange reason I was always rooting for the most heinous Sir Guy. Partly, no doubt, because of the brilliant acting and nuances that Richard Armitage brought to the role. Partly, also I think, because there was so much more to Sir Guy in this version than just the Sheriff's lackey.

SPOILER ALERT below:

You may remember my fascination with backstory and all the history behind a person's action. Never was that more evident than in season three as Sir Guy's motivations and life history were revealed. I always suspected he was not all bad, some of his scenes with Marian in season one hinted at his social ineptitude. His obsession with her was at times creepy and others oddly sweet.  He truly loved her.  I knew there had to be a reason that he could so easily twist her kindness towards him as a proclamation of love. Of course, she manipulated his emotions for her own well-being so some of his confusion, and inability to keep up, stemmed from her actions.

Finally, in season three, his past is slowly revealed, a sister returns, the existence of a brother is discovered. All that he thought he knew about himself and the world around him might all be wrong. As we see how past events shaped his decisions, and he experiences the truth of those events, he is faced with decisions about his future.  While he can never atone for all of the lives he took, he can now see how far-reaching and wrong his actions were.  He will never be trusted, his redemption incomplete but he moves forward armed with better information and a desire to if not right some wrongs then at least minimize any future damage. 

Sir Guy was always a tortured and troubled soul. That doesn't change but he no longer subscribed to the life path that misery loves company.  Had his back-story not been revealed, I doubt the viewer would have accepted the changes that took place within him. 

The following video from episode nine is long, fan-made compilation but was the episode in which Guy's transformation solidified.

Motown Momma

Carlo is a 72 year old black man in a 20 year old white boy body.

In the more than five years I've known him, he's been a walking encyclopedia about Motown.  From its biggest stars to more modest songwriter, Carlo can tell you who's who and why we should know them.

It's great fun to work with Carlo.  We both have the 25th anniversary of Motown album. Mine's on vinyl and I bought it when it first came out.  We both have Mary Wilson's autobiograpy Dreamgirl:My life as a Supreme. His is autographed.

A couple of weeks ago, we went to see Smokey Robinson in concert.  Smokey's voice has only gained in strength and range over the years. He's added to his songlist, both as a singer and songwriter. He pulled off contemporary pieces that put the original artists to shame. I was deeply moved by his version of "Don't know why."


Watching Carlo at the concert though was its own experience.  He was in his element. Element.  There was nothing awkward or strange about his connection to the music or to the performer.  I felt like I was seeing Carlo where he not only belonged, but thrived. 

He's the poster boy for reincarnation.

His knowledge of Motown is well-known and recognized by other fans, most of them two to three times his age. When Mary Wilson was looking for someone to manage her website, she was given Carlo's name.  He wasn't a complete unknown to her. She'd been looking for specific photographs several years ago, and Carlo had helped her find exactly what she was looking for. He took it out of his own collection. 

I tell you all this,not only because I adore Carlo, but also because as writers it's all too easy to fall into stereotype.  We hope our characters don't become two dimensional or cliche but we rarely look beneath the exterior to see what makes them truly unique. Not only is a Carlo a thoughtful, generous young man, his soul vibrates with the music of another time.  Yet he's fully engaged in the here and now.He's found a way to make his passion contemporary.

Carlo is the webmaster for Mary Wilson.

Perseverance

We have a bad habit in this household of misjudging time. 

We thought it would take a day or two to lay the sod and paving stones for the sidewalk. It took a total of six days spread out over three weeks. 

We thought it would take months to adjust to all living together and it only took several weeks. I suspect it helps that we have separate apartments and can get away from each other.

We thought it would take a month or two (ok, only Mom was that optimistic) to heal Casey's leg. It's been 16 months and he's still in a brace.  He's running around like a fool, chasing Ky, leaping for the ball and generally acting like a normal dog.

About a month ago, we hit a snag.  His foot slid around in the brace. He limped all the time and held his leg up more often than not. We trained him to put his foot on the floor on command but the rest of the time there was a few inches of clearance between paw and ground.  He couldn't seem to put it down unless it was a conscious effort.

I worried that the ligaments or tendons had shortened.  It seemed like we had finally received good news about the strength of his shoulder muscles only to have balanced it with bad elsewhere.  His brace was falling apart. The sole had to be glued on every other night because he scuffed it so much. 

During one of his weekly swims, he hopped over to see Janice at Pawsability.  Her initial assessment was that his leg hadn't changed. Once she watched him walk without his brace, something he does with increasing frequency, she realized something important.

The little brown dog with the turned in foot had grown into a large brown dog with a straight leg.

After 16 long months, Casey's leg has straightened. It still turns out from his body, due to some weak muscles below his elbow but it's straight. Straight!! 

 Let me remind you how it looked when he came to us

See how his foot is turned completely under. It was like that for a very long time. 

This is how Casey looks today

He wants out of the car to swim

Oh wait, you'd like to see his paw.  Apart from the picture above, he's always on the move.  I'd like to have a word with the veterinarian who thinks Casey would be better off with three legs.  How is that even possible?  This dog knows no limits because of his orthotic brace. 

But the ultimate proof of how well he's doing now comes from this action photo.  He ran past me through the kitchen.

It's a crappy photo but perfect all the same.  Note which paw is taking all of his weight.

16 months later. Proof that perseverance pays off.

Doors, windows and wishes

You know that old adage, "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it".  Last week's post was full of activity and commitments and I wished I had more time - for friends, for family, for writing, for gardening, for relaxing, for fun.  I don't know about fun and relaxation but on Monday one Door slammed shut so hard that the house is still reverberating. The aftershocks popped open three windows. They're small windows. I'd have to go through all three simultaneously to get to the same place that door afforded me but it's nice to know I'm not trapped inside without an emergency exit.  I still have the smaller door I've been using all week. All is not lost.

On the upside, I have all that time on my hands. I can finish my courses(once I stop staring aimlessly into space or fighting Ky for the dark chocolate peanut M&Ms that seem to be a primary source of comfort -the chocolate, the dog and the scrambling)  I plan to systematically clean and purge every single room in my house - even the haunted basement that Stasholic and I never got around to exorcising on her last visit.

But first, to finish Casey's book. We've had some positive developments in that area and I'm just waiting for the pictures to come through before I share next week.  I'll take it over door number one every time.

Goals, goals and more goals

Okay, I didn't reach last week's goal by any stretch. I did get a lot done. 5,000 photographs are a lot to sort through. I think I looked at 361 and my eyes crossed. The good news is I can chop 1700 off the list, as soon as I find them in the unnamed folders, because Casey did not go to Scotland with me.

This week is a heavy work week and I start two more courses.  Apparently, there is a box of plants in the garage that needs to make it into the ground, too.  Ky's water therapy was derailed by an injury to both left legs. He got tangled in the ramp when he went after his ball in the pool. He's on steady massage therapy this week.  I'm a busy woman.

I've amended the goal to inputting a minimum one page per day.  It doesn't sound like much but if you could see the chicken scratch all over the current pages you'd realize that amounts to possibly 1,000 words a day.  Except for page 7. It has five words.

How does your week look?

Goals

I finished the penultimate draft of Casey's story after a push from Miz Elen. In one of those odd quirks of life, it was actually Casey's second birthday when I lay down my pen.

I'm pleased with it so far.  There are some details that need to be added, some research to verify and photos to go through before I send it off to Readers. Next week I work ten days straight and start two new library courses so I want to get as much done as possible this coming week.  The whirling dervish's path of destruction in the yard has been repaired so I have some time.  He can't exactly be left unattended out there as he treats the new sod like a salad bar but I can fact check and eyeball him at the same time.

My goal is to send Heal Casey out by the middle of June.  It's nose-to-the-grindstone-time, people.

Back story

I love back stories.  Whenever I hear something on the radio or tv, I immediately want to know how or why it happened.  I can spend hours(days, weeks or even years) trying to figure out how a rumour started, if subject A is really telling the truth and why is subject B a pathological liar. Why are some people extreme and others midline? Who took the cookie from the cookie jar? And why won't they share?

An entire episode of LOST was devoted to back story last week. I enjoyed it immensely, but most people did not. I think we may have all been confused but that's alright. At some point it will make sense.  I'm okay with waiting until that time.

There are exceptions to my back story interest.  I read a book yesterday, non-fiction, that was half back story and the other half a recitation of facts. It never really took me where the book jacket suggested it would. I suspect the writing style is what put me off more than the content. A dry list of who went where and with whom. No interesting details or conversations. I would love to take my dog out for a walk in the Highlands but it's the conversations(between him and I, or the ones in my head) that anchor those moments.  Ky always investigates the flora, fauna and wildlife that I point out to him on our walks.  If another human accompanies me, those are the times we discuss the "important" details of life.  We invariably solve all the problems of the world.

Yet in my own writing, I usually forget back story. I jump right into the moment and barrel forward full speed ahead. I have to go back in subsequent drafts and fill in motivation.  I know it all, but rarely include it because I figured it all out often several months previous to the actual writing. Back story conversations are a cornerstone of many of our walks.

Motivation not only propels characters forward. It is rooted in back story. How or why a person behaves is usually in response, positive or negative, to an event or way of life that happened in the past. Five minutes ago or five centuries in the past matters not. It happened off-screen, and most importantly, shaped the character. 

Not everyone cares about the why, especially in action adventures. Good guy chases bad guy is enough information for most. The books and movies that satisfy me the most are the ones that make me think about how or why the good guy became so devoted to his path while the bad guy blew his up.

What about you? Are you a fan of back story or does it annoy you?

Circle of Healing

Casey is my parent's dog and he lives downstairs in our house. My boy is a six-and-a-half year old Australian Shepherd Border Collie cross who was born at a local shelter. Kyanite was named after the stone that brings balance into one's life. He's very good at keeping my energy up when it's low, and calming me when it's too high.  I've known him since he was a week old. One of nine pups, he was born with a twisted spine. At first we all thought crooked running was an optical illusion because of his markings.

Other issues presented themselves so he went to see Dr. Langdon, and has been going for the last five years.  She helps keep him straight.

It was because of Ky's experiences that we thought we could  help Casey heal.  He started with Dr. Langdon then moved onto Pawsability, then Canine Wellness.

A few weeks ago, during one of his usual chiropractic sessions, Dr. Langdon noticed a problem with Ky's knees.  She recommended swimming.  It was still cold down in the lake at that point so we dragged him up to Canine Wellness when Casey went for his weekly swim.  Casey thought it was a lot of fun to race around the center and show Ky all the cool things in there. When it came time to swimming though, he was distracted as they went their separate ways - Casey to the pool and Ky to the rehab part of the center.

Tania assessed Ky's knees and thighs.  I had forgotten about an old injury he suffered when he was about a year old.  A clothesline had cut right into the muscles on his inner thigh when he got tangled with another dog. It was a deep cut and caused him a lot of pain for some time. As it healed, I forgot about it.  A lot has happened over the intervening years.  One thing that lingered was Ky's inability to lie his leg flat when he lay down.

While his chiropractic issues are the realm of Dr. Langdon, Tania gave us some good exercises to help relax the muscles.  She also showed me how to massage that area to loosen it up.  Then we tried the wobble board.  None of us had great balance but it didn't faze Ky. He went back up.  The more we worked with him,  the more apparent it became that chiropractic and massage go hand in hand. Both trained professionals told me the same thing about his issues, from slightly different perspectives. I know from my own body that a chiropractic adjustment lasts longer if I schedule a massage for the next day.  That way the muscles are more relaxed and not trying to pull the spine back out of alignment.

Ky came home with a sheet of instructions as well as a second suggestion to swim him.  Because of the lake's temperature, he needs to be warmed up then cooled off after a swim. A fifteen to twenty minute walk before and after would do the trick. How convenient that's about the time it takes us to walk down to the lake.

Yesterday, was our first real attempt at swimming. Ky has never particularly enjoyed the sensation of the ground going out from under him. He likes all four paws firmly planted on the earth. It can be wet, squishy earth but swim?

It was a rousing success. I took his favourite green ball, which floats, and off we went. He sniffed the painted turtle along the side of the road, barked at the swan and dove right in after his ball. Repeatedly. Most of the time, he'd bring it back for me to throw out there again. 

A few times he came out of the lake at a distance from me then spit the ball in my direction. I had him on a 40 foot lead so that he couldn't get spooked and run out onto the road.  There's a fair amount of traffic along that lake.  He did raise his head as the man fishing on the other side of the road came back to this car.

But more than anything, he kept going back into the lake. Over and over, he swam.

Walking back home, then massaging his thigh, I couldn't help but think how the dogs' healing had come full circle. Ky went to a chiropractor which helped Casey. The chiropractor recommended Pawsability for Casey which in turn led to Canine Wellness. Casey's appointments led to Ky's swimming and now I have two dogs in therapy helping each other heal.

Most creative book trailer ever

I fully intend to buy these books entirely because of the book trailer.
Enjoy

Another week goes by

Still had a fever and cough but at least I was finally able to read this past week. I went through 80% of my TBR pile. Not sure how much I retained, which is why I didn't do any of my own writing; though I did think about Bracken and Bryna for the first time in many months.

I read, in no particular order, books by:
Jill Shalvis
Karen Rose
Susan Wiggs
Kerreyln Sparks
Maggie Shayne
Kristen Higgans
a lovely book about a Toronto suburb The Beach by Glenn Cochrane
and The Knitter's Book of Wool because it has such pretty patterns. And sheep.

I just spied Alex and Me by Irene Pepperberg on my shelf. I should read that next. It might give me some insight into life with Yoda, the Quaker parakeet blessed with an abundance of personality. I should have had a look at my own shelves before I begged a ride to the bookstore...

I did some of my reading, wrapped up warmly, on a lounge chair by the pond. It doesn't look like any of the fish made it through this past winter.

I just realized yesterday that I still have the third, and final, season of the BBC's Robin Hood. Something to consider as I work on building my strength back up this week.

Stream of semi-consciousness

I've been a lot sicker since I got home than when I last blogged, hence the lack of communication. I've barely been coherent. Sadly, I haven't had the attention span to read or write at all this week. It took me four hours to watch The Blind Side because my brain could only process so much at a time. I'd turn it off. Let the dog outside. Try to catch my breath from all that movement. Let the dog back in. Get another glass of orange juice, ginger ale or popsicle then start all over again. Four hours. One movie. Not a great week.

I watched:
Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution
2 episodes of Lost
2 episodes of V
The Guardian
The Invisible
Crossing Over
Post-Grad
Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
Taking Woodstock
Lots of volcano footage

all of which led to strange questions -
why do they call Kraft Singles Processed Cheese? Isn't all cheese processed? It doesn't come out of the cow as a large block of cheddar.

Why does Ray Liotta always play scumbags? He has a reputation of being a really nice guy but as soon as I see him walk on screen I know he's a sleazy character.

If the Coast Guard flies when everyone else is grounded, does that mean helicopters are less susceptible to weather than airplanes? Why does Ashton Kutcher always look so smug, no matter what he's doing?

Why was Taking Woodstock labeled a comedy. It wasn't funny. It had amusing parts but overall it wasn't funny. It was poignant, well-done; but not funny.

How old is Michael Keaton? Remember when he was Beetlejuice? He's still funny. And I like Jane Lynch. How did they cut that casket down to make the boxcar? That made no sense. What kind of tools did the guy have in his garage??

How did she save him? She'd seen him before so that whole sequence, the climax of the movie was completely lost in translation. Perhaps if I'd read the Swedish book on which the movie was made. Okay, it was interesting right up to that point, I had suspended all belief. Then they blew it.

Is Where's Fluffy? a real band? Won't her father hunt them down with a shotgun when he hears that recording. Two movies in one day where Jimi Hendrix was an invisible, unseen, off-screen IMPORTANT character. Three if you count the Purple Haze that's flying over Europe these days.

Who the hell are the good guys on Lost? I'm so confused.

Remember the original V? Freddy Kruger and the mouse? I preferred the campy original.

Those questions, and many more, are the reason I should stay off the Internet when I'm not firing on all cylinders. Not even close.

Hope you all had a better week.

Plan B

I'm sidelined with bronchitis and unable to enact Plan A - learning to snowboard. Instead I'm sitting in a Starbucks in Whistler, watching all the boarders and skiiers come in from a great day on the slopes. Maybe tomorrow, with inhaler in hand, I may be able to join them. In the meantime, I'm engaged in Plan B - working on Casey's story. I miss the dogs a great deal more than I do the humans(trust me, they will all understand that) so it's nice to review the last couple of years with Dad's "little brown bear".

My nephew and I drover nine hours on Saturday to have Easter dinner with my aunt and uncle, cousin and her family. Not only was it fantastic to see family in their own environment, we shared genealogy stories and I got to pet dogs. Spending time with family while so far from home was wonderful.

We also had an incredible drive.


I fly home next Sunday. I imagine the blog will be a couple of days late next week as well.

In the meantime, I plan to take it easy, work on Casey's story and breathe deep - as deeply as bronchitis will allow. This fresh mountain air is amazing. While Plan A may take a few days to be realized, Plan B isn't too shabby. You can't beat the view I have right now.

Finish line

I finished a couple of things this week:

This Fun read that I've been waiting for two years to reach my eager little hands. Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer never fail to entertain. Go read the prequel. You'll be hooked.

I completed all of my assignments for both library courses and started the exams. I know technically I didn't finish them but I'm in the home stretch.

This is a rug made from plastic newspaper bags and the Maid of the Mist capes. I've been working on it off and on for two years. I really like to reuse stuff.

What do you think?

I figured out how to make Casey bear weight on his left leg. That is a task that will never be finished but it's still an accomplishment. The other day at the store I ran into a customer whose little dog had a severed tendon so I'd told his owners about Casey's brace. Now their little dog is now running out and about in his own tiny brace. He's so much happier. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the whole reason for writing, and finishing (which I have yet to do) Heal, Casey. We have a talented animal chiropractor in the area, Dr Langdon, animal rehab at the Canine Wellness Center, and prostheses through Pawsability. Surgery is not the only option. While these alternatives won't work for every pet, the information and options should be known. Just look at how well he's swimming now. He's a happy dog.

I got nuttin

My personal life is insane right now, hence the lack of blog last week. My apologies, I will try to better.

Writing is not the comfort it has been in the past. My days are full, my brain is empty and I've got nuttin. Casey is learning to retrieve a floating toy so that swimming can expand to include our local lake. I think the toy needs to be on a rope as he doesn't always care if it comes back with him. His chiropractor would like him to swim every day. I don't want to freeze my butt off so we're trying to teach him to be independent. On a 30 foot lead (for safety's sake and my peace of mind) He also has a new set of exercises to increase the muscle mass in his shoulder. That dog has a team of healers that rivals my mom's - and that's saying something. I signed up to take an animal acupressure course in the Fall so that we can add to the list. While it's unlikely he'll ever walk without the brace, he can use that foot. Last night we played tug-of-war with his rope and he dug in with both forefeet. The brace was off. He walks on the foot if you remind him too but doesn't do it subconsciously. Still, it's a vast improvement from the early days when the foot was bent under him.

Old love letters

I've been cleaning out old drawers, boxes and rubbermaid containers. There's too much paperwork breeding in my house. I don't really need the old gas receipt with the outline of Heaven Coming Down written on it. I have the actual book.

We've moved a lot so things do tend to get weeded out but the other day I found copies of two old love letters I'd written, one when I was 15, the other 20 years later. Setting aside the maturity factor and life experience of said love, I found the writing differences astounding. Back when I was 15 and in love with my best friend, I poured every romantic cliche onto the paper. While the affection was mutual the intensity wasn't but we remained close even after his dad was transferred to Nova Scotia. If I remember correctly it was our move to Ontario that finally ended things. Reading my interpretation of that youthful yearning was entertaining;not for the sentiment so much as the way I expressed it.

I used phrases like "trifle nervous" and "heart hammered beneath your hand". Silly juvenile words full of youthful anticipation. I had forgotten how innocent that love was, even if it was sweet enough to induce a diabetic coma. I put that notebook back into the box.

The other love letter was full of passion, smart phrases and brilliant analogies. I'm pretty sure I kept it because I liked how well written it was; funny, playful, cute and light. It really was well-written but, there was no passion, no yearning and most of the sentiment, while brilliantly crafted, was a lie. Maybe not a lie, but a definite misdirection. My emotions for that person ran far deeper than suggested by all the splashing the letter did across of the surface of that pond. I shredded the second letter.

Sometimes, I think too much, try too hard for the right phrase, look too hard for analogies. All the clear, true emotion gets lost in the clutter of expression. It's something to remember as I input all the revisions in Hell to Pay. It's something to keep in mind when I start the next project, and all the projects to come.

Hockey is our game

I'm writing this on the eve of the Olympic Gold Medal match-up between Canada and the United States. This is a big deal for us. It's a big deal for them too. Hockey is a great sport played, and highly valued, in many countries around the world.

For Canadians it's our national sport. We play it all across the country and every province has it's own championship. Entire states in the US haven't a clue what the fuss is all about. To be fair, not every single Canadian is a champion of the sport either.

It's a lot more personal for me. Growing up in the military and moving from community to community; hockey was a constant. In Germany, we'd go to the arena and watch my dad play teams from all over Europe. At Christmas, Santa brought us hockey sticks so that we could play in the lane with Dad. We were young kids living in a foreign land staying connected to home through a game my father grew up playing with his father and three brothers.

In Kingston, we were old hands at road hockey. Glenn Holland made me play in net because I scored more than he did. If only I'd known then that some day women would play hockey in the Olympics. I was a fairly sharp goaltender, as much for self-preservation as through skill. As a family, we'd go to OHL (Ontario Hockey League) games and watch young stars of the future.

In Summerside, PEI, I only dated hockey players. That wasn't saying much. I think every young man in our community played that sport. We drove all over the province with the Away team. My favourite rink was the one that had live trees as the corner posts of the building. On our way home we'd stop at the one and only McDonald's on the Island for a milkshake. To this day, I can't believe the machine never once worked. We'd laugh and sing all the way home. Because the military was such a small world, one of the forwards was a young man I'd played road hockey with in one of our German postings. I loved hockey so much I tried out to be a referee. I cannot tell you how many hours Dana and Gerald Walker spent trying to teach me to skate as fast as the boys so that I could keep up. I never mastered that stop without toe picks. Who knew then that balance was so far out of my control? But I aced the written part of the referee test.

We moved to a small Northern Ontario town when my dad retired from the military to become a teacher. I was a teenager and had no point of reference with these new kids. Most of them had grown up together. But they had an arena. The entire town supported that team and I made friends through a sport I knew as well as I knew my own name. The articles I wrote for the local paper helped me get into college.

I studied Broadcast Journalism at Niagara College and fought hard to be one of the first years lucky enough to cover the local hockey games. Arenas were my comfort zone. I grew up on the sport. I'd watched Tony McKegney play as a junior in Kingston, long before he hit the NHL and Buffalo. While I wasn't a stats junkie, I still knew my stuff. I convinced the teachers to give one of the cameramen and I the same hockey test. Whoever passed could do camera for the next game. I won - by a huge margin. In my second year, I was doing colour commentary for the local cable channel and getting credit in school. Two years later, crew was being determined by knowledge of the game, not gender, as it should have been all along.

I'm not sure where that passion for hockey went. Over the last few years, other things have taken precedence. I haven't been to the arena in far too long. Thanks to the Olympics all the memories of hockey in all those towns has come rushing back. This is OUR game, in large part because of geography. We play it on ponds, on roads, in lanes, arenas and television. We connect over this sport. No matter how far from home,or where our travels take us, strangers become friends and we bond over this game.

While I know the following is merely a commercial selling a product, the music at the 48 second mark perfectly illustrates how I feel where hockey is concerned. Enjoy. And no matter who wins the Olympic Gold Medal, hockey will remain Our Game. It's a lot more fun now that the rest of the world plays with us.

Casey heals

Last week, as declared, I finished editing Hell to Pay. Some of those pages have layers of ink, and arrows to other pages but it's done. I'll input it next week and send it out.

Because I always travel with manuscript pages in my purse, I was able to get a lot of work done on Heal, Casey this week. You never know when there will be time to kill in a line, or while waiting for an appointment. I tend to do a lot of editing on my lunch and work breaks. I used to have days in which to write without distraction. Now my schedule is much busier and I take every opportunity I can to work on Casey's book.

I have a very strong vision, not only of the book's format, but also of its marketing. It helps that he continues to improve with every swim. Last week, he was running around the house without his brace on - four feet on the floor. Then my dad, Casey's entire reason for being, moved. The dog spun his head, then pivoted on his left foreleg. The bad leg. The one he uses for balance but doesn't trust. That's the leg he shifted all his weight onto and used to turn his body to watch His Boy's movement through the house. That was a Big Moment in the evolution of his healing.

When we went for his hydrotherapy treatment at Canine Wellness on Thursday, the book came up in conversation. They were curious about my motivation for writing it.

Not only his therapist was there but also the wonderful Janice who created his brace. I think if we'd found Pawsability when Casey first came to us, his progress would have been a lot quicker and less traumatic. He owes his improvement primarily to the women at those two facilities.

There are a lot of injured pets out there who can benefit from our experience. There are also a lot of physically challenged people like my mom who can benefit from having a pet with demanding needs. They heal each other.