I should've known better than to mention Nick's crap the other day . . . Today was a bad day . . . I can't even talk about it . . . Three hours outside . . . one pair of scissors, two rags, a soapy bucket of water and hair brush . . . a ball of doggy waste the size of a grapefruit . . . and now Nick is balding in spots.
In better news, after working until six this morning, sleeping four hours, spending another four in the company of my beloved pet and then working all afternoon and evening again, I finally have something to show for it. What do you think of the new look?
Mood: stiff neck
Drinking: nothing yet
Listening To: the grumble of my empty stomach
Hair: pulled back in a severe face-lifting ponytail
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Sunday, October 24, 2004
@#$%@$$!!!
Late last night, as I worked into the wee hours yet again (I've seen 4am every day this week) my sneaky suspicion materialized -- I'm going to have to touch up EVERY PAGE published so far this year, EVERY SINGLE PAGE!! It's not enough that I took the whole week to change the background and navigation for the site which is really 10 little sites making one big site (AKA a lot of terribly tedious bad on the arthritis in the hands work) . . . now, I've got to go back in and change the formatting on every page in order to make it work with the new background. Do you know how many pages that is? A LOT!! I'm losing my freaking mind . . . AND I have to write fiction to meet with the girl's on Friday (I'm getting emails about it) . . . AND the WFNB newsletter is due soon (I'm getting emails about it) . . . AND I haven't pubbed BnM in two weeks and I really need to do it soon (I'm getting emails about it) . . . AND I've got press releases back-logged (I'm getting emails about it) . . . AND my mouse is wonky (I emailed a guy about it but he hasn't replied) . . . AND then there's the family personal crap that's gone into high-gear with my grandfather's impending death and my mom being freaked out . . . I just want to curl up and go to sleep.
Mood: stressed to the max
Drinking: tea for now, seeing wine in my immediate future and brandy before dawn
Listening To: the throbbing of the headache in my temple
Hair: Coming out in clumps
Mood: stressed to the max
Drinking: tea for now, seeing wine in my immediate future and brandy before dawn
Listening To: the throbbing of the headache in my temple
Hair: Coming out in clumps
Friday, October 22, 2004
Footnote from my Past
Tonight Kaitlyn sent me a poem she wrote that reminded me of one I had written when I was just a little bit older than she is now. I think I was 14. I kept that poem for some reason, I think because I liked the idea and thought it might come in handy one day. As poems go, it was never that great. Over the years I've taken it out and toyed with it a bit. It's the inspiration now for a story I haven't finished yet . . . a story about an old woman who waits for a long lost love to return to her. I'm not sure it's a poem anymore (a prose poem perhaps? flash fiction?) Whatever it is now, here's the latest incarnation from 1999.
The Visitor
Knock — a single rap and then no more. Quick, soft, then gone — like a message spoken in haste, a mistake quickly retrieved. Is it real? Or have I imagined your knuckles upon my door? Like in my dreams, the echo brought to life by the wilful strength of my mind. Has my lost love returned? Or have my ears been fooled by my wish? Perhaps a tree's severed limb has been thrown against the door, like a bit of an innocent soldier's flesh flung from the trenches of war. A storm has captured the night. Thunder crashes amidst lightning flashes, like bombs launched but destined to remain in the sky forever, never landing. Lightning paints the world in unnatural jagged silver-white sheets. Trees bravely fight the fierce howling wind. The birds and little forest animals, overwhelmed and outnumbered, have long since surrendered and defeated without protest skulked home where they hide waiting for peace. Electricity cut by the enemy, clutching a candle, my knuckles white, I creep to the door hoping it is you but believing it is the tree.
Flash — a face pale and wet is framed in the window for one startling moment, frozen in the storm's paralysing photograph — then gone, the night swallowing it whole. Your face, beyond the reach of my candle's weak flame, but I know it is you. I run to the door, fumble with the locks and fling it open not caring that the wind having found the weakness in my armour will invade my fortress. And there you are. Tired. Battered by the storm. But not beaten, not wounded, unscathed and alive. You are alive and returned safe to my arms, soaked and chilled through the bone, but here with me, my dream incarnate. You are the same with hands callused and strong, body towering and lean, face hardened and sharp, eyes dancing with —
No. Eyes not dancing at all. Eyes lifeless and dull. What has happened? Have I remembered the eyes wrong? Perhaps . . . perhaps . . . But . . . Your smile remains the same, broad and so white against your tanned skin. It's so joyous to be held in your arms again. Your embrace has not been forgotten or altered in the depths of my memory. Still warm. Still comforting. Still safe. The words upon your lips are the very words I always wanted to hear, words you withheld before. The words flow loose and free, finally released, but not forming the question as I dreamed. Still, the words nonetheless — You will be my wife. Oh, I will. I will. Your lips lower and part meeting mine. Your kiss so sweet and soft like clover, freshly mowed grass. I do remember your kiss. I remember craning my neck to lose myself in that kiss. But this kiss . . . This kiss is cold as death and rank as a rotting corpse. It is not you. This man I kiss, this man I'm to wed is not you. "Who are you?" I scream clawing to escape. And the thunder crashes. And the door is blown open. And the wind surrounds the candle's flame, killing it. And the lightning flashes freeze framing the demon. Then blackness. Darkness smothers me as the demon laughs loudly above the roar of the wind. The wind tamed and powerless in the demon's presence.
Awake. The sun shines. The birds sing. Squirrels chatter in the trees. And I lie alone in my tiny bed thankful I've only had a bad dream. Nightmares my darling, from missing you so much. But now it is the day and I am safe and the day is beautiful and bright. Nothing in the world could ever be wrong. I stretch and yawn, well rested despite my horrible dream. And it is only then that I notice, only then that I see it, only then that I feel it . . . on the third finger of my left hand —
A golden wedding band.
Mood: somewhat withdrawn
Drinking: water still, we're out of the good stuff
Listening To: With or Without You, U2
Hair: I can no longer bear to look at it in the mirror
The Visitor
Knock — a single rap and then no more. Quick, soft, then gone — like a message spoken in haste, a mistake quickly retrieved. Is it real? Or have I imagined your knuckles upon my door? Like in my dreams, the echo brought to life by the wilful strength of my mind. Has my lost love returned? Or have my ears been fooled by my wish? Perhaps a tree's severed limb has been thrown against the door, like a bit of an innocent soldier's flesh flung from the trenches of war. A storm has captured the night. Thunder crashes amidst lightning flashes, like bombs launched but destined to remain in the sky forever, never landing. Lightning paints the world in unnatural jagged silver-white sheets. Trees bravely fight the fierce howling wind. The birds and little forest animals, overwhelmed and outnumbered, have long since surrendered and defeated without protest skulked home where they hide waiting for peace. Electricity cut by the enemy, clutching a candle, my knuckles white, I creep to the door hoping it is you but believing it is the tree.
Flash — a face pale and wet is framed in the window for one startling moment, frozen in the storm's paralysing photograph — then gone, the night swallowing it whole. Your face, beyond the reach of my candle's weak flame, but I know it is you. I run to the door, fumble with the locks and fling it open not caring that the wind having found the weakness in my armour will invade my fortress. And there you are. Tired. Battered by the storm. But not beaten, not wounded, unscathed and alive. You are alive and returned safe to my arms, soaked and chilled through the bone, but here with me, my dream incarnate. You are the same with hands callused and strong, body towering and lean, face hardened and sharp, eyes dancing with —
No. Eyes not dancing at all. Eyes lifeless and dull. What has happened? Have I remembered the eyes wrong? Perhaps . . . perhaps . . . But . . . Your smile remains the same, broad and so white against your tanned skin. It's so joyous to be held in your arms again. Your embrace has not been forgotten or altered in the depths of my memory. Still warm. Still comforting. Still safe. The words upon your lips are the very words I always wanted to hear, words you withheld before. The words flow loose and free, finally released, but not forming the question as I dreamed. Still, the words nonetheless — You will be my wife. Oh, I will. I will. Your lips lower and part meeting mine. Your kiss so sweet and soft like clover, freshly mowed grass. I do remember your kiss. I remember craning my neck to lose myself in that kiss. But this kiss . . . This kiss is cold as death and rank as a rotting corpse. It is not you. This man I kiss, this man I'm to wed is not you. "Who are you?" I scream clawing to escape. And the thunder crashes. And the door is blown open. And the wind surrounds the candle's flame, killing it. And the lightning flashes freeze framing the demon. Then blackness. Darkness smothers me as the demon laughs loudly above the roar of the wind. The wind tamed and powerless in the demon's presence.
Awake. The sun shines. The birds sing. Squirrels chatter in the trees. And I lie alone in my tiny bed thankful I've only had a bad dream. Nightmares my darling, from missing you so much. But now it is the day and I am safe and the day is beautiful and bright. Nothing in the world could ever be wrong. I stretch and yawn, well rested despite my horrible dream. And it is only then that I notice, only then that I see it, only then that I feel it . . . on the third finger of my left hand —
A golden wedding band.
Mood: somewhat withdrawn
Drinking: water still, we're out of the good stuff
Listening To: With or Without You, U2
Hair: I can no longer bear to look at it in the mirror
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Nerds & Turds
Turns out the Nick Nolte Diary is not being written by Nick Nolte, which makes it slightly less fun to read. I should have guessed earlier that if it sounded too much like Nick Nolte it had to be aspiring screen writers. Get the full scoop from E! Online. Taia, thanks for the heads up on that one. If they continue to blog though, I think I'll keep reading. It's still pretty funny. Or I could leave those nerds high and dry and head on over to Jeff Bridges' site. They're doing some interesting stuff over there . . . apparently, they scan in his handwritten notes, which is kind of different.
So tonight while I waited for my supper to cook (I made bacon-wrapped chestnuts smothered in garlic butter and mozzarella -- Yummy! And great when you're doing Atkins, which I'm not . . . so, just a big old clogged artery in a bowl.) Anyway, I was sitting in the living room channel surfing when Mom drove in. Of course when Nick heard her car he jumped up and ran past my chair to bark in the window. I heard a thud. He skidded to a stop and half-turned to see what was up . . . and to both our horror, there was a turd lying on the floor. His belly hit the ground and he sneaked over into the corner where he threw himself down with a huge sigh. And I cleaned up the little mess. He's a long-haired beast (part sheep dog I think) so this kind of thing can happen every now and again, lingering bits caught in the hair come loose when he bounds or jumps. What's really funny is his reaction when it happens -- Oh the horror! He becomes so embarrassed he just goes and hides, sighing really loud, and looking around occasionally as if to say, "What are you looking at me for? Nothing going on over here." This I can laugh about -- solid, dry, good for making fun stuff . . . It's the times that he's been sick with the runs or constipation . . . yeah, those times, not so much fun.
Mood: perplexed
Drinking: water, straight up, no chaser, of the bottled variety, but not a name brand
Listening To: Big Balls, AC/DC
Hair: Let's not go there today, ok?
So tonight while I waited for my supper to cook (I made bacon-wrapped chestnuts smothered in garlic butter and mozzarella -- Yummy! And great when you're doing Atkins, which I'm not . . . so, just a big old clogged artery in a bowl.) Anyway, I was sitting in the living room channel surfing when Mom drove in. Of course when Nick heard her car he jumped up and ran past my chair to bark in the window. I heard a thud. He skidded to a stop and half-turned to see what was up . . . and to both our horror, there was a turd lying on the floor. His belly hit the ground and he sneaked over into the corner where he threw himself down with a huge sigh. And I cleaned up the little mess. He's a long-haired beast (part sheep dog I think) so this kind of thing can happen every now and again, lingering bits caught in the hair come loose when he bounds or jumps. What's really funny is his reaction when it happens -- Oh the horror! He becomes so embarrassed he just goes and hides, sighing really loud, and looking around occasionally as if to say, "What are you looking at me for? Nothing going on over here." This I can laugh about -- solid, dry, good for making fun stuff . . . It's the times that he's been sick with the runs or constipation . . . yeah, those times, not so much fun.
Mood: perplexed
Drinking: water, straight up, no chaser, of the bottled variety, but not a name brand
Listening To: Big Balls, AC/DC
Hair: Let's not go there today, ok?
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Worker Bee Mode
What an insane time I'm having with work. We're in the process of changing to a new design. I had a new issue ready to go on the weekend but I held it back a little because Jen had a new column coming in. In the meantime Joy had started working on the design change, but she didn't get it done by the end of the weekend and then she was off this week. So, I've been unable to publish the new issue because some of the site had the new look and some didn't and I've been left having to make all the changes myself. The design part is so not my thing! It's just so friggin' tedious and takes forever on dial-up. Anyway, enough griping, I just thought I'd better pop in and let you guys know I haven't run away and joined the circus . . . Yet! :-)
Briefly, in other news, I spent a relaxing evening at Carol's house earlier this week. I collected some of Kaitlyn's art for an article I'm working on about her. And we watched a movie -- Freddy Vs. Jason, which was a lot of fun. I've always loved Freddy, he's got the best one-liners and with my nightmares he's always been the horror villain I could relate to the most.
The Grudge opens this weekend but I haven't found anyone to go with me to see it . . . which is probably just as well.
I've been reading Nick Nolte's Diary everyday and loving it. I can hear his voice in my head when I read the pieces, which are always really short and there's only one every day, so it's easy to read his stuff. I get a kick out of him.
I have learned that U2 are going on tour and coming to Canada next year. I immediately went to the Ticketmaster website and signed up for alerts. If they play anywhere in Ontario or points east, I'm going! I will not miss Bono!! I can't see them coming to Halifax though . . . so, I'll probably be Toronto bound and how exciting will that be! Maybe if I'm really nice and remember to send a Christmas card this year, Taia and Ian will let me crash on the couch for a night ;-)
Mood: stiff
Drinking: cold tea
Listening To: Don't It Make You Feel, The Headpins
Hair: Mom told me today that it looks like Andy Dick's . . . so, there you go
Briefly, in other news, I spent a relaxing evening at Carol's house earlier this week. I collected some of Kaitlyn's art for an article I'm working on about her. And we watched a movie -- Freddy Vs. Jason, which was a lot of fun. I've always loved Freddy, he's got the best one-liners and with my nightmares he's always been the horror villain I could relate to the most.
The Grudge opens this weekend but I haven't found anyone to go with me to see it . . . which is probably just as well.
I've been reading Nick Nolte's Diary everyday and loving it. I can hear his voice in my head when I read the pieces, which are always really short and there's only one every day, so it's easy to read his stuff. I get a kick out of him.
I have learned that U2 are going on tour and coming to Canada next year. I immediately went to the Ticketmaster website and signed up for alerts. If they play anywhere in Ontario or points east, I'm going! I will not miss Bono!! I can't see them coming to Halifax though . . . so, I'll probably be Toronto bound and how exciting will that be! Maybe if I'm really nice and remember to send a Christmas card this year, Taia and Ian will let me crash on the couch for a night ;-)
Mood: stiff
Drinking: cold tea
Listening To: Don't It Make You Feel, The Headpins
Hair: Mom told me today that it looks like Andy Dick's . . . so, there you go
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Roughing it in the Bush
Oh Mrs. Moodie! I've never been able to finish your book . . . and now I think I know why. I don't find your "roughing it" experience to be all that exciting because it's just old hat around these parts.
This morning as Nick and I trekked about the yard looking for the best bushes to pee on and poop under, I noticed garbage strung from one end of the upper driveway to the other and all down into the ditch. Closer inspection revealed that the back end of the garbage bin had been ripped out. Yes, a bear pigged out on our garbage sometime during the night. (Really, who could resist Jen's bacon grease?) The way the boards were laying there ripped in two it kind of looked as if the beast had just swatted it with his big ass paw and sliced through the wood like a sword through tissue. So now I'm REALLY afraid to take Nick out after dark, which seems to only make him want to go out more and see what the hell I'm trying to keep from him. It's a Catch-22.
When we went out to supper and the movies on the weekend, Cindy told me her parents had a bear come onto their deck and right up to the patio doors where he licked the window. They live in the Plaster Rock area where apparently they've been having a really bad time with bears into everything, stealing stuff from people's fridges and freezers on their porches.
Stacy is going on bear safari this weekend in Rogersville area. Apparently, they've got it set up so that anywhere from 25-35 bears will come out and feed all at the same time while you watch and take pictures from a treehouse type thing 20 feet above them. That is SO not for me! It's like tempting fate isn't it? Isn't that the part of the movie where the audience starts screaming, "Don't go up in that tree, idiot! The bears will get you!" And then they groan and shake their heads when the character does it anyway. I suppose it'll be a thrill. She'll get some scary pictures. I'm just way too chicken . . . dump trauma from when I was a kid I think.
Mood: All fogged in
Drinking: hot chocolate spiked with brandy
Listening To: The Pretenders, Brass In Pocket on Virgin Classic Rock Radio live from the U.K.
Hair: getting blonder by the day . . . and fuzzy?! What's up with that?
This morning as Nick and I trekked about the yard looking for the best bushes to pee on and poop under, I noticed garbage strung from one end of the upper driveway to the other and all down into the ditch. Closer inspection revealed that the back end of the garbage bin had been ripped out. Yes, a bear pigged out on our garbage sometime during the night. (Really, who could resist Jen's bacon grease?) The way the boards were laying there ripped in two it kind of looked as if the beast had just swatted it with his big ass paw and sliced through the wood like a sword through tissue. So now I'm REALLY afraid to take Nick out after dark, which seems to only make him want to go out more and see what the hell I'm trying to keep from him. It's a Catch-22.
When we went out to supper and the movies on the weekend, Cindy told me her parents had a bear come onto their deck and right up to the patio doors where he licked the window. They live in the Plaster Rock area where apparently they've been having a really bad time with bears into everything, stealing stuff from people's fridges and freezers on their porches.
Stacy is going on bear safari this weekend in Rogersville area. Apparently, they've got it set up so that anywhere from 25-35 bears will come out and feed all at the same time while you watch and take pictures from a treehouse type thing 20 feet above them. That is SO not for me! It's like tempting fate isn't it? Isn't that the part of the movie where the audience starts screaming, "Don't go up in that tree, idiot! The bears will get you!" And then they groan and shake their heads when the character does it anyway. I suppose it'll be a thrill. She'll get some scary pictures. I'm just way too chicken . . . dump trauma from when I was a kid I think.
Mood: All fogged in
Drinking: hot chocolate spiked with brandy
Listening To: The Pretenders, Brass In Pocket on Virgin Classic Rock Radio live from the U.K.
Hair: getting blonder by the day . . . and fuzzy?! What's up with that?
What a Day!
My sinus infection was nearly the death of me today. I've been feverish all day, practically falling asleep in my chair as I tried to get stuff done. I do have this to show for my efforts, but the finishing touches that I anticipated taking an hour or so took about 10 hours in my drugged (and quite possibly drunken) position.
Strange dreams last night of love with a professor . . . my professor. I had gone back to school. The guy was actually a prof I had many years ago (he's probably dead by now, but hadn't aged a day in the dream). I can't even remember that professor's name now and I took several of his philosophy classes because I enjoyed him so much at the time. Pity.
Although in the dream I seemed to be more interested (quite smitten actually) by his huge trust fund than his charming good looks and warm smile. Could it be I'm subconsciously worried about all the money I've been spending lately on trips, books, shoes and dvds?
Mood: fuzzy around the edges
Drinking: brandy
Listening To: my throbbing sinuses
Hair: is that a bit of grey?
Strange dreams last night of love with a professor . . . my professor. I had gone back to school. The guy was actually a prof I had many years ago (he's probably dead by now, but hadn't aged a day in the dream). I can't even remember that professor's name now and I took several of his philosophy classes because I enjoyed him so much at the time. Pity.
Although in the dream I seemed to be more interested (quite smitten actually) by his huge trust fund than his charming good looks and warm smile. Could it be I'm subconsciously worried about all the money I've been spending lately on trips, books, shoes and dvds?
Mood: fuzzy around the edges
Drinking: brandy
Listening To: my throbbing sinuses
Hair: is that a bit of grey?
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Forgotten Already Forgotten
I went to the movies this weekend and saw The Forgotten with Juliane Moore. I was a bit disappointed by it. I had seen all of the scary parts in the previews and I had hoped the plot revolved around something more complicated and less stereotypical than aliens . . . but no such luck. This is one movie that will not be getting a second viewing on DVD.
Speaking of DVDs I bought a bunch this past week. First, I got a few from the Columbia House club including Almost Famous (the Bootleg Edition), Platoon (Special Edition), The Bourne Identity, Annie Hall, and a couple for the kids for Christmas. Then we went shopping after the movie on Saturday and I got Bon Jovi, This Left Feels Right (Special Edition), Starsky & Hutch, and Duplex. I have to take the Bon Jovi one back and exchange it because it's skipping, but even with the skipping I watched almost all of it and LOVED it!! It's from the Pay-Per-View concert they did in Atlantic City, the only time they'll ever perform that album live . . . EVER! I've looked high and low for this DVD for a year now, so I was pretty happy to find it. I hadn't realised the record store sold DVDs. Now, I know where to go looking for the box set when it comes out next month.
I'm suffering from yet another sinus infection I think. Funny, how you go your whole life without ever having a sinus infection and then you get two within a four month period. Maybe I've developed allergies in my old age. Something's up, that's for sure.
In major news today, Janice's baby arrived two weeks early and wasn't the much anticipated boy everyone thought was coming. Looks like Stacy will be able to buy all those cutie girl clothes afterall for little Amy Diane.
Mood: A little high on Flonase
Drinking: hot chocolate with cherry brandy
Listening To: Vivo Per Lei, Andrea Boccelli & Giorgia
Hair: tucked behind my right ear, covering my left eye
Speaking of DVDs I bought a bunch this past week. First, I got a few from the Columbia House club including Almost Famous (the Bootleg Edition), Platoon (Special Edition), The Bourne Identity, Annie Hall, and a couple for the kids for Christmas. Then we went shopping after the movie on Saturday and I got Bon Jovi, This Left Feels Right (Special Edition), Starsky & Hutch, and Duplex. I have to take the Bon Jovi one back and exchange it because it's skipping, but even with the skipping I watched almost all of it and LOVED it!! It's from the Pay-Per-View concert they did in Atlantic City, the only time they'll ever perform that album live . . . EVER! I've looked high and low for this DVD for a year now, so I was pretty happy to find it. I hadn't realised the record store sold DVDs. Now, I know where to go looking for the box set when it comes out next month.
I'm suffering from yet another sinus infection I think. Funny, how you go your whole life without ever having a sinus infection and then you get two within a four month period. Maybe I've developed allergies in my old age. Something's up, that's for sure.
In major news today, Janice's baby arrived two weeks early and wasn't the much anticipated boy everyone thought was coming. Looks like Stacy will be able to buy all those cutie girl clothes afterall for little Amy Diane.
Mood: A little high on Flonase
Drinking: hot chocolate with cherry brandy
Listening To: Vivo Per Lei, Andrea Boccelli & Giorgia
Hair: tucked behind my right ear, covering my left eye
Friday, October 08, 2004
Flexing my Writing muscles . . .
When I used to write creatively everyday, working on short stories and novels, I would begin the day with an excercise to get my brain cells into the creative spirit. Sometimes I'd write a little essay, but more often than not I would write cheesy little pieces of poetry. As I try to reconnect to my novel and the character of Callum I've been looking through a lot of my old notes and writing to reacquaint myself with everything I've already got down on that story. But I'm also finding some other things too . . . not necessarily great things, lol, but things I forgot I wrote. Here are a couple of poems I wrote a few years ago as warm-up exercises for a day of writing.
Words, sometimes
Rapidly flowing like a waterfall.
I'm unable to keep up. Sometimes
Trickling like a small brook,
Ignoring my thirst,
Nowhere to be found.
Gone to dust.
Memories,
worn like layers of heavy clothing
on a hot humid day,
immobilise,
paralyse, and smother. Peel the painful
layers in analysis;
shed
the black mourning suit in hypnosis;
the mothball scent
remains,
soaked into the very skin of the body
laid bare — naked and
frozen.
Absorb harmful UV rays, scorch the
aching tissue until it
blisters,
injured cells flake and scatter on the
wind. Skinned, raw meat and
nerves
exposed glisten, life's sweet nectar
drips forming a drowning
pool
on the ground. Do you sit unmoving,
stretching and embracing the
last
moments of tormented existence? Do
you run free for mere seconds,
rigor
mortis stopping you cold? SAVE YOURSELF!
Twist the body tightly into a
living
tourniquet, choke the spurting flow. No
need to gather the wool, memories
hold—
imprisoned in DNA.
Dark warrior pass me by,
pretend we are strangers
and have never known love.
Drawn to my white light
like a moth from the dark,
you have enjoyed sucking
my strength, extinguishing
my flame, turning my heart
to black stone. Do not
circle me, lone wolf, for
I know you are near, better
to slink in the shadows
than be recognised. My
brightness is too powerful
now, it overwhelms your brown
eyes. I am no longer damaged
or damageable. So, give me wide
berth for I can destroy you if
I desire. I have peered below
your shallow hide and seen the
soul living within that hollow
frame. And dark warrior I
must warn you —
I know your name.
Mood: surprisingly joyous
Drinking: diet pepsi
Listening To: Dry the Rain, The Beta Band
Hair: wet
Words, sometimes
Rapidly flowing like a waterfall.
I'm unable to keep up. Sometimes
Trickling like a small brook,
Ignoring my thirst,
Nowhere to be found.
Gone to dust.
__________________________________________________
Memories,
worn like layers of heavy clothing
on a hot humid day,
immobilise,
paralyse, and smother. Peel the painful
layers in analysis;
shed
the black mourning suit in hypnosis;
the mothball scent
remains,
soaked into the very skin of the body
laid bare — naked and
frozen.
Absorb harmful UV rays, scorch the
aching tissue until it
blisters,
injured cells flake and scatter on the
wind. Skinned, raw meat and
nerves
exposed glisten, life's sweet nectar
drips forming a drowning
pool
on the ground. Do you sit unmoving,
stretching and embracing the
last
moments of tormented existence? Do
you run free for mere seconds,
rigor
mortis stopping you cold? SAVE YOURSELF!
Twist the body tightly into a
living
tourniquet, choke the spurting flow. No
need to gather the wool, memories
hold—
imprisoned in DNA.
__________________________________________________
Dark warrior pass me by,
pretend we are strangers
and have never known love.
Drawn to my white light
like a moth from the dark,
you have enjoyed sucking
my strength, extinguishing
my flame, turning my heart
to black stone. Do not
circle me, lone wolf, for
I know you are near, better
to slink in the shadows
than be recognised. My
brightness is too powerful
now, it overwhelms your brown
eyes. I am no longer damaged
or damageable. So, give me wide
berth for I can destroy you if
I desire. I have peered below
your shallow hide and seen the
soul living within that hollow
frame. And dark warrior I
must warn you —
I know your name.
Mood: surprisingly joyous
Drinking: diet pepsi
Listening To: Dry the Rain, The Beta Band
Hair: wet
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Oh, the crisp air!
Man! Does the crisp fall air ever take me back! I'm reminded of . . .
school dances . . . Every year we would go to the first one in the fall and then decide they were too lame and never go to anymore until the next fall.
hot and heavy make-out sessions . . . Leaning against a tree, kissing, hugging . . . mostly trying to keep warm, lol. The taste of Hermits wine . . . God! A cigarette was always so good back then.
driving around with Bradley in that old rust coloured LTD . . . we couldn't go too fast or the roof would fall off . . . not kidding. We made him prove it to us one day on the highway by the old base (now prison). He punched it up a notch and we had to hold onto the roof when it started to fly off. Hilarious!
driving around with the boys in Mable . . . stretched out across at least 5 guys laps because we were piled to the ceiling, drinking Royal Reserve straight no chaser, listening to Bad to the Bone and AC/DC, laughing our guts out about . . . nothing at all.
meeting Stacy half-way between our houses to drink rye out of pickle jars and smoke cigarettes we stole from our dads.
sneaking into people's yards and switching lawn ornaments with their neighbours.
the Halloween bonfire! . . . and hitting someone on the other side of the fire with an egg . . . and having her blame someone else entirely, lol.
Mary Beth's parties!! . . . sitting on Kevin's lap, facing each other, my legs wrapped around the back of the chair and talking until dawn like there was nobody else around.
chicken salad sandwiches at the Pickle Barrel . . . and hot dogs from a street vendor.
the Eastwood! . . . crawling under tables, gathering up purses and coats, things crashing above me, Mary Beth and Kevin arguing about the insanity of the brawl, crawling all the way to the lobby before standing up and finding a safe crowd to stand with outside while I waited for someone to take me home.
outside a Catholic Hall Dance . . . in the graveyard, watching the most amazing meteor shower I've ever seen.
forming the Barnettville mafia at Uncle Terry's . . . staying up all night plotting our take-over of the local booze trade . . . and also the kidnapping of a particular blonde who worked at the liquor store.
the annual Halloween night Power Track sleepover to deter the kids from burning it down or robbing me blind . . . sober, cuddling on the couch watching the Stooges, big belly laughs . . .
Mood: energized
Drinking: pop
Listening To: Love Bites, Def Leppard & Here I Go Again, Whitesnake
Hair: Slick
school dances . . . Every year we would go to the first one in the fall and then decide they were too lame and never go to anymore until the next fall.
hot and heavy make-out sessions . . . Leaning against a tree, kissing, hugging . . . mostly trying to keep warm, lol. The taste of Hermits wine . . . God! A cigarette was always so good back then.
driving around with Bradley in that old rust coloured LTD . . . we couldn't go too fast or the roof would fall off . . . not kidding. We made him prove it to us one day on the highway by the old base (now prison). He punched it up a notch and we had to hold onto the roof when it started to fly off. Hilarious!
driving around with the boys in Mable . . . stretched out across at least 5 guys laps because we were piled to the ceiling, drinking Royal Reserve straight no chaser, listening to Bad to the Bone and AC/DC, laughing our guts out about . . . nothing at all.
meeting Stacy half-way between our houses to drink rye out of pickle jars and smoke cigarettes we stole from our dads.
sneaking into people's yards and switching lawn ornaments with their neighbours.
the Halloween bonfire! . . . and hitting someone on the other side of the fire with an egg . . . and having her blame someone else entirely, lol.
Mary Beth's parties!! . . . sitting on Kevin's lap, facing each other, my legs wrapped around the back of the chair and talking until dawn like there was nobody else around.
chicken salad sandwiches at the Pickle Barrel . . . and hot dogs from a street vendor.
the Eastwood! . . . crawling under tables, gathering up purses and coats, things crashing above me, Mary Beth and Kevin arguing about the insanity of the brawl, crawling all the way to the lobby before standing up and finding a safe crowd to stand with outside while I waited for someone to take me home.
outside a Catholic Hall Dance . . . in the graveyard, watching the most amazing meteor shower I've ever seen.
forming the Barnettville mafia at Uncle Terry's . . . staying up all night plotting our take-over of the local booze trade . . . and also the kidnapping of a particular blonde who worked at the liquor store.
the annual Halloween night Power Track sleepover to deter the kids from burning it down or robbing me blind . . . sober, cuddling on the couch watching the Stooges, big belly laughs . . .
Mood: energized
Drinking: pop
Listening To: Love Bites, Def Leppard & Here I Go Again, Whitesnake
Hair: Slick
I Will Remember
While I was away in Fredericton a couple of weekends ago, a man I used to know hung himself . . . Hangings in general bother me because that's how Brent finally went. Suicide is hellish business. I wasn't even that close to Brent and I had terrible episodes of guilt where I wondered if I couldn't have helped him more. I know, I know, crazy thoughts, but still that's the kind of mess suicide leaves behind. It's got to be 3000 times worse for the immediate family. But enough about Brent, it makes me sad. I wanted to write about Marven.
I haven't seen him in at least 10 years and the last time I did he wasn't the same guy I remembered -- too much drugs, drinking, etc. I used to know Marven when he was just a young man and I was still in high school. He would have been in his early to mid 20's I would say . . . too old for me to be hanging out with, but so was everybody in the crowd I ran with. Oddly enough at that time he represented the voice of reason in our crazy lives. He was often the one keeping the boys from getting in too much trouble, keeping us in line and under the radar, so nobody ended up in prison or dead. I'm sure anyone who knows who I'm talking about and the kind of loose cannon he turned into will find that amusing. But it's true.
Marven gave me one of the best pieces of advice I ever got in my life, something that I've never forgotten and always tried to live by. My last summer home before I went to Toronto to go to school was a pretty insane time for me. I was excited to be leaving but scared as hell. I was an emotional wreck really. I suffered from insomnia and wicked recurring nightmares. I got caught up in episodes of deja vu that lasted for 10 - 15 minutes at a time. I worried that I might get stuck in deja vu for the rest of my life, sitting by the sidelines, knowing everything that was going to happen before it did, unable to change anything or participate. It was a scary prospect and it nearly drove me crazy. Thinking back on those months, maybe I was a little crazy.
I remember I had a lot of freedom that summer. My family moved to the camp and I had the house to myself for months. I never brought anyone home, didn't have wild parties where we trashed the house . . . I just never came home, I stayed out on the roads traveling and partying, getting into all kinds of trouble, juggling two boyfriends -- I couldn't bear to be alone or straight for one second because then the reality of leaving would be too scary, the nightmares would take over. I only came home when I knew the folks would be stopping in and to shower. Sometimes I slept there, but I didn't sleep much that summer and most times I slept in cars or outside in fields. I guess I was a little out of control. And to top things off, I was pretty much a loner that summer. Stacy had stuff going on with her boyfriend, Donna and Gloria had moved. I was a girl on her own, whose best friends were a bunch of guys in their 20's, who were considered bad news. Interesting times, indeed.
I don't know that too many people noticed how fucked up I was. Well, I don't remember too many people reaching out to help me. But I remember Marven taking me aside one day. He asked me how I was, if I knew what I was going to do about school, about the boyfriends . . . It was kind of a fatherly gesture, which I know is really bizarre considering who he was, but still at that moment in that place I trusted him enough to tell him I wasn't doing so good and I was scared, I didn't know what to do. And that's when he imparted his words of wisdom that I've never forgotten. He said nothing was harder to live with than wondering what if. Screwing up might hurt like hell, he said, but I'd get over it eventually and that pain would go away. The pain of wondering what if would be something that would stay with me for the rest of my life, there would be no way to get rid of it and it would hurt more the longer I carried it around. He used to have some pretty intense philosophical moments back in the day :-) I never forgot his advice and he was right. Lord knows I've screwed up lots in my life but I don't regret my mistakes because I learned valuable lessons from each and every one . . . it's the things I didn't do, the things I chickened out on, the what ifs -- those are my only regrets.
Mood: nostalgic
Drinking: I think tea has started to give me heartburn . . . still, I'm drinking it . . . and eating peppermints to combat the heartburn
Listening To: Free, Rick Springfield
Hair: silky soft
I haven't seen him in at least 10 years and the last time I did he wasn't the same guy I remembered -- too much drugs, drinking, etc. I used to know Marven when he was just a young man and I was still in high school. He would have been in his early to mid 20's I would say . . . too old for me to be hanging out with, but so was everybody in the crowd I ran with. Oddly enough at that time he represented the voice of reason in our crazy lives. He was often the one keeping the boys from getting in too much trouble, keeping us in line and under the radar, so nobody ended up in prison or dead. I'm sure anyone who knows who I'm talking about and the kind of loose cannon he turned into will find that amusing. But it's true.
Marven gave me one of the best pieces of advice I ever got in my life, something that I've never forgotten and always tried to live by. My last summer home before I went to Toronto to go to school was a pretty insane time for me. I was excited to be leaving but scared as hell. I was an emotional wreck really. I suffered from insomnia and wicked recurring nightmares. I got caught up in episodes of deja vu that lasted for 10 - 15 minutes at a time. I worried that I might get stuck in deja vu for the rest of my life, sitting by the sidelines, knowing everything that was going to happen before it did, unable to change anything or participate. It was a scary prospect and it nearly drove me crazy. Thinking back on those months, maybe I was a little crazy.
I remember I had a lot of freedom that summer. My family moved to the camp and I had the house to myself for months. I never brought anyone home, didn't have wild parties where we trashed the house . . . I just never came home, I stayed out on the roads traveling and partying, getting into all kinds of trouble, juggling two boyfriends -- I couldn't bear to be alone or straight for one second because then the reality of leaving would be too scary, the nightmares would take over. I only came home when I knew the folks would be stopping in and to shower. Sometimes I slept there, but I didn't sleep much that summer and most times I slept in cars or outside in fields. I guess I was a little out of control. And to top things off, I was pretty much a loner that summer. Stacy had stuff going on with her boyfriend, Donna and Gloria had moved. I was a girl on her own, whose best friends were a bunch of guys in their 20's, who were considered bad news. Interesting times, indeed.
I don't know that too many people noticed how fucked up I was. Well, I don't remember too many people reaching out to help me. But I remember Marven taking me aside one day. He asked me how I was, if I knew what I was going to do about school, about the boyfriends . . . It was kind of a fatherly gesture, which I know is really bizarre considering who he was, but still at that moment in that place I trusted him enough to tell him I wasn't doing so good and I was scared, I didn't know what to do. And that's when he imparted his words of wisdom that I've never forgotten. He said nothing was harder to live with than wondering what if. Screwing up might hurt like hell, he said, but I'd get over it eventually and that pain would go away. The pain of wondering what if would be something that would stay with me for the rest of my life, there would be no way to get rid of it and it would hurt more the longer I carried it around. He used to have some pretty intense philosophical moments back in the day :-) I never forgot his advice and he was right. Lord knows I've screwed up lots in my life but I don't regret my mistakes because I learned valuable lessons from each and every one . . . it's the things I didn't do, the things I chickened out on, the what ifs -- those are my only regrets.
Mood: nostalgic
Drinking: I think tea has started to give me heartburn . . . still, I'm drinking it . . . and eating peppermints to combat the heartburn
Listening To: Free, Rick Springfield
Hair: silky soft
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Guest Starring . . .
I had a very active dream life last night, this dream that went on forever, and now I'm played out, won't be any good for anything all day.
Scene 1 -- I dreamed I won a contest to go to Montreal and meet Jessica Simpson at a big weekend benefit concert. But before I left there were problems at home. This bird flew into the house. It was a big bird, the kind you would buy in a pet store, not a parrot or any breed I recognised, but we knew it was someone's pet. It was pretty tame and I could hold it and pet it and it didn't bite me or anything. I was short on time, having to leave for Montreal to meet Jessica Simpson, and Mom was away so I needed Dad and/or Lee to take the bird around the neighbourhood and see if anyone owned him. But they wouldn't do it. Dad made me put the bird back outside. I was really angry that they wouldn't help me and I had to leave the bird. End scene.
Scene 2 -- I'm in Montreal at a swanky hotel/casino (much like Vegas, not much like Montreal). Celebrities are everywhere!! They're all staying in this hotel too where the benefit concert is taking place onstage in the showroom 24 hours/day all weekend long. J-Lo, Marc Antony, Justin Timberlake, Christina Aguilara, P. Diddy, Gwen Stefani, Nickelback, Celine Dion, even Shania Twain (this just shows how little control I have over the celebrity guest stars in my dreams). It was a crazy mix of people, all of which I just saw from a distance across the lobby or in the restaurant, never performing. I never actually went to the concert. The time came to meet Jessica Simpson in the restaurant. Nick Lachey was with her of course. I went and sat down with them, we ate dinner, we talked. She thought the concert was pretty cool. I realised this was being taped and I might end up on their Newlywed show. They were really nice and absolutely gorgeous in real life! The both of them -- GORGEOUS beyond belief!! Nick was taller than what I expected. Actually, they were both taller. They let me take pictures of them and they took pictures of me with them. It was a great time. End Scene.
Scene 3 -- I'm on the train from Montreal to home but I can't find a seat. So, I'm walking around with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder looking for a place to crash. I come across this little room with about a half dozen people lying around on a big bed and two little cots. I go in and ask this big burly man if I can sit on the bed with him. He says sure and I make myself comfortable. I ask if this is what a room is like when you book one on the train and he shrugs so I think it must be. It's bigger than what I would have expected and seems to get bigger by the minute. Everybody is saying where they've been and where they're going, telling their stories. So, I tell them about the great weekend I had in Montreal meeting Jessica Simpson but they don't believe me. I have the pictures to prove it, I say and rummage through my bag looking for them. But I can't find them. This goes on a really long time, me looking for the pictures, arguing with the big burly guy. At first I'm kind of pissed off because I think he's making fun of me, calling me a liar. But then I realise he isn't serious and he's just teasing me. So, I get into it then and we're teasing each other, having a good time. If you've ever taken the train from Montreal you know it's one helluva long night. So, this went on awhile, other people fell asleep, the lights dimmed, and soon I was making out with the big burly guy. End Scene
Scene 4 -- It's morning on the train, bright and sunshiny, I'm almost home. Big burly guy has gone to the washroom and I'm lying on the bed feeling pretty happy when another girl on the bed (it's a BIG bed) asks me if I'm a lesbian. She has blonde hair in braids, freckles and braces. She looks REALLY familiar but I can't place her. I say no, I'm not a lesbian, which I think should have been obvious from the make out session with big burly guy. This bratty girl is like Nelly Olsen from Little House on the Prairie, early 20's, just dying to make fun and torture. So, she shrugs and says I could've fooled her with the way I've been going on. I don't know what she's talking about, she's implying I've been having lesbian relations on the train. Turns out she's from my hometown, she won't tell me who she is though, she just keeps laughing and saying, "What? You don't recognise me?" And threatening to tell everyone about my slutty escapades on the train. I tell her I don't know who she is and she can tell people whatever, I don't care what they think, but I'm getting angry and a little freaked out because I really don't understand what's going on and everything from the night before is getting a little fuzzy so I really don't even know what I've done anymore. Just then big burly guy comes back except he isn't big burly guy anymore, he is a she, and she is the butch-type love-em-and-leave-em hairdresser girl from the show The 'L' Word. This is who I was apparently making out with the night before. I'm freaked out!! The blonde girl is laughing, pointing her finger at me, saying she's going to tell everyone. The 'L' Word chick is telling me to have a good life, she's got to get off, it's been fun, yada, yada, yada. I'm feeling woozy. End Scene.
Scene 5 -- I'm back home and that bird has been hanging around outside the house all weekend, my dad says. He wants me to take care of it because the singing is driving him nuts. I go out on the front lawn to look for the bird and the lawn is covered with birds! I mean crawling with the things, all shapes, all sizes, all colours, crows, robins, blue jays, moosebirds, and more. The lawn is dead, dry yellow, they've picked all the good out of the grass. I can't find the bird amongst them and I worry that the wild birds have done something horrible to him. It's an absolutely beautiful day outside, sunshine, blue skies, a few white fluffy clouds. Just then Stacy shows up and wants to see my Jessica Simpson pictures from the weekend. So, we go inside to find them and I start telling her I had a weird time on the train, met a great guy/girl, lol, not sure who I met, but it was interesting. I send Lee outside to look for the bird while I talk to Stacy and look for the pictures. We're in the bright kitchen with the sun streaming through the windows and all of a sudden the world goes dark. It's like night has come on really quick. I turn on the light over the stove so we can see each other and run to the door. I open it and this really thick black smokish grey dust swirls into the room choking us. This is why it's like night outside in the middle of the day. I scream out the door for Lee to come back, he yells back that he hasn't found the bird yet. I'm flipping out, choking on the smoke, and Lee won't come back inside because it upsets him to interrupt a task. I beg him. But he won't come inside. The house is filling with the dust and breathing is getting more difficult. Stacy and I have to use all our strength together in order to push the door closed again. End Dream.
An odd sort of dream to have I think. I woke up feeling sad. There are some obvious triggers for some of the stuff that happened -- I watched Nick Lachey on Charmed the other night and I like his and Jessica's show. Mom and I had a conversation about Lesbianism last night and at one point I remarked that life might be a lot more interesting and even easy if I could learn to like men less and women more. Mom and I were remembering the last time Mt. St. Helen's erupted and how we got a lot of the ash here. Lee is taking a drivers' course to get his license, which scares the bejesus out of all of us. All contributing factors to this dream I think. What an exhausting sleep!
Mood: Tired
Drinking: tea with milk and eating butterscotch pie!
Listening To: Jimmy Eat World, Last Christmas
Hair: Chestnut brown (yeah, shocking, really dark today)
Scene 1 -- I dreamed I won a contest to go to Montreal and meet Jessica Simpson at a big weekend benefit concert. But before I left there were problems at home. This bird flew into the house. It was a big bird, the kind you would buy in a pet store, not a parrot or any breed I recognised, but we knew it was someone's pet. It was pretty tame and I could hold it and pet it and it didn't bite me or anything. I was short on time, having to leave for Montreal to meet Jessica Simpson, and Mom was away so I needed Dad and/or Lee to take the bird around the neighbourhood and see if anyone owned him. But they wouldn't do it. Dad made me put the bird back outside. I was really angry that they wouldn't help me and I had to leave the bird. End scene.
Scene 2 -- I'm in Montreal at a swanky hotel/casino (much like Vegas, not much like Montreal). Celebrities are everywhere!! They're all staying in this hotel too where the benefit concert is taking place onstage in the showroom 24 hours/day all weekend long. J-Lo, Marc Antony, Justin Timberlake, Christina Aguilara, P. Diddy, Gwen Stefani, Nickelback, Celine Dion, even Shania Twain (this just shows how little control I have over the celebrity guest stars in my dreams). It was a crazy mix of people, all of which I just saw from a distance across the lobby or in the restaurant, never performing. I never actually went to the concert. The time came to meet Jessica Simpson in the restaurant. Nick Lachey was with her of course. I went and sat down with them, we ate dinner, we talked. She thought the concert was pretty cool. I realised this was being taped and I might end up on their Newlywed show. They were really nice and absolutely gorgeous in real life! The both of them -- GORGEOUS beyond belief!! Nick was taller than what I expected. Actually, they were both taller. They let me take pictures of them and they took pictures of me with them. It was a great time. End Scene.
Scene 3 -- I'm on the train from Montreal to home but I can't find a seat. So, I'm walking around with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder looking for a place to crash. I come across this little room with about a half dozen people lying around on a big bed and two little cots. I go in and ask this big burly man if I can sit on the bed with him. He says sure and I make myself comfortable. I ask if this is what a room is like when you book one on the train and he shrugs so I think it must be. It's bigger than what I would have expected and seems to get bigger by the minute. Everybody is saying where they've been and where they're going, telling their stories. So, I tell them about the great weekend I had in Montreal meeting Jessica Simpson but they don't believe me. I have the pictures to prove it, I say and rummage through my bag looking for them. But I can't find them. This goes on a really long time, me looking for the pictures, arguing with the big burly guy. At first I'm kind of pissed off because I think he's making fun of me, calling me a liar. But then I realise he isn't serious and he's just teasing me. So, I get into it then and we're teasing each other, having a good time. If you've ever taken the train from Montreal you know it's one helluva long night. So, this went on awhile, other people fell asleep, the lights dimmed, and soon I was making out with the big burly guy. End Scene
Scene 4 -- It's morning on the train, bright and sunshiny, I'm almost home. Big burly guy has gone to the washroom and I'm lying on the bed feeling pretty happy when another girl on the bed (it's a BIG bed) asks me if I'm a lesbian. She has blonde hair in braids, freckles and braces. She looks REALLY familiar but I can't place her. I say no, I'm not a lesbian, which I think should have been obvious from the make out session with big burly guy. This bratty girl is like Nelly Olsen from Little House on the Prairie, early 20's, just dying to make fun and torture. So, she shrugs and says I could've fooled her with the way I've been going on. I don't know what she's talking about, she's implying I've been having lesbian relations on the train. Turns out she's from my hometown, she won't tell me who she is though, she just keeps laughing and saying, "What? You don't recognise me?" And threatening to tell everyone about my slutty escapades on the train. I tell her I don't know who she is and she can tell people whatever, I don't care what they think, but I'm getting angry and a little freaked out because I really don't understand what's going on and everything from the night before is getting a little fuzzy so I really don't even know what I've done anymore. Just then big burly guy comes back except he isn't big burly guy anymore, he is a she, and she is the butch-type love-em-and-leave-em hairdresser girl from the show The 'L' Word. This is who I was apparently making out with the night before. I'm freaked out!! The blonde girl is laughing, pointing her finger at me, saying she's going to tell everyone. The 'L' Word chick is telling me to have a good life, she's got to get off, it's been fun, yada, yada, yada. I'm feeling woozy. End Scene.
Scene 5 -- I'm back home and that bird has been hanging around outside the house all weekend, my dad says. He wants me to take care of it because the singing is driving him nuts. I go out on the front lawn to look for the bird and the lawn is covered with birds! I mean crawling with the things, all shapes, all sizes, all colours, crows, robins, blue jays, moosebirds, and more. The lawn is dead, dry yellow, they've picked all the good out of the grass. I can't find the bird amongst them and I worry that the wild birds have done something horrible to him. It's an absolutely beautiful day outside, sunshine, blue skies, a few white fluffy clouds. Just then Stacy shows up and wants to see my Jessica Simpson pictures from the weekend. So, we go inside to find them and I start telling her I had a weird time on the train, met a great guy/girl, lol, not sure who I met, but it was interesting. I send Lee outside to look for the bird while I talk to Stacy and look for the pictures. We're in the bright kitchen with the sun streaming through the windows and all of a sudden the world goes dark. It's like night has come on really quick. I turn on the light over the stove so we can see each other and run to the door. I open it and this really thick black smokish grey dust swirls into the room choking us. This is why it's like night outside in the middle of the day. I scream out the door for Lee to come back, he yells back that he hasn't found the bird yet. I'm flipping out, choking on the smoke, and Lee won't come back inside because it upsets him to interrupt a task. I beg him. But he won't come inside. The house is filling with the dust and breathing is getting more difficult. Stacy and I have to use all our strength together in order to push the door closed again. End Dream.
An odd sort of dream to have I think. I woke up feeling sad. There are some obvious triggers for some of the stuff that happened -- I watched Nick Lachey on Charmed the other night and I like his and Jessica's show. Mom and I had a conversation about Lesbianism last night and at one point I remarked that life might be a lot more interesting and even easy if I could learn to like men less and women more. Mom and I were remembering the last time Mt. St. Helen's erupted and how we got a lot of the ash here. Lee is taking a drivers' course to get his license, which scares the bejesus out of all of us. All contributing factors to this dream I think. What an exhausting sleep!
Mood: Tired
Drinking: tea with milk and eating butterscotch pie!
Listening To: Jimmy Eat World, Last Christmas
Hair: Chestnut brown (yeah, shocking, really dark today)
Ambitiously Challenging My Creativity
I had an idea for a new column in Bread 'n Molasses that I'm going to start writing this week or next. It's been floating around for several months. I was really excited by it, but then I got some feedback and almost decided not to do it . . . It's an ambitious project . . . it's REALLY ambitious.
I keep searching for ways to make me feel more excited about my work. I don't enjoy doing Bread 'n Molasses very much. It's not "real" journalism . . . and it's certainly not "real" art . . . It's the Harlequin Romance/Breakfast Television/Star Magazine version of a webzine. Now, this isn't necessarily a bad thing, there's a big audience that goes in for that stuff and we do a really good job of pleasing that audience . . . but it's not exactly the sort of thing I had in mind for the rest of my life. Anyway, I keep searching for little ways to get me excited about working on Bread 'n Molasses. So, I came up with an idea for a column that I think will appeal to our readership and satisfy some of my creative urges. A few years ago I started writing a play called Nellie's Place about all these goings on in a General Store in a small town. Kind of poking fun at small towns . . . in a Trailer Park Boys type of way (complete with a Bubbles type character, toned down for a G audience with more innuendo.) Anyway, a few scenes in I realised I had never written a play in my life and had absolutely no idea what the hell I was doing so I put it aside . . . Until now.
Nellie's Place has become Molly's General Store, the new column for Bread 'n Molasses. It's a serial work of fiction written in journal format. I've set up a blog for Molly and every week or so she'll post a new entry (maybe more often depending on how creative I get). For readers it will be like reading her diary. Molly runs the General Store in a small town. So, her diary will be about the goings on in the store . . . and everyone knows the General Store is the place where EVERYTHING goes down. She'll talk about the old guys who hang out there everyday, speculate about what Mr. Jones' son got in the mail and who that nicely dressed stranger was -- there will be a story unfolding in her entries that readers can follow from week to week, each entry will be like a chapter in a novel. And it's still going to be a little bit funny I think . . . well, some of the plot ideas I've got are kind of "off the wall" but not unrealistic in a small town, lol. The second purpose of her entries will be to impart bits of wisdom she gleans at the store every day -- general sorts of household tips like rubbing vaseline on your hands to get rid of the smell of gas, soaking ink stained coloured clothing in milk before washing to get rid of the stain, cutting through aluminum foil to sharpen your scissors, and so on. These things will be woven into the story, not just listed at the end of every entry or anything. Like she'll need to sharpen her scissors and someone will tell her what to do and then she'll write about it in her journal. There'll just be a couple per entry. I hope to keep the posts relatively brief.
So, it's a work of fiction, a story, with real household tips that people can try. And I'm going to write it anonymously (well, as Molly I guess). I've already set up the Molly blog and I'll let you know when she starts publishing. I wondered though if you had any thoughts about the idea. I was really excited about doing it and then when I mentioned it to someone they didn't seem to get it (or didn't think it was a good idea) and I almost quit before I started. . . but maybe if everyone thinks that's a silly idea, I SHOULD quit before I get started :-) So, a shout out on it either way wouldn't go astray.
Mood: Chipper
Drinking: Diet Pepsi
Listening To: Brahms
Hair: Squeaky clean and loosely knotted
I keep searching for ways to make me feel more excited about my work. I don't enjoy doing Bread 'n Molasses very much. It's not "real" journalism . . . and it's certainly not "real" art . . . It's the Harlequin Romance/Breakfast Television/Star Magazine version of a webzine. Now, this isn't necessarily a bad thing, there's a big audience that goes in for that stuff and we do a really good job of pleasing that audience . . . but it's not exactly the sort of thing I had in mind for the rest of my life. Anyway, I keep searching for little ways to get me excited about working on Bread 'n Molasses. So, I came up with an idea for a column that I think will appeal to our readership and satisfy some of my creative urges. A few years ago I started writing a play called Nellie's Place about all these goings on in a General Store in a small town. Kind of poking fun at small towns . . . in a Trailer Park Boys type of way (complete with a Bubbles type character, toned down for a G audience with more innuendo.) Anyway, a few scenes in I realised I had never written a play in my life and had absolutely no idea what the hell I was doing so I put it aside . . . Until now.
Nellie's Place has become Molly's General Store, the new column for Bread 'n Molasses. It's a serial work of fiction written in journal format. I've set up a blog for Molly and every week or so she'll post a new entry (maybe more often depending on how creative I get). For readers it will be like reading her diary. Molly runs the General Store in a small town. So, her diary will be about the goings on in the store . . . and everyone knows the General Store is the place where EVERYTHING goes down. She'll talk about the old guys who hang out there everyday, speculate about what Mr. Jones' son got in the mail and who that nicely dressed stranger was -- there will be a story unfolding in her entries that readers can follow from week to week, each entry will be like a chapter in a novel. And it's still going to be a little bit funny I think . . . well, some of the plot ideas I've got are kind of "off the wall" but not unrealistic in a small town, lol. The second purpose of her entries will be to impart bits of wisdom she gleans at the store every day -- general sorts of household tips like rubbing vaseline on your hands to get rid of the smell of gas, soaking ink stained coloured clothing in milk before washing to get rid of the stain, cutting through aluminum foil to sharpen your scissors, and so on. These things will be woven into the story, not just listed at the end of every entry or anything. Like she'll need to sharpen her scissors and someone will tell her what to do and then she'll write about it in her journal. There'll just be a couple per entry. I hope to keep the posts relatively brief.
So, it's a work of fiction, a story, with real household tips that people can try. And I'm going to write it anonymously (well, as Molly I guess). I've already set up the Molly blog and I'll let you know when she starts publishing. I wondered though if you had any thoughts about the idea. I was really excited about doing it and then when I mentioned it to someone they didn't seem to get it (or didn't think it was a good idea) and I almost quit before I started. . . but maybe if everyone thinks that's a silly idea, I SHOULD quit before I get started :-) So, a shout out on it either way wouldn't go astray.
Mood: Chipper
Drinking: Diet Pepsi
Listening To: Brahms
Hair: Squeaky clean and loosely knotted
Sunday, October 03, 2004
Old Habits Die Hard
I've fallen into my old ways . . . ignoring my blog. Sorry about that. Whenever I take a weekend off i.e. physically leave my home and travel to other cities to sleep in cozy hotel rooms, it seems to take a week or two to get back up to speed. I don't know why.
Anyway, I never finished telling you about the great Freddy escape weekend, and since absolutely nothing happened this weekend except this I've got nothing better to talk about anyway.
Last Friday morning I got up early and went shopping at Regent Mall. Pretty much everyone else was going to Fred Cogswell's burial and memorial service. But I never knew Fred, so I made other plans. I went to Wal-Mart and picked up $50 worth of new underwear -- panties, socks, thongs, etc. I cannot stress how much in need of new underwear I was . . . there is stuff hanging out in my drawers that I bought in Toronto, lol. It used to be that I would get tons of that stuff for Christmas and birthdays, so I never had to buy anything hardly. Sadly, now it's all on me and I'm not very good at keeping on top of the situation. Especially when me and Nick are really the only ones who ever see my undies. Nick likes to chew my socks and steal my panties . . . it's an attention seeking thing. Anyway, I went shopping and then met Dorinda in the food court where we had coffee and conversation. Then we headed over to the liquor store and stocked up on wine for the weekend and then we drove around the campus trying to locate buildings we needed to be at later.
I was back in my room by 11:30 a.m. I showered, watched some t.v. and waited for Stacy to show up so I could get some food. I was still starving from the night before. She got in around 1:30 and we went to Keystone Kelly's because we had a coupon for 15% off. Later Claude told us the Keystone's in Fredericton is the absolute worse restaurant in town . . . but we didn't seem to notice, had a good lunch. Then Stacy had to go help a lady with her website and I went shopping at Winners bought some Christmas presents for the kids. Then we went downtown to Claude's apartment. It might be cool to live right downtown on the main drag. We hung out there for a few minutes and then went to Mexicala Rosa's for drinks. I had a couple of glasses of wine and Stacy had a HUGE frozen margarita. We left Claude and headed to the evening's literary events.
The evening started with a screening of the film Alden Nowlan: The Mysterious Naked Man. I really enjoyed the movie. It was funny, sad, real. I loved the footage of Alden himself. I wished I had known him like so many of the Fredericton literary crowd did. Brian Guns the director/ producer was there and spoke a little about the film. I had the opportunity to have breakfast with him the next morning because we stayed in the same hotel. That was pretty cool. To find out even more about the process, where the film is going, what's next and so on. After the film there were readings. Shirley Bear gave a spiritually touching reading in English and Maliseet. Her native language is so powerful, so beautiful. She could have read all evening and not said a word in English and I would have loved it. Her poems were very spiritual, about nature and ancient myths from her culture. She was one of my favourites from the entire weekend. Liliane Welch's poetry is more deliberate somehow. In her reading she enunciated every syllabel, drawing out every vowel, holding the consonants. I honestly couldn't tell you what her poems were about, because the reading was such an art itself. Stacy really disliked her reading, got on her nerves. But I found it very interesting, educational, the way the words sounded. I've never been as consciously aware of the sound of words as I was in that moment. I wanted to leave the auditorium, go home and read aloud everything I've ever written to see what it sounded like. Alan Cumyn read a chapter from his children's novel and made everyone in the audience laugh until they nearly peed their pants. In the chapter his main character, a little boy named Owen, falls in love with a girl in his class at Valentine's Day and a lot of really funny stuff happens as the kids exchange Valentine's in their decorated Kleenex boxes at their desks. The reading was great! Hilarious! And God did it ever take me back! lol He said when he reads that part to kids who are the age of the kids in the story you can hear a pin drop in the classroom . . . they don't think it's very funny, this Valentine and love stuff is pretty serious business for them. John Smith is the poet laureate for PEI. When he read his poetry I felt like I was in the presence of a great Shakespearan actor. He didn't need the microphone, his voice was so powerful and full. I met him at breakfast the next morning also and purchased one of his books which he signed for me. Kathleen Forsythe read last. She is Fred Cogswell's daughter and before he died they were working on a book together, she was interviewing him about the process of writing poetry, getting into his head as he wrote. She read some excerpts from the manuscript which will be published soon. It sounds like a fascinating book, something I'll definitely want to read. However, she kind of highjacked the evening . . . reading on and on for a very long time. It was kind of sad really, to see her working out her grief so publically like that. Some people were really pissed at her for doing that, but I didn't mind really. Most of what she talked about was interesting and she just buried her father that morning so I figured she deserved a little leeway.
After the readings, Stacy and I went to Dairy Queen for snacks and then back to our room to watch a dvd and pig out. We watched this really funny movie I had never really heard tell of before with Billy Bob Thornton, Patrick Swayze and Charlize Theron. It was really funny and I have no idea what it was called. Got to sleep quite late and then I had to get up pretty early Saturday morning because I was registered for the workshop with Alan Cumyn at 10 a.m. The workshop was at the Ice House (appropriately named because it was absolutely freezing). It's kind of funny actually. I've always heard about the Ice House and all the great work that has been created there and come to find out it's this tiny little one-room stone building like a shed (I had to duck to go in the door)with a big old desk that must certainly be a lot older than I am and is in no danger of being stolen because they must have built the building around it. There were about 10 of us in the group. It was kind of weird as workshops go . . . because we didn't actually write much. But it was a great workshop, a life-changing workshop for me actually. I would say Alan Cumyn has completely changed the course of my writing. He gave us a topic and we did a timed writing of 10 minutes. We didn't share what we'd written, it didn't matter much. I'm not sure even what his point of getting us to write was all about, but later on when he spoke about staying connected to your writing and how a half-hour to an hour of writing every day is the key to producing a novel or collection of short stories, I looked and saw how much I had written in that 10 minutes and suddenly it all clicked for me. I think it was just his really calm matter of fact manner, but in that moment I realised I am disconnected from my novel and all I need is to get tuned back in, spend a half-hour or an hour with it every day and the book will get done. I realised that when I'm connected the story is always working in the background and if I'm touching base with it for a few minutes every day, then it's always being written in my head. This was quite the realisation. Of course, I've been home a week and haven't acted on it, lol. But I'm going to. I can feel it.
For lunch we went to the James Joyce pub in the Lord Beaverbrook Hotel. (A bit pricey but okay if you like Irish stew and fish chowder, that sort of stuff). My friend Elizabeth read one of her short stories. It was one I had never read or heard before. She seemed a little nervous but totally pulled it off and did a great job. Eventually we all have to go there . . . the public reading in order to get your name out there . . . I love public speaking but something about reading my fiction knocks the wind out of me. It's really kind of weird. Elizabeth jokes that she is the exhibitionist in our group. She done good! And I liked the story a lot. Marilyn Lerch from Sackville read some of her poems and I had the opportunity to buy her book later and have her sign it. She's one of my favourites and has been for awhile. She's one of those feisty old broads, feminist, originally from Chicago. She doesn't pull any punches and I like that. She's funny as old hell too. She's got this great poem called The Great Toronto Garbage Strike of 2002 about the garbage strike when the Pope visited. It's fantastic! And when she reads it -- LOL! I loved it! When she mutters in that tough broad gravelly voice of hers, "Give 'em a raise for chrissake!" I fall to pieces. Kelly Cooper read fiction and really sucked me into her story. I can't remember whether she has a book or not, but if she does it will be one I'll pick up if I see it. Greg Cook read some of his poetry and I was excited to meet the man who wrote Alden Nowlan One Heart, One Way. Though I didn't get the chance to introduce myself. A surprising thing happened when Allan Cooper read. He's a poet from Alma and I have one of his books already. I don't know if it was the exhaustion, the starvation, the wine, being overwhelmed by being in a room filled with so many published authors and poets, or what was going on . . . but as he read a poem about the tides in Fundy I felt a lump form in my throat and my vision clouded. I looked away, I tried to think about other things, but it was no good. I sat there and cried.
That's the funny thing about these readings. Different people are moved by different things. I looked over at one point during Marilyn Lerch's reading and Dorinda was crying, wiping her eyes, sniffling. Stacy was moved to tears during Shirley Bear's reading the evening before. It's an interesting phenomena.
After lunch I ended up going to the panel discussion on Travis Lane's poetry. It was actually quite interesting because I didn't know much about her poetry before coming to the festival. Jeanette Lynes, Robert Gibbs, Lynn Davies, and Hannah Lane each gave speeches about her work and then the floor was opened to questions. I learned a lot and it was actually quite entertaining. Next year I won't be so quick to strike the panel discussions from my agenda. After that a bunch of us went for supper at a Greek restaurant where I had the absolute worse glass of red wine -- it must have been a pinot noir, because I'm not very fond of those. I need to remember to request the merlot, even though it usually costs more, it's well worth an extra dollar or so when faced with a crappy glass of wine.
After supper Stacy and I went shopping a bit at Wal-Mart and I bought a bunch of dvds. Just got back and it was time to go to the readings. Travis Lane, Jeanette Lynes, Geoffrey Cook, Jean Dohaney, and Robert Moore were on the schedule. Jeanette had been partying with Judy and Dorinda so she prefaced her reading by saying she had been adopted by the women of Miramichi and thanking the WFNB for inviting her because she was having such a great time. She was a lot of fun to hang out with. Travis Lane is such a gracious woman. She reminds me of my Grandmother on my father's side . . . like Grammie Underhill only with balls! LOL Not literally. I mean if Grammie Underhill were to say whatever was on her mind, let loose, not hold back at all for the sake of being polite or proper. Yeah, this was Travis Lane. I loved her! There are some people you meet and they're just instantly likeable, she's one of those. Geoffrey Cook is Greg Cook's son. Greg actually emceed the evening and was very proud to be introducing his son. Geoffrey just launched his first book of poetry the night before and he was so nervous to be at the Alden Nowlan festival reading with friends in the audience who drove all the way from Montreal just to hear him. He stumbled a couple of times and had to start over but I kind of liked that, liked that he was visibly trembling as he held the book, popping his p's in the microphone and fumbling over his words. It made him more human, more like me. I could relate. And his poems weren't bad either.
After the readings we went back to the hotel to get Stacy because we were supposed to be going out with Claude to the Taproom. But when we got there Stacy was sick in bed, so we just had a glass of wine and took a cab to the university bar in Alden Nowlan's house on campus where everyone from the reading was going to hang out. What a surreally awesome time! To be sitting in the living room at Windsor Castle surrounded by all these really great writers talking about books and writing and university politics and art and workshops and grants -- I loved it! I've read so much about Alden Nowlan, so much about his parties at Windsor Castle, and I know it's tacky beyond words that the grad students have turned his living room into a bar . . . but still, it's kind of like I've had the Alden Nowlan experience I've always read about. Weird.
Throughout the weekend and at Windsor Castle, I got to talk a lot to my friend that I met at the AGM in April, Joe Blades from Broken Jaw Press. He's one of my favourite people, always doing something interesting, and he's very peaceful, has kind of a Zen-like demeanour that rubs off and makes you feel all peaceful too. Plus, he's got this really dry wit that I appreciate. I could listen to him talk for hours -- Hey, I think I have listened to him talk for hours, lol. He has a new book out and I bought it, got him to sign it. His poetry is really interesting, there are a lot of layers to peel away. I like that. The Canadian Embassy has invited him to big Book Fair overseas -- Helsinki? No, Prague? I forget where exactly. Anyway, he's a keynote speaker or something, so that's a pretty big deal. He seemed really excited about it and I'm hoping he'll pop off a note to me about it so I can include it in the next WFNB newsletter.
I was severely hung over on the Sunday but that didn't stop Stacy and I from having a full day in Fredericton. We checked out and headed downtown to Cora's for breakfast. There was some sort of a marathon or something going on and the streets were blocked off so we had to park way to hell and back and walk, then the line-up was practically out on the street. By the time we got food I was near dead, but the food was worth it. YUMMY!!! We both got the waffles with carmel apples and English cream. Wow! It was scrum. No doubt about it, Cora's is the place to go for breakfast. After breakfast we hit the mall and hit it hard. I spent it all! Mostly Christmas shopping though, so that was good. Good to get it out of the way, rather than wait until the week before like I always do. Maybe now that the kids presents aren't going to suck my pay cheque dry in December, I'll even be able to buy some other people something, like Mom and Dad. They'd be thrilled! All in all, I didn't too badly in the spending department for the weekend. Didn't get too many books or dvds. That's always a concern, that I'll spend hundreds of dollars on books and lately dvds.
This weekend I was supposed to go to a staff party at the Pond's Resort in Ludlow but I threw out my back late last week and had to pass. So, now I start saving for my next excursion -- Magie Dominic's reading, workshop and installation of the Gown of Stillness in Moncton in December. I think Jen and Jason are going to go to that with me. It'll be nice to see Ed and Elaine from the Attic Owl again, they're the organisers behind that event. Great for last minute Christmas shopping too.
Well, that's it, now you're up to date.
Mood: having a big old fat day
Drinking: Nothing, drier than a wooden god
Listening To: Andrea Bocelli, La Paterno Mano
Hair: tied up and stringy
Anyway, I never finished telling you about the great Freddy escape weekend, and since absolutely nothing happened this weekend except this I've got nothing better to talk about anyway.
Last Friday morning I got up early and went shopping at Regent Mall. Pretty much everyone else was going to Fred Cogswell's burial and memorial service. But I never knew Fred, so I made other plans. I went to Wal-Mart and picked up $50 worth of new underwear -- panties, socks, thongs, etc. I cannot stress how much in need of new underwear I was . . . there is stuff hanging out in my drawers that I bought in Toronto, lol. It used to be that I would get tons of that stuff for Christmas and birthdays, so I never had to buy anything hardly. Sadly, now it's all on me and I'm not very good at keeping on top of the situation. Especially when me and Nick are really the only ones who ever see my undies. Nick likes to chew my socks and steal my panties . . . it's an attention seeking thing. Anyway, I went shopping and then met Dorinda in the food court where we had coffee and conversation. Then we headed over to the liquor store and stocked up on wine for the weekend and then we drove around the campus trying to locate buildings we needed to be at later.
I was back in my room by 11:30 a.m. I showered, watched some t.v. and waited for Stacy to show up so I could get some food. I was still starving from the night before. She got in around 1:30 and we went to Keystone Kelly's because we had a coupon for 15% off. Later Claude told us the Keystone's in Fredericton is the absolute worse restaurant in town . . . but we didn't seem to notice, had a good lunch. Then Stacy had to go help a lady with her website and I went shopping at Winners bought some Christmas presents for the kids. Then we went downtown to Claude's apartment. It might be cool to live right downtown on the main drag. We hung out there for a few minutes and then went to Mexicala Rosa's for drinks. I had a couple of glasses of wine and Stacy had a HUGE frozen margarita. We left Claude and headed to the evening's literary events.
The evening started with a screening of the film Alden Nowlan: The Mysterious Naked Man. I really enjoyed the movie. It was funny, sad, real. I loved the footage of Alden himself. I wished I had known him like so many of the Fredericton literary crowd did. Brian Guns the director/ producer was there and spoke a little about the film. I had the opportunity to have breakfast with him the next morning because we stayed in the same hotel. That was pretty cool. To find out even more about the process, where the film is going, what's next and so on. After the film there were readings. Shirley Bear gave a spiritually touching reading in English and Maliseet. Her native language is so powerful, so beautiful. She could have read all evening and not said a word in English and I would have loved it. Her poems were very spiritual, about nature and ancient myths from her culture. She was one of my favourites from the entire weekend. Liliane Welch's poetry is more deliberate somehow. In her reading she enunciated every syllabel, drawing out every vowel, holding the consonants. I honestly couldn't tell you what her poems were about, because the reading was such an art itself. Stacy really disliked her reading, got on her nerves. But I found it very interesting, educational, the way the words sounded. I've never been as consciously aware of the sound of words as I was in that moment. I wanted to leave the auditorium, go home and read aloud everything I've ever written to see what it sounded like. Alan Cumyn read a chapter from his children's novel and made everyone in the audience laugh until they nearly peed their pants. In the chapter his main character, a little boy named Owen, falls in love with a girl in his class at Valentine's Day and a lot of really funny stuff happens as the kids exchange Valentine's in their decorated Kleenex boxes at their desks. The reading was great! Hilarious! And God did it ever take me back! lol He said when he reads that part to kids who are the age of the kids in the story you can hear a pin drop in the classroom . . . they don't think it's very funny, this Valentine and love stuff is pretty serious business for them. John Smith is the poet laureate for PEI. When he read his poetry I felt like I was in the presence of a great Shakespearan actor. He didn't need the microphone, his voice was so powerful and full. I met him at breakfast the next morning also and purchased one of his books which he signed for me. Kathleen Forsythe read last. She is Fred Cogswell's daughter and before he died they were working on a book together, she was interviewing him about the process of writing poetry, getting into his head as he wrote. She read some excerpts from the manuscript which will be published soon. It sounds like a fascinating book, something I'll definitely want to read. However, she kind of highjacked the evening . . . reading on and on for a very long time. It was kind of sad really, to see her working out her grief so publically like that. Some people were really pissed at her for doing that, but I didn't mind really. Most of what she talked about was interesting and she just buried her father that morning so I figured she deserved a little leeway.
After the readings, Stacy and I went to Dairy Queen for snacks and then back to our room to watch a dvd and pig out. We watched this really funny movie I had never really heard tell of before with Billy Bob Thornton, Patrick Swayze and Charlize Theron. It was really funny and I have no idea what it was called. Got to sleep quite late and then I had to get up pretty early Saturday morning because I was registered for the workshop with Alan Cumyn at 10 a.m. The workshop was at the Ice House (appropriately named because it was absolutely freezing). It's kind of funny actually. I've always heard about the Ice House and all the great work that has been created there and come to find out it's this tiny little one-room stone building like a shed (I had to duck to go in the door)with a big old desk that must certainly be a lot older than I am and is in no danger of being stolen because they must have built the building around it. There were about 10 of us in the group. It was kind of weird as workshops go . . . because we didn't actually write much. But it was a great workshop, a life-changing workshop for me actually. I would say Alan Cumyn has completely changed the course of my writing. He gave us a topic and we did a timed writing of 10 minutes. We didn't share what we'd written, it didn't matter much. I'm not sure even what his point of getting us to write was all about, but later on when he spoke about staying connected to your writing and how a half-hour to an hour of writing every day is the key to producing a novel or collection of short stories, I looked and saw how much I had written in that 10 minutes and suddenly it all clicked for me. I think it was just his really calm matter of fact manner, but in that moment I realised I am disconnected from my novel and all I need is to get tuned back in, spend a half-hour or an hour with it every day and the book will get done. I realised that when I'm connected the story is always working in the background and if I'm touching base with it for a few minutes every day, then it's always being written in my head. This was quite the realisation. Of course, I've been home a week and haven't acted on it, lol. But I'm going to. I can feel it.
For lunch we went to the James Joyce pub in the Lord Beaverbrook Hotel. (A bit pricey but okay if you like Irish stew and fish chowder, that sort of stuff). My friend Elizabeth read one of her short stories. It was one I had never read or heard before. She seemed a little nervous but totally pulled it off and did a great job. Eventually we all have to go there . . . the public reading in order to get your name out there . . . I love public speaking but something about reading my fiction knocks the wind out of me. It's really kind of weird. Elizabeth jokes that she is the exhibitionist in our group. She done good! And I liked the story a lot. Marilyn Lerch from Sackville read some of her poems and I had the opportunity to buy her book later and have her sign it. She's one of my favourites and has been for awhile. She's one of those feisty old broads, feminist, originally from Chicago. She doesn't pull any punches and I like that. She's funny as old hell too. She's got this great poem called The Great Toronto Garbage Strike of 2002 about the garbage strike when the Pope visited. It's fantastic! And when she reads it -- LOL! I loved it! When she mutters in that tough broad gravelly voice of hers, "Give 'em a raise for chrissake!" I fall to pieces. Kelly Cooper read fiction and really sucked me into her story. I can't remember whether she has a book or not, but if she does it will be one I'll pick up if I see it. Greg Cook read some of his poetry and I was excited to meet the man who wrote Alden Nowlan One Heart, One Way. Though I didn't get the chance to introduce myself. A surprising thing happened when Allan Cooper read. He's a poet from Alma and I have one of his books already. I don't know if it was the exhaustion, the starvation, the wine, being overwhelmed by being in a room filled with so many published authors and poets, or what was going on . . . but as he read a poem about the tides in Fundy I felt a lump form in my throat and my vision clouded. I looked away, I tried to think about other things, but it was no good. I sat there and cried.
That's the funny thing about these readings. Different people are moved by different things. I looked over at one point during Marilyn Lerch's reading and Dorinda was crying, wiping her eyes, sniffling. Stacy was moved to tears during Shirley Bear's reading the evening before. It's an interesting phenomena.
After lunch I ended up going to the panel discussion on Travis Lane's poetry. It was actually quite interesting because I didn't know much about her poetry before coming to the festival. Jeanette Lynes, Robert Gibbs, Lynn Davies, and Hannah Lane each gave speeches about her work and then the floor was opened to questions. I learned a lot and it was actually quite entertaining. Next year I won't be so quick to strike the panel discussions from my agenda. After that a bunch of us went for supper at a Greek restaurant where I had the absolute worse glass of red wine -- it must have been a pinot noir, because I'm not very fond of those. I need to remember to request the merlot, even though it usually costs more, it's well worth an extra dollar or so when faced with a crappy glass of wine.
After supper Stacy and I went shopping a bit at Wal-Mart and I bought a bunch of dvds. Just got back and it was time to go to the readings. Travis Lane, Jeanette Lynes, Geoffrey Cook, Jean Dohaney, and Robert Moore were on the schedule. Jeanette had been partying with Judy and Dorinda so she prefaced her reading by saying she had been adopted by the women of Miramichi and thanking the WFNB for inviting her because she was having such a great time. She was a lot of fun to hang out with. Travis Lane is such a gracious woman. She reminds me of my Grandmother on my father's side . . . like Grammie Underhill only with balls! LOL Not literally. I mean if Grammie Underhill were to say whatever was on her mind, let loose, not hold back at all for the sake of being polite or proper. Yeah, this was Travis Lane. I loved her! There are some people you meet and they're just instantly likeable, she's one of those. Geoffrey Cook is Greg Cook's son. Greg actually emceed the evening and was very proud to be introducing his son. Geoffrey just launched his first book of poetry the night before and he was so nervous to be at the Alden Nowlan festival reading with friends in the audience who drove all the way from Montreal just to hear him. He stumbled a couple of times and had to start over but I kind of liked that, liked that he was visibly trembling as he held the book, popping his p's in the microphone and fumbling over his words. It made him more human, more like me. I could relate. And his poems weren't bad either.
After the readings we went back to the hotel to get Stacy because we were supposed to be going out with Claude to the Taproom. But when we got there Stacy was sick in bed, so we just had a glass of wine and took a cab to the university bar in Alden Nowlan's house on campus where everyone from the reading was going to hang out. What a surreally awesome time! To be sitting in the living room at Windsor Castle surrounded by all these really great writers talking about books and writing and university politics and art and workshops and grants -- I loved it! I've read so much about Alden Nowlan, so much about his parties at Windsor Castle, and I know it's tacky beyond words that the grad students have turned his living room into a bar . . . but still, it's kind of like I've had the Alden Nowlan experience I've always read about. Weird.
Throughout the weekend and at Windsor Castle, I got to talk a lot to my friend that I met at the AGM in April, Joe Blades from Broken Jaw Press. He's one of my favourite people, always doing something interesting, and he's very peaceful, has kind of a Zen-like demeanour that rubs off and makes you feel all peaceful too. Plus, he's got this really dry wit that I appreciate. I could listen to him talk for hours -- Hey, I think I have listened to him talk for hours, lol. He has a new book out and I bought it, got him to sign it. His poetry is really interesting, there are a lot of layers to peel away. I like that. The Canadian Embassy has invited him to big Book Fair overseas -- Helsinki? No, Prague? I forget where exactly. Anyway, he's a keynote speaker or something, so that's a pretty big deal. He seemed really excited about it and I'm hoping he'll pop off a note to me about it so I can include it in the next WFNB newsletter.
I was severely hung over on the Sunday but that didn't stop Stacy and I from having a full day in Fredericton. We checked out and headed downtown to Cora's for breakfast. There was some sort of a marathon or something going on and the streets were blocked off so we had to park way to hell and back and walk, then the line-up was practically out on the street. By the time we got food I was near dead, but the food was worth it. YUMMY!!! We both got the waffles with carmel apples and English cream. Wow! It was scrum. No doubt about it, Cora's is the place to go for breakfast. After breakfast we hit the mall and hit it hard. I spent it all! Mostly Christmas shopping though, so that was good. Good to get it out of the way, rather than wait until the week before like I always do. Maybe now that the kids presents aren't going to suck my pay cheque dry in December, I'll even be able to buy some other people something, like Mom and Dad. They'd be thrilled! All in all, I didn't too badly in the spending department for the weekend. Didn't get too many books or dvds. That's always a concern, that I'll spend hundreds of dollars on books and lately dvds.
This weekend I was supposed to go to a staff party at the Pond's Resort in Ludlow but I threw out my back late last week and had to pass. So, now I start saving for my next excursion -- Magie Dominic's reading, workshop and installation of the Gown of Stillness in Moncton in December. I think Jen and Jason are going to go to that with me. It'll be nice to see Ed and Elaine from the Attic Owl again, they're the organisers behind that event. Great for last minute Christmas shopping too.
Well, that's it, now you're up to date.
Mood: having a big old fat day
Drinking: Nothing, drier than a wooden god
Listening To: Andrea Bocelli, La Paterno Mano
Hair: tied up and stringy
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