Another exercise from the writing class tonight was a timed writing of 10 minutes on a guilty pleasure. Here's what I wrote:
When I'm feeling sad and lonely I crank up the tunes and become the dancing queen. I sing to the rafters and perform my best moves from the Flashdance movie. While I'm hustling like Travolta and working up a sweat, I hope nobody comes in the room . . . or even the house . . . because I don't think just anybody would understand my obsession with ABBA.
I may have missed Mama Mia but it doesn't matter at all because at least once a week I create my own performance using my bed for a stage and my hairbrush for a microphone. I'm new in town so Sackville has yet to experience this ABBA phenomenon . .. but if you hear someone asking, "Does your mother know?" in the middle of the night, chances are I've moved into your neighbourhood.
People got a kick out if when I read it out loud. I volunteered to read a lot of stuff out loud tonight, just because some people seemed so very uncomfortable. I remember being that uncomfortable quiet one, afraid if somebody else didn't volunteer I'd be chosen and made to read mine. Hopefully, they'll get some confidence and trust as we go on.
The last writing exercise we did was kind of fun. She gave us a list of seemingly unrelated things and we had to use them in a story. This exercise is always tons of fun. Try it! Here's the list of things: a rare bird, a ringing phone, an indistinguishable sound, a broken alarm clock, a sealed envelope, and two men wearing orange sneakers.
Here's what I wrote:
James rolls over in bed and grimaces as the sunlight strikes him between the eyes. His temples throb and his tongue feels thick and fuzzy. The phone rings, sending bright rays of electric light off the edges of his skull. He groans and answers.
"Yeah."
"James, two men in orange sneakers just ran past my window," Sheila whispers. "I think they're here to rob me."
"Did you take your medication today?"
"Yesss," Sheila hisses. "This is serious, James. I can hear a sound from outside. It's coming closer to my apartment but I can't make out what it is."
"Okay. Um, is this like that time you saw that rare bird outside your window? You know, the one that had a sealed envelope clutched in its beak? A summons from Hell I believe."
"James no, it's nothing like that. This is real. There are two guys coming to rob me and lord only knows what else. You have to come over. Okay?"
"Now?"
"Yes. Before it's too late."
James groans again as he sits up in bed. He looks for the time then remembers his clock is broken.
"What time is it?" he asks.
"6:30."
"Sheila, do you really think someone is breaking in this early? Must I really come oh--" The words stall in his throat and he cants his head to one side, listening. A low keening sound hums on the line, followed by static and Sheila's voice cutting in and out screaming.
"OH . . . JAMES . . . GOD . . . BIRD . . . HELP!"
Mood: Starting to calm down and get sleepy
Drinking: Cold tea
Listening To: Bachman Turner Overdrive, Lowland Fling
Hair: The same as an hour ago . . . but I've put something on my face that may have tinted me orange . . . the lighting is so terrible in my apartment it's difficult to be sure.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Back to School
Tonight was my first night class. I think I mentioned earlier that I'm taking a five week workshop called "The Writing Life" with Christina Decarie at Mount A . . . and now I'm psyched! It's a small group, only seven, all women.
Tonight we got an overview of the course and did some general sorts of exercises to get more comfortable with one another. The format is we'll have discussions and exercises on the Tuesday evening for three hours and then workshop on Thursday evening for three hours. We each have to prepare 3 pages (single-spaced) of our work to receive feedback on. I've decided to go full out bold and brave and use excerpts from my novel in progress in order to help me reconnect to the project and finish this baby. (If you remember I had set a goal earlier this year to have it ready to enter for the Richards Prize this year. Deadline looms in the fall.)
We did some cool exercises this evening. The first one that got us writing was to write about the first time you ever wrote something creative, telling it like a story, not like a journal entry. Here's what I wrote:
In the first grade the teacher tossed her Easter drawing into the trash. She coloured outside the lines and the teacher didn't want parents to think it was her fault the child had no artistic ability. The teacher wanted the classroom to be pretty. She wanted to feel proud of it when the parents came for Parent Teacher Day.
By the third grade she had received nearly a dozen report cards that labelled her handwriting as unacceptable.
After four years of being bullied by her classmates for being overweight and shy, after four years of always getting picked last for sports, after four years of feeling like an outcast, Kellie really wanted to find something she could do well.
She stared down the blank paper until it looked away and conceded to her will. She manipulated the words. She dared to dream of a world where children were nice and everyone played together, nobody got picked last. She wrote about a boy and his first winter carnival. She disappeared into the page and pretended to be that boy.
Much later she sat in her classroom with her eyes closed, concentrating on the voice coming from the intercom, will the principal to call out her name. And then her eyes slid open and she tried to pretend to be surprised when he did.
Not much of a story, but hey it's hard to produce real quality on demand like that. Continuing with our childhood memories of writing she asked us what writing felt like then, does it still feel that way and if not, then why. My answer was a little bit different from a lot of people . . . ass-backward really. As a child and then a teen I didn't really think about writing, it was natural, it was just something I did. It didn't seem to evoke any emotion from me that I can recall. I leaned toward it because it was easy, it was something I could do. That's why I studied journalism after high school . . . I mean what else was I going to do? Become a scientist? But I didn't know what journalism was really, I didn't understand the kind of writing. And after having all my creative urges beat down and suppressed for years in journalism, I became very disenfranchised with the whole act of writing. I had yet to realise that you could write creatively in Canada and maybe even make a living doing it. I thought that was the stuff of America or the United Kingdom. So, I didn't start doing creative writing until about five years ago. Before 2000 I had never written a short story (other than high school assignments). So now the act of writing creatively is very exciting for me. It's the most amazing adrenaline rush and it's very addictive. It brings me great pleasure . . . most people had that since the beginning . . . and some have lost it along the way. But nobody who started writing as young as I did never had it until they were well into adulthood. Once again I am an enigma.
Mood: Creative
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: Van Halen, Jamie's Crying
Hair: Changing colour . . . must be the water
Tonight we got an overview of the course and did some general sorts of exercises to get more comfortable with one another. The format is we'll have discussions and exercises on the Tuesday evening for three hours and then workshop on Thursday evening for three hours. We each have to prepare 3 pages (single-spaced) of our work to receive feedback on. I've decided to go full out bold and brave and use excerpts from my novel in progress in order to help me reconnect to the project and finish this baby. (If you remember I had set a goal earlier this year to have it ready to enter for the Richards Prize this year. Deadline looms in the fall.)
We did some cool exercises this evening. The first one that got us writing was to write about the first time you ever wrote something creative, telling it like a story, not like a journal entry. Here's what I wrote:
In the first grade the teacher tossed her Easter drawing into the trash. She coloured outside the lines and the teacher didn't want parents to think it was her fault the child had no artistic ability. The teacher wanted the classroom to be pretty. She wanted to feel proud of it when the parents came for Parent Teacher Day.
By the third grade she had received nearly a dozen report cards that labelled her handwriting as unacceptable.
After four years of being bullied by her classmates for being overweight and shy, after four years of always getting picked last for sports, after four years of feeling like an outcast, Kellie really wanted to find something she could do well.
She stared down the blank paper until it looked away and conceded to her will. She manipulated the words. She dared to dream of a world where children were nice and everyone played together, nobody got picked last. She wrote about a boy and his first winter carnival. She disappeared into the page and pretended to be that boy.
Much later she sat in her classroom with her eyes closed, concentrating on the voice coming from the intercom, will the principal to call out her name. And then her eyes slid open and she tried to pretend to be surprised when he did.
Not much of a story, but hey it's hard to produce real quality on demand like that. Continuing with our childhood memories of writing she asked us what writing felt like then, does it still feel that way and if not, then why. My answer was a little bit different from a lot of people . . . ass-backward really. As a child and then a teen I didn't really think about writing, it was natural, it was just something I did. It didn't seem to evoke any emotion from me that I can recall. I leaned toward it because it was easy, it was something I could do. That's why I studied journalism after high school . . . I mean what else was I going to do? Become a scientist? But I didn't know what journalism was really, I didn't understand the kind of writing. And after having all my creative urges beat down and suppressed for years in journalism, I became very disenfranchised with the whole act of writing. I had yet to realise that you could write creatively in Canada and maybe even make a living doing it. I thought that was the stuff of America or the United Kingdom. So, I didn't start doing creative writing until about five years ago. Before 2000 I had never written a short story (other than high school assignments). So now the act of writing creatively is very exciting for me. It's the most amazing adrenaline rush and it's very addictive. It brings me great pleasure . . . most people had that since the beginning . . . and some have lost it along the way. But nobody who started writing as young as I did never had it until they were well into adulthood. Once again I am an enigma.
Mood: Creative
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: Van Halen, Jamie's Crying
Hair: Changing colour . . . must be the water
Monday, May 30, 2005
Hello Sunshine!
So, I've made it through my first week of living alone and I gotta say it wasn't that tough . . . it was kinda very easy. Even doing the dishes is an enjoyable task because they are MY dishes and I love them and want them to sparkle. I've never had this before. I've never felt like a place or things were mine and mine alone. Everything was always tied up with some man . . . speaking of some man . . .
I had visitors this weekend and during an impromptu psychic reading it was revealed that I'm about to meet someone new . . . tall, lanky (yes, I know I said I gave these sorts of boys up) with dark hair (I also gave up blondes, remember?) and he drives a truck (not sure if this is his living or his half-tonne, but there is a truck involved). Apparently this guy is going to come out of nowhere, sweep me off my feet and be "the one." I don't know if I believe in the concept of "the one" I'm more of a "the many" type of girl ;-) but I'm totally up for being swept away. That could be fun.
Other things I learned from the reading that I can share are:
-- my grandmother's got about 5 years left, so this current trip to hospital is not the end
-- Abby is an angel
-- Samuel is extremely intelligent and very good at figuring things out
-- I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be for right now, but I won't be staying in this apartment for very long because I'll be moving to a larger place with the guy who's going to sweep me off my feet
And of course I was drinking a little bit too much wine during this session, so a bunch of stuff is pretty fuzzy. We had a great visit though and I'm looking forward to doing it again.
Mood: Buoyant
Drinking: Coffee
Listening To: the birds chirping from the trees in the backyard
Hair: time to get at those roots soon
I had visitors this weekend and during an impromptu psychic reading it was revealed that I'm about to meet someone new . . . tall, lanky (yes, I know I said I gave these sorts of boys up) with dark hair (I also gave up blondes, remember?) and he drives a truck (not sure if this is his living or his half-tonne, but there is a truck involved). Apparently this guy is going to come out of nowhere, sweep me off my feet and be "the one." I don't know if I believe in the concept of "the one" I'm more of a "the many" type of girl ;-) but I'm totally up for being swept away. That could be fun.
Other things I learned from the reading that I can share are:
-- my grandmother's got about 5 years left, so this current trip to hospital is not the end
-- Abby is an angel
-- Samuel is extremely intelligent and very good at figuring things out
-- I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be for right now, but I won't be staying in this apartment for very long because I'll be moving to a larger place with the guy who's going to sweep me off my feet
And of course I was drinking a little bit too much wine during this session, so a bunch of stuff is pretty fuzzy. We had a great visit though and I'm looking forward to doing it again.
Mood: Buoyant
Drinking: Coffee
Listening To: the birds chirping from the trees in the backyard
Hair: time to get at those roots soon
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Smurf's Bathroom
So I'm loving my apartment except for one minor thing . . . the bathroom. The bathroom is small. Tiny. Really minute. I mean when you're sitting on the toilet you can wash your feet in the shower and your hands in the sink. Very small.
It's kind of like they designed the apartment and then realised they forgot a room and had to sneak the bathroom in at the last minute with what little space was left, where they had originally planned a closet off the laundry room. It's really tiny.
Of course I knew the bathroom was tiny before I took the lease. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make because the rest of the place was fantastic . . . but this was before I actually took a shower . . .
My shower is hysterical. I burst out into uncontrollable giggles everytime I'm in there, because it's just too crazy. It's a stall, no tub. The smallest stall I've ever been in actually. There will be no sexual encounters happening in there. I do good to wedge myself in, without adding another person. This shower stall was created by a small person for other small people . . . perhaps Smurfs. I'm too tall for the shower head, which means I'm left doing awkward backbends in the too tight space in order to wash my hair. I think of Bill Murray in Lost in Translation everytime I'm in there and it cracks me up big time. Except Bill Murray actually had some space to move around in, you know to get in position to do the back bends or knee bends or whatever he had to do to get in the spray.
I mean I've got these really long limbs . . . arms, legs . . . it's not pretty. It requires a lot of stretching and agility. I'm already more limber as a result of my showering exercises than I have been in a long time. I can't imagine what I'll be like months down the road.
It's terribly funny.
I think I should join a gym and just shower there. It might be worth it.
It's kind of like they designed the apartment and then realised they forgot a room and had to sneak the bathroom in at the last minute with what little space was left, where they had originally planned a closet off the laundry room. It's really tiny.
Of course I knew the bathroom was tiny before I took the lease. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make because the rest of the place was fantastic . . . but this was before I actually took a shower . . .
My shower is hysterical. I burst out into uncontrollable giggles everytime I'm in there, because it's just too crazy. It's a stall, no tub. The smallest stall I've ever been in actually. There will be no sexual encounters happening in there. I do good to wedge myself in, without adding another person. This shower stall was created by a small person for other small people . . . perhaps Smurfs. I'm too tall for the shower head, which means I'm left doing awkward backbends in the too tight space in order to wash my hair. I think of Bill Murray in Lost in Translation everytime I'm in there and it cracks me up big time. Except Bill Murray actually had some space to move around in, you know to get in position to do the back bends or knee bends or whatever he had to do to get in the spray.
I mean I've got these really long limbs . . . arms, legs . . . it's not pretty. It requires a lot of stretching and agility. I'm already more limber as a result of my showering exercises than I have been in a long time. I can't imagine what I'll be like months down the road.
It's terribly funny.
I think I should join a gym and just shower there. It might be worth it.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Choose your own adventure
I haven't tried this, no idea if it's any fun or not, but I used to love those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books when I was a kid so I thought it was pretty cool when I stumbled on this site. Brad, the Game. Give it a try and let me know if it's any good.
Lightning in the Forecast
Another wet dreary day on the Tantramar Marshes. What the hell is going on?! Am I not permitted even one bright sunshiny morning walk? Chance of thunder showers later today . . . which could be exciting. Not much shelter here from such things, kinda out in the big wide open. I imagine the weather will be more intense . . . and with my weather phobias and obsessions maybe kinda sorta under control, well who knows what a good dose of lightning will do. Actually, I'm quite happy that the bedroom portion of my place has no windows and electrical outlets. It's open concept, connected to the living room/skylight but still I'll be able to huddle back there and feel pretty secure during a storm I think. At Mom's place I always retreated to the centre of the house to wait out such things. But even there, I never felt quite safe because there were so many electrical outlets.
But really I'm not as crazy paranoid about storms as I have been in recent years. I'm not as shell shocked any more from 9/11, West Nile, SARS, the war in Iraq and the general overwhelming scary state of the world. I'm more focused on things in my immediate vicinity, things I can control, which makes me less nervous in general and less likely to completely freak out during a thunderstorm.
I just heard Nick sigh. I looked around expecting to see him stretched out on the futon, snuffling, in the midst of a dream. Oddly enough, this doesn't make me sad or homesick, but feels comforting. I suspect it wasn't Nick I heard . . . but perhaps Mickey or Muffin or Dusty. It's good to have visitors.
Mood: arthritically challenged
Drinking: Coffee
Listening To: road sounds (this is a very busy street)
Hair: I've loving my scrunchie!
But really I'm not as crazy paranoid about storms as I have been in recent years. I'm not as shell shocked any more from 9/11, West Nile, SARS, the war in Iraq and the general overwhelming scary state of the world. I'm more focused on things in my immediate vicinity, things I can control, which makes me less nervous in general and less likely to completely freak out during a thunderstorm.
I just heard Nick sigh. I looked around expecting to see him stretched out on the futon, snuffling, in the midst of a dream. Oddly enough, this doesn't make me sad or homesick, but feels comforting. I suspect it wasn't Nick I heard . . . but perhaps Mickey or Muffin or Dusty. It's good to have visitors.
Mood: arthritically challenged
Drinking: Coffee
Listening To: road sounds (this is a very busy street)
Hair: I've loving my scrunchie!
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Cooking with Abandon
Saturday night after J&J left and I was alone in my new apartment for the first time, I got hungry. I hadn't bought much food because I wanted the opportunity to clean the kitchen from top to bottom before I filled it up with my stuff. So I made myself a peanut butter and jam sandwich. After I spread the peanut butter there was one second where I started to toss the knife into the sink to be washed and get a clean one to scoop out the jam and spread it . . . that's what I've always done . . . it's been drilled into my head since childhood -- ALWAYS use a different utensil for different things so you don't accidentally get bits of something mixed up in jars of something else. For one second I almost automatically did this thing that I've always done . . . and then this devilish grin spread across my face and I used the same knife for both peanut butter and jam. No sandwich ever tasted any better.
Tonight I cooked my first real meal here. Last night I made a tv dinner, but that didn't count. Tonight I cooked pork chops and pasta and vegetables. And I covered everything in garlic, oregano, basil and black pepper. I used spices liberally and sang and smiled and giggled when nobody raged at me for stinking up the house or questioned how I could eat something so stupid. I ate my supper with a glass of pinot noir and relished every bite. Cooking is so good! Eating is better.
Mood: Joyous
Drinking: Nothing right now, tea in the future
Listening To: Law & Order Criminal Intent and the washer
Hair: I've got a scrunchie!
Tonight I cooked my first real meal here. Last night I made a tv dinner, but that didn't count. Tonight I cooked pork chops and pasta and vegetables. And I covered everything in garlic, oregano, basil and black pepper. I used spices liberally and sang and smiled and giggled when nobody raged at me for stinking up the house or questioned how I could eat something so stupid. I ate my supper with a glass of pinot noir and relished every bite. Cooking is so good! Eating is better.
Mood: Joyous
Drinking: Nothing right now, tea in the future
Listening To: Law & Order Criminal Intent and the washer
Hair: I've got a scrunchie!
Cool Site of the Day
Gullible Info has all kinds of random facts like --
On average, a gym member who signs a 12 month contract will visit their gym eight times.
On average, a pair of sunglasses lasts for seven months before being lost.
A 20 foot oak tree produces about enough oxygen to sustain a moderately active house cat.
One in nine Europeans sleep nude.
The first commercially available television sets weighed over 700 pounds.
And all kinds of wonderfully useless stuff to fill your brains. It's kind of fun.
http://www.gullible.info/
On average, a gym member who signs a 12 month contract will visit their gym eight times.
On average, a pair of sunglasses lasts for seven months before being lost.
A 20 foot oak tree produces about enough oxygen to sustain a moderately active house cat.
One in nine Europeans sleep nude.
The first commercially available television sets weighed over 700 pounds.
And all kinds of wonderfully useless stuff to fill your brains. It's kind of fun.
http://www.gullible.info/
My Own Life
Safe and sound. Been unpacking. Washing dishes for two days . . . there's no good reason on earth why a single person needs so much glassware . . . finally got the phone turned on though dealing with Aliant was HELL!! I've never seen the like of it, honestly. I'll give it a trial, but I may have to look to switching to Eastlink . . . maybe they'll be better. It's been quite the ordeal really. And I still don't have high-speed.
Nothing but rain since the move, I felt like Noah except all alone on my ark. Late this evening the sun broke through though. Maybe tomorrow will be fantastic!
Okay, here's the odd thing ... or not so odd, depending on your point of view ... I feel completely at home here, I mean COMPLETELY. It's beyond anything I ever expected. Very surreal. I'm not completely unpacked, there's still a ton of cleaning and organising and unpacking to be done . . . yet, I feel like I've arrived home after being away for a long time. Like I would feel when I hit Barnettville after being in T.O. for months on end. And I'm loving these past few days when I've been completely on my own, completely beyond contact with everyone, yet I sense there are people who will be in this space with me . . . friends I guess. I don't know who. But I sense them. They're close. I see a gathering of spirits. I feel it. I see it when I close my eyes. But I don't recognise anyone . . . I just know they're good people. I'm done with the bad ones. I don't have the stomach for them anymore.
I know, I sound kind of nuts. Have I mentioned that I think I'm seeing auras around people. Not everyone. But some people. I don't know if it's really auras, I just see colour around some people. And I have no idea what these colours mean . . . So, I either have a brain aneurysm or else I'm getting more in tune with my psychic side. Given the options I choose the latter.
I don't know how else to explain this feeling. I expected some sort of breakdown, some sort of grieving or fear even, but although I teared up when Rob and Amber got hitched this evening there's been nothing else, just contentment and a sense of being exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I'm supposed to do. There was a moment around midnight where I got a little spooked when I was taking out the garbage. My driveway is long. I'm back from the road and hidden behind trees. There were some guys staggering down the street, young guys, students maybe. I had this brief moment where I felt all exposed and kind of afraid. But it only lasted a second, literally. It left me as quickly as it came over me, replaced by this feeling that I'm home and everything is playing out exactly as it should be.
I LOVE MY APARTMENT!! I really do. I've never loved any place like I love this place. I made the right choice. So, I'm tired and going to bed now. Before 2 am. getting up earlier here. Physically tired from all the stairs and all the cleaning. Life is good. Just thought you should know.
Mood: Ready for bed ... and it's not even 2 am
Drinking: Organic Orange Pekoe Tea with Cream
Listening To: David Cassidy, I Think I Love You
Hair: Frizzy
Nothing but rain since the move, I felt like Noah except all alone on my ark. Late this evening the sun broke through though. Maybe tomorrow will be fantastic!
Okay, here's the odd thing ... or not so odd, depending on your point of view ... I feel completely at home here, I mean COMPLETELY. It's beyond anything I ever expected. Very surreal. I'm not completely unpacked, there's still a ton of cleaning and organising and unpacking to be done . . . yet, I feel like I've arrived home after being away for a long time. Like I would feel when I hit Barnettville after being in T.O. for months on end. And I'm loving these past few days when I've been completely on my own, completely beyond contact with everyone, yet I sense there are people who will be in this space with me . . . friends I guess. I don't know who. But I sense them. They're close. I see a gathering of spirits. I feel it. I see it when I close my eyes. But I don't recognise anyone . . . I just know they're good people. I'm done with the bad ones. I don't have the stomach for them anymore.
I know, I sound kind of nuts. Have I mentioned that I think I'm seeing auras around people. Not everyone. But some people. I don't know if it's really auras, I just see colour around some people. And I have no idea what these colours mean . . . So, I either have a brain aneurysm or else I'm getting more in tune with my psychic side. Given the options I choose the latter.
I don't know how else to explain this feeling. I expected some sort of breakdown, some sort of grieving or fear even, but although I teared up when Rob and Amber got hitched this evening there's been nothing else, just contentment and a sense of being exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I'm supposed to do. There was a moment around midnight where I got a little spooked when I was taking out the garbage. My driveway is long. I'm back from the road and hidden behind trees. There were some guys staggering down the street, young guys, students maybe. I had this brief moment where I felt all exposed and kind of afraid. But it only lasted a second, literally. It left me as quickly as it came over me, replaced by this feeling that I'm home and everything is playing out exactly as it should be.
I LOVE MY APARTMENT!! I really do. I've never loved any place like I love this place. I made the right choice. So, I'm tired and going to bed now. Before 2 am. getting up earlier here. Physically tired from all the stairs and all the cleaning. Life is good. Just thought you should know.
Mood: Ready for bed ... and it's not even 2 am
Drinking: Organic Orange Pekoe Tea with Cream
Listening To: David Cassidy, I Think I Love You
Hair: Frizzy
Friday, May 20, 2005
The Last Day
We're down to the wire here . . . my move looms. I am not packed. I'm a bit sad about leaving Nick. Melancholy. I suspect I won't sleep tonight. Haven't really been sleeping much anyway these past weeks. Had a great little visit with Carol last night, then late supper with Stacy at Burke's. It's been a week of lasts -- last blizzard, last fish 'n chip, last lunch . . . and now the last day. I'll never live here again. And by here I do mean the area as much as I mean the house. I'm moving on.
I don't know how long it will take to get set-up with Internet and stuff. As soon as I get on my feet I'll email my new address details to everyone (well friends and family anyway, strangers will have to track me down on their own, hire a P.I. or something)
Later! I'm off to find my life.
Mood: Numb
Drinking: Tea . . . there will be wine this evening
Listening To: Your Life is Now, John Mellencamp
Hair: Ponied Up
I don't know how long it will take to get set-up with Internet and stuff. As soon as I get on my feet I'll email my new address details to everyone (well friends and family anyway, strangers will have to track me down on their own, hire a P.I. or something)
Later! I'm off to find my life.
Mood: Numb
Drinking: Tea . . . there will be wine this evening
Listening To: Your Life is Now, John Mellencamp
Hair: Ponied Up
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Buns Sore
I'm back from another exciting weekend in Moncton, this time for the Writers' Federation of New Brunswick Annual General Meeting. Earlier I wrote a bunch of stuff about it in the blog, but lost the whole thing when the power flickered and my computer went dark. Tried using the Blogger "Recover Post" function, but nothing happened. Yeah, I know, you would think I would learn to save things when I'm working on them . . . maybe I just haven't lost enough stuff yet.
I took the train to Moncton on Friday the 13th and was met at the station by my friend and fellow Miramichier, Dorinda. We had fun hugging and exclaiming how nice it was to see each other again, even though we both left Miramichi around the same time and had spoken on the phone a couple of times that week. I probably should have just driven in with her, but I couldn't change my ticket or get a refund plus I kind of wanted the hour and a half of complete peace and nothingness to decompress from my crazy week and recharge for my crazy weekend.
After Dorinda picked me up at the train station we drove to the University and checked into our dorm rooms. We were in the "nice" rooms, the ones with the private bathrooms and kitchenettes. Still . . . they weren't what we had expected . . . I felt an overwhelming urge to scrub the floors and knew I'd need massive quantities of wine in order to be able to get any sleep. But it was under a hundred bucks for two nights, so I'm not complaining.
Dorinda and I spent the afternoon shopping for supplies and then just hanging out around the rooms sipping wine and chatting before heading out to the restaurant for the evening event I was hosting. I was in good mental form all weekend, not at all nervous about any of my duties, not at all shy when meeting new people. I felt like myself again, like I used to feel when I worked in radio or hosted an event at the club, completely comfortable and natural in front of the microphone. This was an excellent feeling, because in recent years I've been showing plenty of nerves when it comes to these things and been baffled by it. It would seem that I'm back!
Friday evening I hosted the readings at the Cafe Felix on Main Street. I began by thanking everyone for coming and then making a joke about how cold it was, reminding people of the previous AGM in Miramichi when we walked around the French Fort Cove and nearly froze to death. I told about how Laurence had made fun of me for not wearing my winter coat but I had come prepared this time. And it was just as cold. I had my winter coat and I was ready to walk around the park or wherever in the freezing cold.
Our special guest author hailing from Ireland and coming to us all the way from Manitoba was Gerard Beirne. Gerry had written a story called "Sightings of Bono" about Bono from U2, which was later made into a film that Bono starred in. I was pretty excited about this and mentioned in my intro that I hadn't been able to get U2 tickets in Toronto but I hoped I'd get to see the Rolling Stones in Moncton. Some people hadn't heard about this concert and thought this was a riot . . . the idea that the Rolling Stones would be in Moncton. So, that got me an easy, albeit unplanned, laugh.
It turned out that Gerry had been invited to be guest speaker at the Manitoba Writers' Guild AGM happening the same weekend as ours but he had to decline as he had already committed himself to our event. Since he works for them as a mentor, this was kind of funny and he joked that he was in trouble with them now. I remarked after his reading that their loss was totally our gain and I was glad he stuck with us. He read from his novel Friday night and the following evening at the banquet, he read poetry. He's a very dynamic performer — he doesn't simply read his texts but brings them to life with emotion and feeling. I've always found the mark of a good reading is the confidence to hold a silence. He has this in spades. I enjoyed him very much.
He gave a workshop on Saturday morning that was another life-changing event in my writing life. I love when that happens! And doesn't it seem like things like that are happening to me more frequently these days? Or is it just me? In the workshop he said that sometimes in order to get to the truth of the story, the facts weren't good enough. That blew me away! I realised that's been a major obstacle in my writing. I've been unwilling to let go of the facts ("But that's the way it really happened!") even if the facts made the story fall flat. This was a major revelation and insight into my work. There was much more of course, Gerry is wise beyond his years when it comes to writing. I was very impressed by him and could see how he must be so good at what he does as far as mentoring goes. I've never thought I would like to have a mentor. I've always thought doing workshops and studying the craft on my own would be enough. But now I see where working with someone like Gerry one-on-one would be so beneficial to my work. Should I ever have the financial means, I would consider finding a mentor to work with me.
To top it all off, he's just a really nice guy, a true Irish gentleman, what I would call a real sweetheart. I got to spend a lot of time with him because of course there was much going out for drinks after events and staying up until the wee hours. I was fascinated by his tales of travelling in China with his wife and children, about the Bono story, about Irish politics and history, and so on. I bought his book of poetry and a CD of him performing a bunch of poems. I wanted his novel but he was all out of copies so I'll have to get one ordered into the bookstore. He told me not to be alarmed when the shopkeeper didn't know who he was ;-) Yes, he's very humble and gracious as well. I'm glad to have met him.
When I introduced Allan Cooper on Friday evening I mentioned that he lives in one of my favourite villages in the country where every summer you can find me holed up for at least one weekend in the Alpine Motor Inn. Allan got a great kick out of that and was quick to tell everyone I hadn't mentioned that the Alpine is one of the more seedy motels in Alma. I rebutted that hanging out in seedy motels was the best source of great characters. This led to a weekend long running joke about my escapades at the Alpine Motor Inn. I believe the now infamous motel may see a rise in curious writers seeking seedy characters amongst their clientele this summer.
I knew I was going to screw up the introduction of an Acadian writer that night. I had written a bio that was predominantly in English and practised the one French part with Laurence until I got it down pat. Then a few moments before I was to introduce her, the poet handed me a piece of paper with the bio she wanted me to read. The event was already underway, I had no time to prepare and this bio was filled with French. Oy! So, I figured if I was going to totally screw up anyway, I might as well make a big production out of it as a joke. I prefaced the introduction by exclaiming that I was English. "I am soooo English." I told them I never really realised how English I was before coming to Moncton a few weeks before for the Northrop Frye Festival. The festival is a true multicultural event of a scale I'd never seen the like of before. I had a fantastic time and couldn't wait to come again. I went on to add that many people had laughed at me as I said good night each evening — "Buns sore! Buns sore!" This got a good laugh from the crowd and I concluded my preface to the introduction by saying I meant no disrespect when I mispronounced the words, I simply did not know any better . . . Then I pronounced every French word wrong, including the one phrase that I had practised with Laurence, and even some English words as well. That was the only part of the evening where I was a bit flustered, but I think it came off okay . . . I hope.
Introducing Jo-Anne Elder was fun because she's written a fantastic book, Postcards from Ex-lovers, that I've read and loved. It's published by Broken Jaw Press and I was at a launching of it in Moncton during the Northrop Frye Festival. I was still a little flustered when I did her intro, so I didn't get into any banter. But after she read some of her stories including the one called "The List" and a few of her business card pieces of fiction, I was more relaxed and recovered. "The List" is a wonderful postcard story about how every woman has a list. Jo-Anne is just brilliant really, very intelligent, and her stories are sharp with wit. After thanking her for coming I said that I had a list . . . and it was long . . . and seedy. This got some guffaws as I rolled my eyes mysteriously.
Overall, the evening was a success. Many people came up to me after and congratulated me on being a great host. Some were shocked that I had this sort of thing in me because I always appear to be so mild and subdued. Some asked if I had ever considered doing stand-up or writing for Comedy Television. Some wanted to know if I was ever going to take French lessons, and assured me I needed them. And of course some just wanted directions to the Alpine Motor Inn.
The WFNB people said that now that they know what I'm capable of doing, they will be asking me to host more events . . . which is good . . . right?
A bunch of us went out to an Irish pub for drinks after the readings, but retired relatively early because we all had a long day ahead of us on Saturday. Getting into Mary's car to catch a ride back to the dorm, I climbed into the middle beside Gerry. Dorinda remarked that I had got to sit beside the "cute Irish guy" and this started a running joke about Gerry's cuteness, which had him blushing by times. So then on Saturday evening at the banquet when I also found myself seated next to Gerry, Dorinda said about me getting to sit beside the "cute Irish guy" again, to which Gerry muttered that there'd be none of that tonight. It was funny, though you probably had to be there to hear the brogue in order to appreciate it.
Saturday morning I woke up at 5:30 am, completely on my own. I guess because I had gone to sleep before 1 am (way early for me) and I was worried about oversleeping because I didn't have any alarm clock or wake-up call. I watched the sunrise from my window on the eighth floor. I don't often get an unobstructed view of the sunrise. I mean I'm up and about and around for lots of sunrises, at least twice a week if not more often, either because I haven't gone to bed yet or I'm up early. But you can't really see it from here because there are too many trees in the way. There were no trees blocking my view of the horizon in Moncton. The dawn was beautiful and I realised I was facing the east straight on, with nothing disturbing my line of sight. It's been so long since I've seen the sunrise like this that I had forgotten how quickly it happens, how the sun suddenly pops into the sky like a jack-in-a-box. One second it was just a hint of orange, the next a half-circle, and then in a blink it popped into the sky, a perfect circle of the brightest orange. How majestic! The sky was overcast, covered in a thick grey blanket of cloud. For one moment the sun filled the small opening between land and sky. It paused there for a heartbeat while I worshipped its splendour, and then as suddenly as it appeared it was gone, unable to penetrate the grey sky. I was thankful for the opportunity to begin my day in this way, touched by the bright orange rays.
After the sunrise I realised I was famished, which was another unusual thing, as I usually don't eat breakfast. So I got ready for the day, grabbed Dorinda and we headed to the cafeteria for breakfast. As I licked my plate clean I once again made a promise to myself to eat breakfast more often, which I do every time I have breakfast, but which I never stick to for some reason. I haven't had breakfast since Saturday . . . maybe tomorrow.
After breakfast we went to the building where the meeting and workshops were to be held. I helped Mary set up as best as I could and settled into a comfortable place on the aisle so I wouldn't have to be climbing over people when I gave my report and I could sneak in and out if the need be without causing too much distraction. I got to meet Bob, the new WFNB president, for the first time. He seems like a lovely man, easy going, diplomatic. I think he'll do a good job and it'll be good to work with him. The meeting got a little tense by times because a couple of discontented members seized the opportunity to air their grievances in a surprise appearance. Completely inappropriate for the AGM, in my opinion. If there is discontent I think members should collect themselves, organise, ask to be added to the agenda of the next board meeting and give a formal presentation. In other words, follow the usual meeting protocol. One of the people hadn't even renewed her membership, so technically had no right to be in the meeting at all. But there's always politics involved in any group or organisation, there's always disagreement. It's to be expected I guess. That's what makes the world interesting. Anyway, so despite a few tense moments in the meeting we got through it okay and I'm now a member of the Board of Directors. I also gave a brief report on the website, nothing much really, just that the hosting is good, I added a calendar, I'm a little bit more proficient in Dreamweaver, any questions? No. Ok, carry on then. Took all of two minutes.
After the meeting was Gerry's workshop. I've already said it was life changing for me. We talked about so many things, seemed to touch upon so many things that I needed to be thinking about right now. The universe sent me that workshop, the way she provides me with all that I need at just the time I need it. There was a reason why my ass was in that seat and it has everything to do with Callum's story and my need to tell it. Everybody always says that you need discipline, you need to write an hour everyday, you need a schedule . . . everybody always says this and I know it is true and I know that's why I don't write more and why I'm not publishing any fiction. Allan Cumyn's workshop in the fall really helped me to get past the idea that I need to write at least an hour everyday in order for it to be of any value. But Gerry took it to a whole new level. He said if you get an idea in the middle of the night, don't get up and write it down. If it's really a good idea it'll come back to you later when you're in your writing space and settled down to the business of writing. There's a time for sleep and a time for family and a time for writing — and if you're mixing up these times nobody benefits. Your sleepy time writing will not be as strong as your writing time writing. Your family time will suffer if you're running off to write things down. This was a huge revelation for me. HUGE! I've never heard it put quite this way before and this was the way I needed it to be explained in order to resonate within me.
After Gerry's workshop we all went to the cafeteria for lunch where I had Shepherd's Pie that was not nearly as good as the stuff Mom and them make at the high school, but was sufficient and again I was ravenous and ate almost everything placed before me. I cannot remember the last time I've had two square meals under my belt by 1 pm. I did find that I had more energy and less foggy brain . . . could these things be related?
After lunch Michael O. Nowlan gave a workshop on the 'job' of the reviewer/critic. I want to start writing more reviews for BnM and maybe even for freelance sale to pick up some extra cash. So this was a workshop I was looking forward to and I wasn't disappointed. His session was exactly the sort of 'how to' discussion of ethics and guidelines that I needed in order to begin. He shared some of his personal experiences including being sued by one author and receiving a rare and wonderful letter of thanks from another. Dean R. Koontz said he was not in the habit of sending letters to journalists or reviewers but he wanted to thank Michael for being honest, fair and accurate. In this letter, Koontz said he had become accustomed to being misquoted at least a dozen times in every interview he gave, and congratulated Michael for not misquoting him even once. This was pretty cool I thought.
The final workshop of the afternoon was with Carol Bruneau about creating characters. She was more hands-on than the others and actually had us do some writing. Normally, I'm not a fan of workshops where I must write and then share what I've written. I find it difficult to produce under pressure and I'm such a perfectionist when it comes to my fiction that it makes me physically ill to share work that hasn't gone through the editing and rewriting process. But maybe it was because I've been sharing more and more rough work with my writing girls or maybe it was because creating characters is something that comes easy for me, I don't know, but I was completely comfortable doing the exercises and sharing my results. I actually found that I was one step ahead of her all the way through, which was weird. The first step was to think of someone we had met in early childhood, someone who left an impression upon us but not someone we knew really well. Once we thought of someone we were supposed to make a list of all the character traits that we remembered about this person — physical attributes, temperament, station in life, etc. We were to write for 10 minutes, but I soon found that what I remembered about this person wasn't very much at all, so naturally I just started making things up. The next step was to fill in the gaps with our imaginations — what is the person's problem? Desire? Flaw/ redeeming quality? But I had already worked most of this out in the first 10 minutes, so I just continued on writing, gave the guy a name and wrote a scenario. Which was the next step, to name your person and write a scenario with him or her in it. We did a bunch of exercises and I actually came out of it with a character and a story idea. A character and a story that I really feel compelled to write.
With the workshops over it was back to the dorm to get ready for the banquet. I had a glass of wine, relaxed and got ready, singing the entire time. Have I mentioned how much I've been humming and singing lately? It's a rather unusual and yet delightful development, a bit of a stress reliever I think. Try it. It's difficult to be angry or stressed when you're singing a happy tune. Dorinda and I took a taxi to the restaurant. The Chateau a Pape restaurant that I've ALWAYS wanted to go into, always looked at longingly in the distance and figured I could never afford to eat anything there. Saturday night was my lucky night. We had a three-course dinner with three choices per course. I chose the Caesar salad for an appetiser. I didn't really fancy any of the other choices — a lobster bisque or chicken fricot. The salad was very good, a bit heavy on the garlic though. My entree was the filet mignon and it was spectacular! Very yummy. The other choices were the seafood platter and a chicken dish. For dessert I had an Acadian pastry that was like a cinnamon bun. There was another Acadian pastry that was more like a fruit tart and then there was a chocolate caramel cake that looked to die for. Everything was home-made onsite and scrum!
After dinner Gerry performed some of his poetry, which was really cool. I bought his CD and now I get to listen to them all the time. Then the winners of the Literary Competition were announced and any who had attended read excerpts. My friend, Elizabeth, won third prize in the short fiction category, which was nice. I was so proud of her. And her kids were there to share the night with her, which was great. The dinner was really good, really well done. It was the best banquet dinner I've ever been to anywhere. Great stuff!
Dorinda was tired after the dinner and couldn't wait to get back to the dorm and sleep. A lot of people seemed really subdued and tired. But I had my second or third wind and was horrified at the idea of going back to the empty room and trying to entertain myself until I fell asleep. It was kind of funny, I don't know if Gerry could see the panic on my face or not, but as Dorinda kept saying she was going back to the room and gathering her things and saying how tired she was, he didn't look around at her or anything but said, "I've got a bit of a second wind myself." I quickly agreed and then we agreed that we'd go for drinks even if nobody else was, though I figured Mary and Laurence would be. Noeline and her husband also joined us and we went to the quietest pub we could find in the vicinity, which wasn't that quiet, but still not a dance bar or anything outrageous like that. We ended up staying out until almost 2:30 and having a fabulous time. I drank much too much wine and no doubt talked Mary's ear off. I had a really good time though and despite the long day, the late hour getting to bed, all the wine, and not having any alarm clock, I woke up bright and refreshed at 7 am.
We checked out of our rooms and went back to the Cafe Bistro Felix for brunch and the open readings. I had the waffles, home-made on the spot, with fresh fruit . . . yummy!! Melt in your mouth delicious. I would definitely like to go back there again for breakfast and try some of the other dishes I saw being served. I read portions of my short story Midday Caller, which is a bit lighter and more fun than most of my stuff. Everyone laughed and thought it was great fun. It went really well and I was happy. I really couldn't have asked for a better weekend. Other than that nasty business during the meeting, everything was perfect. I'm looking forward to this year, serving on the board and being more involved.
Mood: Sleepy
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: Tiny Dancer, Elton John
Hair: I'm the Bo Bice of Barnettville Road
I took the train to Moncton on Friday the 13th and was met at the station by my friend and fellow Miramichier, Dorinda. We had fun hugging and exclaiming how nice it was to see each other again, even though we both left Miramichi around the same time and had spoken on the phone a couple of times that week. I probably should have just driven in with her, but I couldn't change my ticket or get a refund plus I kind of wanted the hour and a half of complete peace and nothingness to decompress from my crazy week and recharge for my crazy weekend.
After Dorinda picked me up at the train station we drove to the University and checked into our dorm rooms. We were in the "nice" rooms, the ones with the private bathrooms and kitchenettes. Still . . . they weren't what we had expected . . . I felt an overwhelming urge to scrub the floors and knew I'd need massive quantities of wine in order to be able to get any sleep. But it was under a hundred bucks for two nights, so I'm not complaining.
Dorinda and I spent the afternoon shopping for supplies and then just hanging out around the rooms sipping wine and chatting before heading out to the restaurant for the evening event I was hosting. I was in good mental form all weekend, not at all nervous about any of my duties, not at all shy when meeting new people. I felt like myself again, like I used to feel when I worked in radio or hosted an event at the club, completely comfortable and natural in front of the microphone. This was an excellent feeling, because in recent years I've been showing plenty of nerves when it comes to these things and been baffled by it. It would seem that I'm back!
Friday evening I hosted the readings at the Cafe Felix on Main Street. I began by thanking everyone for coming and then making a joke about how cold it was, reminding people of the previous AGM in Miramichi when we walked around the French Fort Cove and nearly froze to death. I told about how Laurence had made fun of me for not wearing my winter coat but I had come prepared this time. And it was just as cold. I had my winter coat and I was ready to walk around the park or wherever in the freezing cold.
Our special guest author hailing from Ireland and coming to us all the way from Manitoba was Gerard Beirne. Gerry had written a story called "Sightings of Bono" about Bono from U2, which was later made into a film that Bono starred in. I was pretty excited about this and mentioned in my intro that I hadn't been able to get U2 tickets in Toronto but I hoped I'd get to see the Rolling Stones in Moncton. Some people hadn't heard about this concert and thought this was a riot . . . the idea that the Rolling Stones would be in Moncton. So, that got me an easy, albeit unplanned, laugh.
It turned out that Gerry had been invited to be guest speaker at the Manitoba Writers' Guild AGM happening the same weekend as ours but he had to decline as he had already committed himself to our event. Since he works for them as a mentor, this was kind of funny and he joked that he was in trouble with them now. I remarked after his reading that their loss was totally our gain and I was glad he stuck with us. He read from his novel Friday night and the following evening at the banquet, he read poetry. He's a very dynamic performer — he doesn't simply read his texts but brings them to life with emotion and feeling. I've always found the mark of a good reading is the confidence to hold a silence. He has this in spades. I enjoyed him very much.
He gave a workshop on Saturday morning that was another life-changing event in my writing life. I love when that happens! And doesn't it seem like things like that are happening to me more frequently these days? Or is it just me? In the workshop he said that sometimes in order to get to the truth of the story, the facts weren't good enough. That blew me away! I realised that's been a major obstacle in my writing. I've been unwilling to let go of the facts ("But that's the way it really happened!") even if the facts made the story fall flat. This was a major revelation and insight into my work. There was much more of course, Gerry is wise beyond his years when it comes to writing. I was very impressed by him and could see how he must be so good at what he does as far as mentoring goes. I've never thought I would like to have a mentor. I've always thought doing workshops and studying the craft on my own would be enough. But now I see where working with someone like Gerry one-on-one would be so beneficial to my work. Should I ever have the financial means, I would consider finding a mentor to work with me.
To top it all off, he's just a really nice guy, a true Irish gentleman, what I would call a real sweetheart. I got to spend a lot of time with him because of course there was much going out for drinks after events and staying up until the wee hours. I was fascinated by his tales of travelling in China with his wife and children, about the Bono story, about Irish politics and history, and so on. I bought his book of poetry and a CD of him performing a bunch of poems. I wanted his novel but he was all out of copies so I'll have to get one ordered into the bookstore. He told me not to be alarmed when the shopkeeper didn't know who he was ;-) Yes, he's very humble and gracious as well. I'm glad to have met him.
When I introduced Allan Cooper on Friday evening I mentioned that he lives in one of my favourite villages in the country where every summer you can find me holed up for at least one weekend in the Alpine Motor Inn. Allan got a great kick out of that and was quick to tell everyone I hadn't mentioned that the Alpine is one of the more seedy motels in Alma. I rebutted that hanging out in seedy motels was the best source of great characters. This led to a weekend long running joke about my escapades at the Alpine Motor Inn. I believe the now infamous motel may see a rise in curious writers seeking seedy characters amongst their clientele this summer.
I knew I was going to screw up the introduction of an Acadian writer that night. I had written a bio that was predominantly in English and practised the one French part with Laurence until I got it down pat. Then a few moments before I was to introduce her, the poet handed me a piece of paper with the bio she wanted me to read. The event was already underway, I had no time to prepare and this bio was filled with French. Oy! So, I figured if I was going to totally screw up anyway, I might as well make a big production out of it as a joke. I prefaced the introduction by exclaiming that I was English. "I am soooo English." I told them I never really realised how English I was before coming to Moncton a few weeks before for the Northrop Frye Festival. The festival is a true multicultural event of a scale I'd never seen the like of before. I had a fantastic time and couldn't wait to come again. I went on to add that many people had laughed at me as I said good night each evening — "Buns sore! Buns sore!" This got a good laugh from the crowd and I concluded my preface to the introduction by saying I meant no disrespect when I mispronounced the words, I simply did not know any better . . . Then I pronounced every French word wrong, including the one phrase that I had practised with Laurence, and even some English words as well. That was the only part of the evening where I was a bit flustered, but I think it came off okay . . . I hope.
Introducing Jo-Anne Elder was fun because she's written a fantastic book, Postcards from Ex-lovers, that I've read and loved. It's published by Broken Jaw Press and I was at a launching of it in Moncton during the Northrop Frye Festival. I was still a little flustered when I did her intro, so I didn't get into any banter. But after she read some of her stories including the one called "The List" and a few of her business card pieces of fiction, I was more relaxed and recovered. "The List" is a wonderful postcard story about how every woman has a list. Jo-Anne is just brilliant really, very intelligent, and her stories are sharp with wit. After thanking her for coming I said that I had a list . . . and it was long . . . and seedy. This got some guffaws as I rolled my eyes mysteriously.
Overall, the evening was a success. Many people came up to me after and congratulated me on being a great host. Some were shocked that I had this sort of thing in me because I always appear to be so mild and subdued. Some asked if I had ever considered doing stand-up or writing for Comedy Television. Some wanted to know if I was ever going to take French lessons, and assured me I needed them. And of course some just wanted directions to the Alpine Motor Inn.
The WFNB people said that now that they know what I'm capable of doing, they will be asking me to host more events . . . which is good . . . right?
A bunch of us went out to an Irish pub for drinks after the readings, but retired relatively early because we all had a long day ahead of us on Saturday. Getting into Mary's car to catch a ride back to the dorm, I climbed into the middle beside Gerry. Dorinda remarked that I had got to sit beside the "cute Irish guy" and this started a running joke about Gerry's cuteness, which had him blushing by times. So then on Saturday evening at the banquet when I also found myself seated next to Gerry, Dorinda said about me getting to sit beside the "cute Irish guy" again, to which Gerry muttered that there'd be none of that tonight. It was funny, though you probably had to be there to hear the brogue in order to appreciate it.
Saturday morning I woke up at 5:30 am, completely on my own. I guess because I had gone to sleep before 1 am (way early for me) and I was worried about oversleeping because I didn't have any alarm clock or wake-up call. I watched the sunrise from my window on the eighth floor. I don't often get an unobstructed view of the sunrise. I mean I'm up and about and around for lots of sunrises, at least twice a week if not more often, either because I haven't gone to bed yet or I'm up early. But you can't really see it from here because there are too many trees in the way. There were no trees blocking my view of the horizon in Moncton. The dawn was beautiful and I realised I was facing the east straight on, with nothing disturbing my line of sight. It's been so long since I've seen the sunrise like this that I had forgotten how quickly it happens, how the sun suddenly pops into the sky like a jack-in-a-box. One second it was just a hint of orange, the next a half-circle, and then in a blink it popped into the sky, a perfect circle of the brightest orange. How majestic! The sky was overcast, covered in a thick grey blanket of cloud. For one moment the sun filled the small opening between land and sky. It paused there for a heartbeat while I worshipped its splendour, and then as suddenly as it appeared it was gone, unable to penetrate the grey sky. I was thankful for the opportunity to begin my day in this way, touched by the bright orange rays.
After the sunrise I realised I was famished, which was another unusual thing, as I usually don't eat breakfast. So I got ready for the day, grabbed Dorinda and we headed to the cafeteria for breakfast. As I licked my plate clean I once again made a promise to myself to eat breakfast more often, which I do every time I have breakfast, but which I never stick to for some reason. I haven't had breakfast since Saturday . . . maybe tomorrow.
After breakfast we went to the building where the meeting and workshops were to be held. I helped Mary set up as best as I could and settled into a comfortable place on the aisle so I wouldn't have to be climbing over people when I gave my report and I could sneak in and out if the need be without causing too much distraction. I got to meet Bob, the new WFNB president, for the first time. He seems like a lovely man, easy going, diplomatic. I think he'll do a good job and it'll be good to work with him. The meeting got a little tense by times because a couple of discontented members seized the opportunity to air their grievances in a surprise appearance. Completely inappropriate for the AGM, in my opinion. If there is discontent I think members should collect themselves, organise, ask to be added to the agenda of the next board meeting and give a formal presentation. In other words, follow the usual meeting protocol. One of the people hadn't even renewed her membership, so technically had no right to be in the meeting at all. But there's always politics involved in any group or organisation, there's always disagreement. It's to be expected I guess. That's what makes the world interesting. Anyway, so despite a few tense moments in the meeting we got through it okay and I'm now a member of the Board of Directors. I also gave a brief report on the website, nothing much really, just that the hosting is good, I added a calendar, I'm a little bit more proficient in Dreamweaver, any questions? No. Ok, carry on then. Took all of two minutes.
After the meeting was Gerry's workshop. I've already said it was life changing for me. We talked about so many things, seemed to touch upon so many things that I needed to be thinking about right now. The universe sent me that workshop, the way she provides me with all that I need at just the time I need it. There was a reason why my ass was in that seat and it has everything to do with Callum's story and my need to tell it. Everybody always says that you need discipline, you need to write an hour everyday, you need a schedule . . . everybody always says this and I know it is true and I know that's why I don't write more and why I'm not publishing any fiction. Allan Cumyn's workshop in the fall really helped me to get past the idea that I need to write at least an hour everyday in order for it to be of any value. But Gerry took it to a whole new level. He said if you get an idea in the middle of the night, don't get up and write it down. If it's really a good idea it'll come back to you later when you're in your writing space and settled down to the business of writing. There's a time for sleep and a time for family and a time for writing — and if you're mixing up these times nobody benefits. Your sleepy time writing will not be as strong as your writing time writing. Your family time will suffer if you're running off to write things down. This was a huge revelation for me. HUGE! I've never heard it put quite this way before and this was the way I needed it to be explained in order to resonate within me.
After Gerry's workshop we all went to the cafeteria for lunch where I had Shepherd's Pie that was not nearly as good as the stuff Mom and them make at the high school, but was sufficient and again I was ravenous and ate almost everything placed before me. I cannot remember the last time I've had two square meals under my belt by 1 pm. I did find that I had more energy and less foggy brain . . . could these things be related?
After lunch Michael O. Nowlan gave a workshop on the 'job' of the reviewer/critic. I want to start writing more reviews for BnM and maybe even for freelance sale to pick up some extra cash. So this was a workshop I was looking forward to and I wasn't disappointed. His session was exactly the sort of 'how to' discussion of ethics and guidelines that I needed in order to begin. He shared some of his personal experiences including being sued by one author and receiving a rare and wonderful letter of thanks from another. Dean R. Koontz said he was not in the habit of sending letters to journalists or reviewers but he wanted to thank Michael for being honest, fair and accurate. In this letter, Koontz said he had become accustomed to being misquoted at least a dozen times in every interview he gave, and congratulated Michael for not misquoting him even once. This was pretty cool I thought.
The final workshop of the afternoon was with Carol Bruneau about creating characters. She was more hands-on than the others and actually had us do some writing. Normally, I'm not a fan of workshops where I must write and then share what I've written. I find it difficult to produce under pressure and I'm such a perfectionist when it comes to my fiction that it makes me physically ill to share work that hasn't gone through the editing and rewriting process. But maybe it was because I've been sharing more and more rough work with my writing girls or maybe it was because creating characters is something that comes easy for me, I don't know, but I was completely comfortable doing the exercises and sharing my results. I actually found that I was one step ahead of her all the way through, which was weird. The first step was to think of someone we had met in early childhood, someone who left an impression upon us but not someone we knew really well. Once we thought of someone we were supposed to make a list of all the character traits that we remembered about this person — physical attributes, temperament, station in life, etc. We were to write for 10 minutes, but I soon found that what I remembered about this person wasn't very much at all, so naturally I just started making things up. The next step was to fill in the gaps with our imaginations — what is the person's problem? Desire? Flaw/ redeeming quality? But I had already worked most of this out in the first 10 minutes, so I just continued on writing, gave the guy a name and wrote a scenario. Which was the next step, to name your person and write a scenario with him or her in it. We did a bunch of exercises and I actually came out of it with a character and a story idea. A character and a story that I really feel compelled to write.
With the workshops over it was back to the dorm to get ready for the banquet. I had a glass of wine, relaxed and got ready, singing the entire time. Have I mentioned how much I've been humming and singing lately? It's a rather unusual and yet delightful development, a bit of a stress reliever I think. Try it. It's difficult to be angry or stressed when you're singing a happy tune. Dorinda and I took a taxi to the restaurant. The Chateau a Pape restaurant that I've ALWAYS wanted to go into, always looked at longingly in the distance and figured I could never afford to eat anything there. Saturday night was my lucky night. We had a three-course dinner with three choices per course. I chose the Caesar salad for an appetiser. I didn't really fancy any of the other choices — a lobster bisque or chicken fricot. The salad was very good, a bit heavy on the garlic though. My entree was the filet mignon and it was spectacular! Very yummy. The other choices were the seafood platter and a chicken dish. For dessert I had an Acadian pastry that was like a cinnamon bun. There was another Acadian pastry that was more like a fruit tart and then there was a chocolate caramel cake that looked to die for. Everything was home-made onsite and scrum!
After dinner Gerry performed some of his poetry, which was really cool. I bought his CD and now I get to listen to them all the time. Then the winners of the Literary Competition were announced and any who had attended read excerpts. My friend, Elizabeth, won third prize in the short fiction category, which was nice. I was so proud of her. And her kids were there to share the night with her, which was great. The dinner was really good, really well done. It was the best banquet dinner I've ever been to anywhere. Great stuff!
Dorinda was tired after the dinner and couldn't wait to get back to the dorm and sleep. A lot of people seemed really subdued and tired. But I had my second or third wind and was horrified at the idea of going back to the empty room and trying to entertain myself until I fell asleep. It was kind of funny, I don't know if Gerry could see the panic on my face or not, but as Dorinda kept saying she was going back to the room and gathering her things and saying how tired she was, he didn't look around at her or anything but said, "I've got a bit of a second wind myself." I quickly agreed and then we agreed that we'd go for drinks even if nobody else was, though I figured Mary and Laurence would be. Noeline and her husband also joined us and we went to the quietest pub we could find in the vicinity, which wasn't that quiet, but still not a dance bar or anything outrageous like that. We ended up staying out until almost 2:30 and having a fabulous time. I drank much too much wine and no doubt talked Mary's ear off. I had a really good time though and despite the long day, the late hour getting to bed, all the wine, and not having any alarm clock, I woke up bright and refreshed at 7 am.
We checked out of our rooms and went back to the Cafe Bistro Felix for brunch and the open readings. I had the waffles, home-made on the spot, with fresh fruit . . . yummy!! Melt in your mouth delicious. I would definitely like to go back there again for breakfast and try some of the other dishes I saw being served. I read portions of my short story Midday Caller, which is a bit lighter and more fun than most of my stuff. Everyone laughed and thought it was great fun. It went really well and I was happy. I really couldn't have asked for a better weekend. Other than that nasty business during the meeting, everything was perfect. I'm looking forward to this year, serving on the board and being more involved.
Mood: Sleepy
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: Tiny Dancer, Elton John
Hair: I'm the Bo Bice of Barnettville Road
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
My Daily Horoscope
Dear Kellie,
Here is your horoscope
for Tuesday, May 10:
It's not your imagination. You really are attracting attention from all kinds of people. Everyone you meet may actually want a bit of your time now -- or at least one of those world-class grins.
Here is your horoscope
for Tuesday, May 10:
It's not your imagination. You really are attracting attention from all kinds of people. Everyone you meet may actually want a bit of your time now -- or at least one of those world-class grins.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Listening to the Universe
I'm one of those people who believes that if you listen and pay attention to the universe, the world you live in, all the answers you seek will be revealed. For someone who doesn't put much stock in organised religion or the church, I've got a lot of faith.
For me the most common question is, "Am I doing the right thing?" From time to time I think everyone questions where they are in life, whether they're on the right path or lost in the bushes someplace. You don't need to have doubt about your place in the world. If you pay attention to what the world is telling you, you'll know for sure whether you're doing the right thing or not.
Like the time I was trying to date that boy . . . the REALLY young one . . . remember him? We had a fantastic movie date that went off without a hitch. I felt really good about the whole thing and by going on that date I realised I was truly baggage-less for the first time in my life and ready to embrace the idea of getting close to someone again. That date was something I needed to do, the very thing I was supposed to do at that time in my life.
It was such a great date in fact that the boy and and I continued to talk and planned a second date . . . that never happened. He cancelled because of unexpected family visitors. I cancelled because of unexpected financial hardship. He cancelled because of unexpected automobile woes. I cancelled because of unexpected work events. Try as we might, we just couldn't seem to connect a second time.
Finally, months later, we were both in the same general area with the right amounts of cash and cars and family and work . . . we spoke on the phone and said we'd meet a few hours later when we were both free . . . he was supposed to call me again to see where I was in order to pick me up . . . the entire Rogers cellphone grid for our region went down that night for a few hours just when that boy would've been trying to call me. This is not a common thing. I've never heard of the system crashing before or since. No calls could be placed or received. All I had was a Rogers cellphone. There was no other way for us to communicate.
When I talked to him next I told him the universe had spoken loud and clear. I thanked him again for the great evening, wished him luck in life and love, and said I wouldn't be seeing him again. I have never regretted breaking off that communication. The universe had to go to some pretty drastic measures to get me to stay away from that boy, lol, but knocking out the cellphone system was a pretty good frying pan over the head.
Years ago I would've never taken the hints. I'd struggle off my path and into the woods, ignoring the signs the universe would put up to try and lead me back, and wonder why life was always so hard, why everything I touched fell apart, why everyone seemed to want only to hurt me. Why me, Lord? Why me?
I'm glad I remember what life was like then, the way it felt to go against myself at every opportunity. Remembering helps me to pay even more attention now. When the universe speaks to me now, more and more, I listen.
Today I was asked to host the Friday night reading event at the WFNB AGM in Moncton this weekend. One of the authors I'll be introducing is Irish and has written a story about Bono from U2 that has been made into a film in which Bono stars. The man knows Bono! I will meet him this weekend, shake his hand, perhaps spend the night drinking with him and listening to stories about Dublin. I will then be one degree of separation from Bono.
Also today I emailed a friend to congratulate her on winning a prize in the WFNB literary competition and she wrote back to ask me if I would help with the Frye Festival next year. If I would co-ordinate an event at Mount A. An event that they hope will be covered by Daniel Richler and Book TV. A panel discussion between an English and an Acadian author . . . the English author they're trying to get is none other than Ann-Marie MacDonald! If you've been reading my blog very long you'll remember how crazy I was to meet her last fall at the Alden Nowlan Festival and the history we shared with me selling t-shirts at a Sunday matinee of Goodnight Desdemona.
Also today I was asked to edit an anthology of work by the Miramichi Writers' Guild and I made plans to get together with a friend of mine and discuss the particulars during the AGM this weekend.
In other bits of positive reinforcement, my father bought me a microwave and a fly swat for my new apartment (the latter to kill any spiders I might run across, since being so traumatized by the ones living here) and he actually apologised for saying something not so nice to me, explaining that he was just kidding and thereby killing the usual mega-fight that I've grown so used to.
Have I mentioned that I've taken an apartment with a loft and a skylight, on a street straight from a Stephen King novel, and with a landlord who drinks California Merlot and is a journalist for the CBC . . .
I tell you the universe speaks to me everyday lately, and she says I'm doing just fine.
Mood: Excited!
Drinking: Nothing
Listening To: Blue Skies, Betty Hutton
Hair: Greasy around the edges
For me the most common question is, "Am I doing the right thing?" From time to time I think everyone questions where they are in life, whether they're on the right path or lost in the bushes someplace. You don't need to have doubt about your place in the world. If you pay attention to what the world is telling you, you'll know for sure whether you're doing the right thing or not.
Like the time I was trying to date that boy . . . the REALLY young one . . . remember him? We had a fantastic movie date that went off without a hitch. I felt really good about the whole thing and by going on that date I realised I was truly baggage-less for the first time in my life and ready to embrace the idea of getting close to someone again. That date was something I needed to do, the very thing I was supposed to do at that time in my life.
It was such a great date in fact that the boy and and I continued to talk and planned a second date . . . that never happened. He cancelled because of unexpected family visitors. I cancelled because of unexpected financial hardship. He cancelled because of unexpected automobile woes. I cancelled because of unexpected work events. Try as we might, we just couldn't seem to connect a second time.
Finally, months later, we were both in the same general area with the right amounts of cash and cars and family and work . . . we spoke on the phone and said we'd meet a few hours later when we were both free . . . he was supposed to call me again to see where I was in order to pick me up . . . the entire Rogers cellphone grid for our region went down that night for a few hours just when that boy would've been trying to call me. This is not a common thing. I've never heard of the system crashing before or since. No calls could be placed or received. All I had was a Rogers cellphone. There was no other way for us to communicate.
When I talked to him next I told him the universe had spoken loud and clear. I thanked him again for the great evening, wished him luck in life and love, and said I wouldn't be seeing him again. I have never regretted breaking off that communication. The universe had to go to some pretty drastic measures to get me to stay away from that boy, lol, but knocking out the cellphone system was a pretty good frying pan over the head.
Years ago I would've never taken the hints. I'd struggle off my path and into the woods, ignoring the signs the universe would put up to try and lead me back, and wonder why life was always so hard, why everything I touched fell apart, why everyone seemed to want only to hurt me. Why me, Lord? Why me?
I'm glad I remember what life was like then, the way it felt to go against myself at every opportunity. Remembering helps me to pay even more attention now. When the universe speaks to me now, more and more, I listen.
Today I was asked to host the Friday night reading event at the WFNB AGM in Moncton this weekend. One of the authors I'll be introducing is Irish and has written a story about Bono from U2 that has been made into a film in which Bono stars. The man knows Bono! I will meet him this weekend, shake his hand, perhaps spend the night drinking with him and listening to stories about Dublin. I will then be one degree of separation from Bono.
Also today I emailed a friend to congratulate her on winning a prize in the WFNB literary competition and she wrote back to ask me if I would help with the Frye Festival next year. If I would co-ordinate an event at Mount A. An event that they hope will be covered by Daniel Richler and Book TV. A panel discussion between an English and an Acadian author . . . the English author they're trying to get is none other than Ann-Marie MacDonald! If you've been reading my blog very long you'll remember how crazy I was to meet her last fall at the Alden Nowlan Festival and the history we shared with me selling t-shirts at a Sunday matinee of Goodnight Desdemona.
Also today I was asked to edit an anthology of work by the Miramichi Writers' Guild and I made plans to get together with a friend of mine and discuss the particulars during the AGM this weekend.
In other bits of positive reinforcement, my father bought me a microwave and a fly swat for my new apartment (the latter to kill any spiders I might run across, since being so traumatized by the ones living here) and he actually apologised for saying something not so nice to me, explaining that he was just kidding and thereby killing the usual mega-fight that I've grown so used to.
Have I mentioned that I've taken an apartment with a loft and a skylight, on a street straight from a Stephen King novel, and with a landlord who drinks California Merlot and is a journalist for the CBC . . .
I tell you the universe speaks to me everyday lately, and she says I'm doing just fine.
Mood: Excited!
Drinking: Nothing
Listening To: Blue Skies, Betty Hutton
Hair: Greasy around the edges
Are You a Republican?
-1% Republican. | "You're a damn Commie! Where's Tailgunner Joe when we need him?" |
Friday, May 06, 2005
Thanks, but no thanks
I have a concern. There's something going on in my house . . . something not so good . . . something kinda downright nerve-wracking by times. Be afraid. Be very afraid to come to my house in the wee hours of the night. I noticed the change a couple of days ago . . . I was reluctant to believe it, accept it for what it seemed to be. Kevin insisted gifts came this way and I should welcome them into my life . . . and I admit a little one every now and again is no problem. A little one I can live with -- I have lived with.
But this is too fucking much. If this is a gift I don't want it. Thanks, but no thanks. Take it to someone else. I'm done!
I'm talking about spiders. And not just little cutesy fun to hang out with do I really have time to fish him out of that corner spiders. I'm talking about mother fucking big ass monsters of spiders. EVERYWHERE! The house is full of them. One darted out into the hall tonight, in the dark, and I could see him! Like a mouse or something!! THAT'S how big he was. I was afraid to step on him. Afraid not to. I was too worked up to clean up and dispose of the body. AND I MEAN BODY!! Not a little tissue deal, a full blown paper towel burial after a huge scraping.
It's crazy. I'm having a nervous breakdown from it. Last night I killed three and Mom killed one. Tonight I killed two. The last one, the unlucky bastard who accosted me in the hall. They probably came in on the wood, hung out in the basement snoozing most of the winter, but the spring is bringing them to higher ground like all the other bugs. Something has got to be done. I can't live this way, and I still have some time left to live here before the move.
After the slaughter in the hallway, I turned on all the lights in the house and made a lot of noise. Can spiders hear? I thought maybe they would stay away, because I don't see any in the daytime, only at night after everyone is gone to bed. I was freaked out. I mean seriously freaked out. Mom got up and told me to have a glass of wine to calm down, because I was so freaked out she was worried I was going to have a heart attack or something. So I had a glass and it did nothing. So I had another. And I'm still freaked out. So I brought the bottle to bed with me and hope I don't have to go out and pee later. I feel like if I'm in here with lights glaring, music blaring, tapping my foot, nick snoring and barking and just generally rattling around the room . . . then maybe I'll be okay in here and not have to see anymore. Because I can't deal with the stress of it. I HATE them! And whatever it is they're trying to bring me, I don't fucking care how big the delivery guy gets, I'm stomping him into the ground cuz I don't want any!! You hear me spirits?! I don't want any! So, abort any future missions right now. You DO NOT want to go to war with me on this, they didn't call me Killer Kel for nothing -- I'm armed, dangerous and deadly . . . and a little drunk.
Mood: Nervous
Drinking: Cheap Chilean Merlot
Listening To: Just Friends, Gavin DeGraw
Hair: Straggly ponytail
But this is too fucking much. If this is a gift I don't want it. Thanks, but no thanks. Take it to someone else. I'm done!
I'm talking about spiders. And not just little cutesy fun to hang out with do I really have time to fish him out of that corner spiders. I'm talking about mother fucking big ass monsters of spiders. EVERYWHERE! The house is full of them. One darted out into the hall tonight, in the dark, and I could see him! Like a mouse or something!! THAT'S how big he was. I was afraid to step on him. Afraid not to. I was too worked up to clean up and dispose of the body. AND I MEAN BODY!! Not a little tissue deal, a full blown paper towel burial after a huge scraping.
It's crazy. I'm having a nervous breakdown from it. Last night I killed three and Mom killed one. Tonight I killed two. The last one, the unlucky bastard who accosted me in the hall. They probably came in on the wood, hung out in the basement snoozing most of the winter, but the spring is bringing them to higher ground like all the other bugs. Something has got to be done. I can't live this way, and I still have some time left to live here before the move.
After the slaughter in the hallway, I turned on all the lights in the house and made a lot of noise. Can spiders hear? I thought maybe they would stay away, because I don't see any in the daytime, only at night after everyone is gone to bed. I was freaked out. I mean seriously freaked out. Mom got up and told me to have a glass of wine to calm down, because I was so freaked out she was worried I was going to have a heart attack or something. So I had a glass and it did nothing. So I had another. And I'm still freaked out. So I brought the bottle to bed with me and hope I don't have to go out and pee later. I feel like if I'm in here with lights glaring, music blaring, tapping my foot, nick snoring and barking and just generally rattling around the room . . . then maybe I'll be okay in here and not have to see anymore. Because I can't deal with the stress of it. I HATE them! And whatever it is they're trying to bring me, I don't fucking care how big the delivery guy gets, I'm stomping him into the ground cuz I don't want any!! You hear me spirits?! I don't want any! So, abort any future missions right now. You DO NOT want to go to war with me on this, they didn't call me Killer Kel for nothing -- I'm armed, dangerous and deadly . . . and a little drunk.
Mood: Nervous
Drinking: Cheap Chilean Merlot
Listening To: Just Friends, Gavin DeGraw
Hair: Straggly ponytail
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Penguin's Word of the Day
FRENETIC
/ fre'netik/ adj
frenzied or frantic
Mood: frenetic
Drinking: coffee, but still falling asleep
Listening To: nothing cuz i'm too paranoid
Hair: full of static
/ fre'netik/ adj
frenzied or frantic
Mood: frenetic
Drinking: coffee, but still falling asleep
Listening To: nothing cuz i'm too paranoid
Hair: full of static
Monday, May 02, 2005
Give Me Your Strength
I'm a bit stressed. Can't sleep. Can't read. Having some wicked stomach cramps . . . like I've eaten something questionable . . . again. Ever since Mickey Dee's yesterday actually. So maybe it's just the crappy mac. I've got all this stuff swirling in my brain and I can't turn it off. Wanna peak inside? Okay, here goes nothing . . . from my brain to the page . . . here's a little Sunday Night anxiety for you.
I should be typing a story to give the girls this week. They need a story. It's this week right? The meeting at the library. Wednesday? Yeah. I NEED a story. Which one? Hmm. What was up with that guy today about the cyberbullying summit? He cc'ed the Prime Minister for godsake. The Prime Minister of Canada!! Like how crazy is that? What is up with people like that. OH, what about The Writing Through the Wall, never workshopped it before. Yeah, gotta type it in. Need to pack some stuff. Books. Think I'll leave Michael Crichton, just take the literary stuff. Noticed a Book Crossing section in the coffee shop down there. I could leave some books there maybe. Take Paul Reiser. Oh my God!! I've got to finish Frank's book before I go and that one from Judy. Got to finish reading those books right now, so I can return them before I leave. Yeah. Lots of stuff to do before I leave. Need to get back all my dvds, buy the furniture, don't forget a garbage can and laundry basket . . . although, I wouldn't really need a laundry basket, just a hamper. Gotta get a hamper. Need to write that down. So what am I gonna do about the Computer guy who keeps emailing me? Need to sort that out. He's either in or he's out. The other day on the train I sat with the Emergency Hammer. The fucking emergency hammer! $300 fine for using that tool for any other reason other than an accident. Never saw anything like it before. Emergency exit, yes. Emergency window, of course. But a freaking Emergency Hammer. It was red and really quite small. You wouldn't think it could help in the event of a big emergency let alone a major accident, still 300 clams for casual usage. But hey what do I know. MUST SLEEP! Gotta get up early. Gotta do laundry. Everything I own is dirty. Yesterday I wore dirty clothes to Sackville, dirty, out of the suitcase I've been living out of since Moncton . . . the first time. Man, I spent WAY too much money that second time. What the hell was I thinking!? But hey, the landlord gave me a break . . . bit of a break . . . really not much of fucking break considering I'm only gonna be there for a week and a half all month. Oh well. Googled him and he is for real. Gotta do the WFNB press release. Gotta do that first thing tomorrow. Gotta get up early. Do the press release right after I straighten out the bnm list. The list is screwed I think. Take forever to administrate it. Changing servers is not fun. DAMN! I forgot to put those stories in bnm this time. SHIT! Gotta do that ASAP. Have to get another email out to the list as soon as I can. Can't forget the poetry I've got hidden on there. And didn't he send me something else. Check in with A and see if she's done. What am I going to do without Nick? Can't even think about it. And the kids! They'll grow up without me. They won't know me anymore. We won't be close. Is it worth it? Gotta remember to watch that discussion on the forum, that could get out of hand. Think that guy is back under a different name, stirring the pot. What are all those racial posts about? That's crazy. Saturday morning I saw three leaves caught in a mini-whirlwind. Fodder for Callum. Just three leaves and they were clicking along the ground, ragged edges, beat around, bouncing along the ground like kids running and holding hands. Can't forget that. Gotta use it. Good visual. Also, can't forget the ring scene. Need to get that in there someplace. Think I'm psychic. Thought of Sandra and there she was. Thought of Herb and there he was too. Crazy the way that happens. Herb sent me an ebook. Should read it. He probably wants feedback. Need to find a minute to do that. At least skim. Never found a Catholic church. Surely there must be one. I need a Catholic Church. An old priest. A bunch of Catholic fanatics. Must have them. ANd a carpenter. Need a carpenter if I am to proceed. OH! Hey, wasn't he building things in that shed? Yeah, I think the journalist is a carpenter too. Maybe he can tell me how to build a nice coffin. Gotta get the coffin done for the kid. That's pivotal. Gotta get the blog fixed. Haven't been able to blog about Frye. Stuff is there but can't publish. Damn server! Tomorrow night gotta remember to tape The Shield for Mom. Almost forgot last week and she missed Bosco. Gotta do that for her. No more AI for me! CONSTANTINE!! I should be reading. I should be listening to poetry or Chopin. I should be relaxing. My hip is still killing me. Stacy wants to do a treatment on me, could be good, could fix. I have faith. Can't go on like this. Can't walk right. Haven't been able to since just after Moncton, the first time. Damn tradeshow! I can't cancel on the writing girls because it will be the last time before the move. Heaven knows when I'll see Susan again! Judy at the AGM probably. Judy in school. OMG! What the hell is wrong with you, you've got to remember to get the application ready for the workshop in July. That is due soon. And another story out. Must be five this month to stay on track. Haven't heard about the others yet. God I love Cameron Crowe! Watched Say Anything commentary last night and it was fabulous. John Cusack is genius too of course. Dad's getting me a microwave? What's up with that. Where are all those email? Those ones for bnm? Where did I put them? WFNB newsletter for June, should start a blank one and get ready so it's not a rush job. Gotta do that. Wonder if he's getting the INternet put in or do I need to do something about that. Should call him maybe. When did he say he was going away? And when are those kids coming? Were they kids? Faculty? Daniel Richler!! IMagine. Fingers crossed. Gotta sleep. So late. Up so early this morning . . . and yesterday morning. Can't sleep. Too crazy. Even after PJ party. Drank too much. Slight headache and dry mouth. Couldn't sleep worth nothing. Up all night, up way too early. Is this a sign of things to come? Is this the amazing energy of living your dream? I would love to get up early every morning there and walk around the park. Come home and do yoga, have coffee and maybe even a bagel. Shower and working by 8 am. HA! I'd even like to try life without coffee, more green tea. It almost seems plausible. I'm semi-concerned about starvation . . . there is the food bank . . .could I do that? I will eat cheap and less. Much less. AND never out. Never. It'll be okay. I've been eating like a pig this past week, like I'm fattening myself up for the winter. Except it's spring. ALmost summer. ANd I'm a cow. A bloody cow. Need to sleep, cow. Need to close those eyes and get some rest. Okay. Even if I just lay here with my eyes closed and focus on breathing, this will help me rest. I will get up in a few hours more rested than if I lay here rolling all over and cursing. yes. Focus. Breathe. Close your eyes. . . breathe in, breathe out. Imagine a babbling brook . . . Aww shit! I need to pee.
Mood: Neurotically Ill
Drinking: 7-Up
Listening To: Gavin DeGraw, Chariot
Hair: Fading fast
I should be typing a story to give the girls this week. They need a story. It's this week right? The meeting at the library. Wednesday? Yeah. I NEED a story. Which one? Hmm. What was up with that guy today about the cyberbullying summit? He cc'ed the Prime Minister for godsake. The Prime Minister of Canada!! Like how crazy is that? What is up with people like that. OH, what about The Writing Through the Wall, never workshopped it before. Yeah, gotta type it in. Need to pack some stuff. Books. Think I'll leave Michael Crichton, just take the literary stuff. Noticed a Book Crossing section in the coffee shop down there. I could leave some books there maybe. Take Paul Reiser. Oh my God!! I've got to finish Frank's book before I go and that one from Judy. Got to finish reading those books right now, so I can return them before I leave. Yeah. Lots of stuff to do before I leave. Need to get back all my dvds, buy the furniture, don't forget a garbage can and laundry basket . . . although, I wouldn't really need a laundry basket, just a hamper. Gotta get a hamper. Need to write that down. So what am I gonna do about the Computer guy who keeps emailing me? Need to sort that out. He's either in or he's out. The other day on the train I sat with the Emergency Hammer. The fucking emergency hammer! $300 fine for using that tool for any other reason other than an accident. Never saw anything like it before. Emergency exit, yes. Emergency window, of course. But a freaking Emergency Hammer. It was red and really quite small. You wouldn't think it could help in the event of a big emergency let alone a major accident, still 300 clams for casual usage. But hey what do I know. MUST SLEEP! Gotta get up early. Gotta do laundry. Everything I own is dirty. Yesterday I wore dirty clothes to Sackville, dirty, out of the suitcase I've been living out of since Moncton . . . the first time. Man, I spent WAY too much money that second time. What the hell was I thinking!? But hey, the landlord gave me a break . . . bit of a break . . . really not much of fucking break considering I'm only gonna be there for a week and a half all month. Oh well. Googled him and he is for real. Gotta do the WFNB press release. Gotta do that first thing tomorrow. Gotta get up early. Do the press release right after I straighten out the bnm list. The list is screwed I think. Take forever to administrate it. Changing servers is not fun. DAMN! I forgot to put those stories in bnm this time. SHIT! Gotta do that ASAP. Have to get another email out to the list as soon as I can. Can't forget the poetry I've got hidden on there. And didn't he send me something else. Check in with A and see if she's done. What am I going to do without Nick? Can't even think about it. And the kids! They'll grow up without me. They won't know me anymore. We won't be close. Is it worth it? Gotta remember to watch that discussion on the forum, that could get out of hand. Think that guy is back under a different name, stirring the pot. What are all those racial posts about? That's crazy. Saturday morning I saw three leaves caught in a mini-whirlwind. Fodder for Callum. Just three leaves and they were clicking along the ground, ragged edges, beat around, bouncing along the ground like kids running and holding hands. Can't forget that. Gotta use it. Good visual. Also, can't forget the ring scene. Need to get that in there someplace. Think I'm psychic. Thought of Sandra and there she was. Thought of Herb and there he was too. Crazy the way that happens. Herb sent me an ebook. Should read it. He probably wants feedback. Need to find a minute to do that. At least skim. Never found a Catholic church. Surely there must be one. I need a Catholic Church. An old priest. A bunch of Catholic fanatics. Must have them. ANd a carpenter. Need a carpenter if I am to proceed. OH! Hey, wasn't he building things in that shed? Yeah, I think the journalist is a carpenter too. Maybe he can tell me how to build a nice coffin. Gotta get the coffin done for the kid. That's pivotal. Gotta get the blog fixed. Haven't been able to blog about Frye. Stuff is there but can't publish. Damn server! Tomorrow night gotta remember to tape The Shield for Mom. Almost forgot last week and she missed Bosco. Gotta do that for her. No more AI for me! CONSTANTINE!! I should be reading. I should be listening to poetry or Chopin. I should be relaxing. My hip is still killing me. Stacy wants to do a treatment on me, could be good, could fix. I have faith. Can't go on like this. Can't walk right. Haven't been able to since just after Moncton, the first time. Damn tradeshow! I can't cancel on the writing girls because it will be the last time before the move. Heaven knows when I'll see Susan again! Judy at the AGM probably. Judy in school. OMG! What the hell is wrong with you, you've got to remember to get the application ready for the workshop in July. That is due soon. And another story out. Must be five this month to stay on track. Haven't heard about the others yet. God I love Cameron Crowe! Watched Say Anything commentary last night and it was fabulous. John Cusack is genius too of course. Dad's getting me a microwave? What's up with that. Where are all those email? Those ones for bnm? Where did I put them? WFNB newsletter for June, should start a blank one and get ready so it's not a rush job. Gotta do that. Wonder if he's getting the INternet put in or do I need to do something about that. Should call him maybe. When did he say he was going away? And when are those kids coming? Were they kids? Faculty? Daniel Richler!! IMagine. Fingers crossed. Gotta sleep. So late. Up so early this morning . . . and yesterday morning. Can't sleep. Too crazy. Even after PJ party. Drank too much. Slight headache and dry mouth. Couldn't sleep worth nothing. Up all night, up way too early. Is this a sign of things to come? Is this the amazing energy of living your dream? I would love to get up early every morning there and walk around the park. Come home and do yoga, have coffee and maybe even a bagel. Shower and working by 8 am. HA! I'd even like to try life without coffee, more green tea. It almost seems plausible. I'm semi-concerned about starvation . . . there is the food bank . . .could I do that? I will eat cheap and less. Much less. AND never out. Never. It'll be okay. I've been eating like a pig this past week, like I'm fattening myself up for the winter. Except it's spring. ALmost summer. ANd I'm a cow. A bloody cow. Need to sleep, cow. Need to close those eyes and get some rest. Okay. Even if I just lay here with my eyes closed and focus on breathing, this will help me rest. I will get up in a few hours more rested than if I lay here rolling all over and cursing. yes. Focus. Breathe. Close your eyes. . . breathe in, breathe out. Imagine a babbling brook . . . Aww shit! I need to pee.
Mood: Neurotically Ill
Drinking: 7-Up
Listening To: Gavin DeGraw, Chariot
Hair: Fading fast
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Moving on Up
Well everything is final. Yesterday I signed a lease and paid my first month's rent. I'm not able to actually do the move until the long weekend, but it's official -- I'm really going!! I've got a couple of weeks to pack and get myself together.
Mood: Hyper
Drinking: Coffee
Listening To: Etta James, I Just Want to Make Love to You
Hair: flowing
Mood: Hyper
Drinking: Coffee
Listening To: Etta James, I Just Want to Make Love to You
Hair: flowing
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