three reasons I love this time of year

Three reasons I love this time of year.
1. Christmas is over. Sure, I love Christmas as much as the next person, but now that It's over, there's no more cooking, cleaning, organizing, or shopping to do, and I can relax.
2. Spring is on its way. I know, anyone living east or north of the Fraser Valley will think I'm insane, but for us here, there's a whiff of growth in the air. I smelled it today when walking up an outside staircase next to a big garden bed. the rotting smell of soil decomposing and plants growing. Yum. And, of course, the days are getting longer now instead of shorter.
3. More time to write! This is the best of all. School's out for another week, so when I sit at my computer it's to polish off a manuscript, not to mark papers. I'm just about finished my next manuscript, and trying to get done before the craziness of term starts up again.

exciting day

Today is an exciting day. The advance reading copy of Storm Tide arrived in the mail. Up until now it's just been a collection of pages with writing on them, but now it's really a book, witha beautiful cover. It's almost as exciting as a new baby in the family!

The Next Step

Back the the drawing board, as they say. But not really, because, yahoo, they liked the story. There are holes in the plot, to be sure, but not many, and none that aren't fixable. This is why I'm so happy with this process. It's so much better to make changes to the plot now, rather than when all the text has been scripted.

The kinds of plot holes I tend to make are things like having the character do things that are out of character. In this story, for example, my main character slips off in her kayak every morning after her Dad and brother are already gone so they won't know she's going. She's afraid they will be alarmed for her safety. So why, later, when she wants to go kayaking at night, does she tell them she's going? And why don't they react? what was she scared of all along? So I have to make a slight change to my plan, so that all those characters will react in character.
Thanks to Alex and Carol for their eagle eyes on my chapter outline!

Taking the next step

It's time to share. I've written the outline for my story--which I'm tentatively calling Sea Otter Cove, though I know that name won't stick--and now I'm passing it along to to other writers for review. I like doing that at this stage, when I haven't invested too much time in writing yet, just in imagining, so any changes they suggest won't be devastating. Actually, maybe they will. What if they don't like it at all? What if they think the premise is boring, or unrealistic? What if the characters seem flimsy? Argh... Too late now, I've already sent them the file.
Gulp.

Starting a Children's Story

I’ve just started a new story, so I decided to blog about the process—from beginning to end, wherever that might be.
When I decided to write this story I already knew I wanted to write for the same audience I’d just finished writing for: 8-10 year olds. And I knew I was going to submit it to the same publisher as the last one, so that gave me a strong structure to work within. I know this story is going to be around 1600 words, and that it will have around 16 chapters of a thousand words each. This may seem formulaic, but in fact it allows me to stop worrying about length and structure so I can focus on things like character and plot development.
I also knew I wanted to write about kids and the natural world again, and the place I know best in the world is Vancouver Island, so I decided to set it there, at least in my brain, even if I don’t name it specifically.
I’ve long had a passion for sea otters, so I knew they were going to figure in the book, and I thought this time I’d write about a girl as my main character, but that was all I knew.
As you know, a lot of the writing process takes place away from the computer or notebook. I started thinking about this story: what could happen, who it might happen to, what would happen then, how would the character get out of that situation? I thought of the advice my friend Alex gave me: put your character in a bad situation, make it worse, then make it better. So I put my character in conflict with her family, made the whole family get in trouble because of it, then made the main character find a way to make it better.
So far all of this plotting took place in my head. I like to work in my head for a while until I get a sense of where the story might go, then my next step is to sit down and write a chapter outline. And I do mean a detailed outline. The whole story is 16000 words or so long, and the chapter outline is 4000 words. I think this is a good ratio, because it means I have captured all the details of what is happening, but left room to dramatize the action.
So that’s where I’m at now. I’ll read over the outline to see if it makes sense, if the character’s motivations are clear, and if I can improve it anywhere by adding more danger or drama. The next step is to write out the first chapter to see if I can find the voice of the main character. Wish me luck.

Sun beaches and walking beaches

I've just returned from a long and lovely holiday with my family. We sat in the sun in the Roman forum and felt the age old stone in against our backs, got lost in the maze of Venetian streets, stared amazed at the curves and swirls of architecture in Barcelona, and finally walked for hours on the cobbles of Paris streets. There were pasta and small, strong coffees, ripe and juicy tomatoes and melting pastries. We spent afternoons half asleep in the hot sun on the beach or watching the world go slowly by from the train windows. We were together as a family, and we loved the heat, the bustle, the history, the culture, the languages. I remembered how to speak French and pretended to know how to speak Spanish and muttered and gesticulated in Italian.
But now it's over and we're home. For a few days there I felt wrenched, as if I'd come from the centre of the world and landed, somehow, here on the west coast, a far flung land. The weather was cold. It rained.
But then slowly I remembered why I love it here. Today I took my dog down to the beach by Dallas Road where the fog closed the world in so there was no horizon. The water and air met in an invisible line, cocooning us on the beach. It was still, and the tide was low. The dog ran with a grin on his face, and I walked. The stones crunched beneath my feet and ahead of me a flock of sandpipers flew low, landing frequently, but always keeping a little ahead of me. There was a log on the beach that looked like a salmon with its skin slashed. A seal barked. And then I rememembered; it's the stillness here that draws us. Or sometimes the wildness. And sometimes its the sun and sometimes the rain. Today it was being closed in on the beach, a good beach for walking, that made me happy to be home.

wise words from Barbara Kingsolver

The main character of The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver is a writer. He writes histories that also have current political significance, and he's well known and well liked. Here's what he says when asked where to start a book: "You start with "in the beginning," I told her, but it should be as close to the end as possible. There's the trick."

I love it. Wise words.

plotting--advice from a wise friend

I was talking to my friend Alex the other day, and she told me a pearl of wisdom about plotting, especially when writing for children.
Put your character in trouble, make it worse, then make it better.
Other people have put it differently: think about what your character wants, then think about what's keeping them from what they want. Both of those make sense, but there's still the question of pacing.

Writer Nancy Lee taught my friend Hanako that a novel should start with an inciting incident in which the main character's character is revealed. By the middle of the story the character is closest to what he or she wants; it's within grasp, but then they lose it. And at the end of the story, they have their crisis--their dark night of the soul, before there is finally some resolution.

Sounds so easy--but of course it's not. At least these thoughts give some guidelines though.

I've been wondering why people keep telling me that the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is a feminist book. What's so feminist about a story that's all about violence against women? It may be a thriller about finding the man who "did it" and punishing him, but isn't that just a platform to write about violence of the grossest kind against women? And what's so feminist about a lead character who is sleeping with a much older man, (who already has a lover), and who buys herself a pair of boobs the first opportunity she gets. There's even a little girl on girl action. Sounds like a certain kind of guy's wet dream to me, and it sure makes me wonder what the word feminist means these days. I get the whole thing about being able to be feminine and feminist. Way to go, I say. But violence against women? Sexual violence? no thanks. Surely that doesn't fit under the name feminist. Argh... Had to rant...

Writing Communities

Writer Laurie Elmquist stopped by my house today to give me a card to congratulate me on some recent good writing news. It was a lovely gesture, and I appreciated it a lot. I opened the card and put it on my mantle where I can look at it for the next week or so, and then we went out for a walk with our dogs.

After our walk I came back to the card because I had started to appreciate it more deeply. The card was a lovely gesture from a generous friend, but it was also something more. The reason Laurie knew in the first place that I had writing news is that we write together. We walk and talk about writing, we shop and talk about writing, we drink tea and talk about writing. If we are together, we are probably talking about writing. We both write, and we both teach writing. And we are part of a larger group too--the Wildwood writers.

The Wildwood writers is a group of women who have been writing together for years, through many rejections and false starts, and yet we continue to write and we continue to write together. And the truth that I realised when looking at my card today, is that it's not despite the rejections and false starts that we stay together, it's because of them. Because we need each other. Writing is hard hard work, and it takes a long time, and most of us would have given up long ago if it weren't for the Wildwood writers meeting each week and listening to our tales and our writing.

So thank you to Laurie for always being there for me and for bringing me a beautiful card, and to the Wildwood writers, without whom I would most definitely no longer be a writer.

a day on the beach

A day on the beach reminded me that even 13 year olds can soak up the beauty and stillness of a deserted island. They chaffed at first, too tired to be enthusiastic, but soon they were competing to see who could walk on logs longest without stepping on sand, and who could hit a far away log most times with a thrown rock and who would jump first into the freezing cold water.

summer blogging

Truth is, it's hard to sit down at the computer on a sunny summer day to blog. I'd rather be outside digging up the potatoes or walking along the beach, or having a quick swim at a lake. That's the problem with living in a climate like this. Ten months of the year it's cool and it's okay to sit inside, but those two months of warm weather, you just gotta get out there. And I want to not only for my sake, but also for my kid's sake. Anything to take him away from sitting in front of the tv or computer. So out we go. And, to be honest, I'm happy to give up my writing life for those fleeting summer moments. Who can say no to a mid summer picnic on the beach in the company of loved ones? Or a day at the river watching growing kids swim? Or an afternoon browsing the pictures at the Moss Street Paint in? Not me.

Bees in my garden

I have bees in my garden. If that seems like a celebratory statement, it's because it is. I was just listening last week to a Quirks and Quarks podcast about how bees around the world are disappearing,, and then today I was sitting in my garden, and there were bees. The thing is, over the past few years I've been changing my garden over from flowers to vegetables. But the bees were in the flowers, which I still have a lot of. There they were, pollinating the lavender and roses, and ignoring the vegetables. Seeing the bees there reminded me why I had planted the garden in the first place, which was to create an oasis of scent and beauty, and that still seems like a good idea, even if I also know that growing food is important. A bit of both perhaps, because we eat the food, and it's good for our bodies, but the scent and sunning beauty of the flowers is good for our souls--and the bees.

Wild With Child Unleashed!

At last. It's been a long road between when I wrote the article and now--but here it is at last. Here's a sneak peak at "John One Eye"--the article I wrote for the anthology.

“Back long ago in the days when I was a pirate,” said my husband Michael, adjusting the bandana around his head, “I met a man named John One-Eye. He was old even then, and he told me about some treasure he hid in the forest. Do you want to come and look for it with me?” He knelt down under the tree where our son Rowan and his five-year-old friends sat spellbound.
The children’s eyes widened with wonder. “Yes,” they whispered.
Michael smiled and stood up. “Then come with me.” He beckoned and eight children fell into line.
“Let’s look under the cedars. Do you see anything there?” Michael bent low and crawled under the overhanging branches of a cedar tree. The children followed him into the clearing. They scurried around, peering over roots and under branches.
“Nothing here,” said Rowan.
“Then we’ll have to go farther along the trail.”
I smiled and walked back to the picnic table to wait. I was glad for a few minutes to myself, to listen to the quiet of the park, and the noises of children having fun. I could hear them as they squealed in delight when Michael pretended to ask a duck if he had seen any treasure. They wandered along the path, searching among the salal and hostas and running in the grass just for the fun of it, until at last Michael led them to a stand of pines.
I set the picnic table with orange plastic birthday plates and blue cups. The sun was strong for an April morning. Not far off I heard, “Here it is! Here it is!” Rowan spied it first, but sixteen little hands reached upwards as Michael lowered the box down and pulled off the lid. Inside were cake and strawberries, and little goodie bags for each child.
The children gathered around the table. Their faces were flushed from running, and their hands stained red from strawberries. “Was your dad really a pirate?” said a small voice, muffled with cake.
“Yeah,” Rowan nodded happily. Michael looked at me over the heads of the children and winked. And with that, a story was born.

writing what we know

I was reminded today of the value of writing what we know. I went out with my family on a short kayaking trip across Baynes Channel to Discovery Island. Just a short trip, but it reminded me of so many things about kayaking: the sound of the water licking at the paddle as it dips in, the rocking of the boat when the current catches it, the dry feeling of salt on the skin when water drops from the paddles. I remembered how the boat feels slow and lagging when I'm paddling in a following sea, and the strange feeling that produces when I look to shore and realise the I'm actually moving really quickly. I also remembered the joy of being among rocks and seaweed and tall sea grasses on a pebbly beach with sharp white shells and bone bleached logs, how fantastic even the simplest of food tastes in the out of doors, how happy even teen aged boys are when they have nothing to do but hang out on a beach and watch eagles circle in the air and seals loll on a rock. These are all things I can write about, because I know them, deeply, in my body, my memory, my bones, which is a good thing, because so much of writing is mysterious and unknown.

inspired by fabric art

I've recently finished a couple of large writing projects, so I'm turning back to a piece of fabric art that I left off a few months ago, partly because it was too large, and it made me overwhelmed. But then today, just as I was thinking I might get back into it, I saw this video on the work of Merle Axelrad Serlin. She's doing expertly what I have been fumbling with intuitively. Because I am not trained in this artform I am limited in my technique, which is one of the main reasons I gave up on the project. Isn't it wonderful how the world conspires to give us what we need? Just as I was thinking about how to tackle this project, there was a video that led me to a person who could help.

writing what you know

Here's the thing. I've been struggling with a section of my novel. This is the novel I've been working on for years, plugging away intermittently, when I have time. Slowly, slowly it's taking shape. But there is a section I just haven't filled in.
A section that I know I have to work on, but which is empty. Big, empty spaces live there instead of words. At a workshop yesterday, I had an epiphany. I've been writing this whole novel by exploring the relationship between two people. It works (if I do say so myself). We get to know these characters well. We like them. We wish them well. Then, in this section that I've been avoiding, the one where there is a big hole; I've been trying to figure out the plot. Now don't get me wrong, plot is important, but why do I think I have to change, in this section, from focusing on character to focusing on plot? It's because there is a complication that arises in the plot here, so I've been trying to figure it out by approaching the material from the perspective of what happens. But here's my epiphany. I can just keep working on character. How would they respond in this circumstance? What will they say about this piece of information? How will they feel when they discover this complecation? Aha! Why abandon what has been working? This is it, I'm sticking with my exploration of these two characters, and beware to the plot--I'm gonna get you!

living large in the sun

Oh there's nothing like a sunny warm day in a cool and rainy place. When those days come, nothing, really nothing, can keep me inside. Not even the thought of hours or writing. I tried, I really did, but today my feet kept taking off on their own and propelling me outside. So eventually I gave up fighting, and went to the beach. So many families, kids, kayaks, frisbies, sandwiches, bottles of water, bathing suits, towels, sticks, ropes, books and babble. Wonderful. Let's hope it happens again soon.

Wild With Child Anthology almost out!

I just got an email from the editor of the Wild with Child anthology to say it is almost out. I can't wait to see it, my own story after all this time, and all the other stories. Even thinking about my story, the Adventures of John One Eye, reminds me of an earlier time in my family's life, when my son was young and we used to play make believe. John One Eye was a made up pirate whose adventures took us all over the island in search of his treasurers.

Make believe is something which we writers delight in, but which many people give up as life progresses. Why is that? make believe makes the world a richer place, especially when we can share it with others, bringing a bit of magic into their lives too.

Writing Group

I'm just waiting for the ladies in my writing group to arrive. This is a weekly ritual, this writing together, and one I wouldn't miss for all the writing time in the world. There is something about the time we spend together that is more inspiring than anything else I do. That includes long walks along the ocean or hot spa style baths or fast invigorating music. Well, maybe my life just isn't that inspiring, but I don't think so. I think that belonging to a group of like minded women is special. We encourage each other, we're each other's cheering section, we catch each other when those pesky rejection letters turn worse than pesky, we rejoice when they turn to acceptance. We read each others' writing with critical eyes, we read each others' writing with love. There's nothing like it. Really.

communications in retrograde?

Has it been difficult these past few days to communicate with those close to you? That's how this week's horiscope starts. Makes me reevaluate my view of astrology, because the answer this week is YES. Communicaition misfirings happening all over the place. With friends, family and colleagues. What's going on? is something in retrograde? Sheesh. So appologies to all those I mis communicated with. Must be something in the stars.

house concerts

I went to a house concert last night. What a fantastic way to share music. It was so intimate and interactive. The musician told stories and we responded, asked questions, added to the stories. He sang, and when we knew the words we sang along. It was great. I wonder if we can recreate that for writers. Readings in public places are good, but what about house readings. Salons, I think they are called.
Here the reader reads to an audience who is not separated from them by a stage or even a podium necessarily. It can just be people in a living room. What a great way to build up a small following. Maybe I'll try it one of these days.

new term starting

New term starting today. How does time go by so fast? Too much to do... so this is a little mini post. I came across this interesting article the other day. Thought I would post it here. Enjoy.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/10/business/10mba.html?pagewanted=all

The benefits of evaluations

I got my evaluations back today. These are the forms where the students have their chance to write whatever they like (or dislike) about their teachers. I was dreading this particular batch because I hadn't felt good about this class. It always was so hard to get any discussions going in class and I was certain that they had a good deal of skepticism about me and the class itself. But to my surprise, I got great comments from the students. They found me engaging and approachable and organized. Several of them said they learned something from me.
Now I know that sounds like bragging, but actually its more like surprise. How could I be so unaware? How did I manage to read the class so wrong? This really makes me wonder, how in touch are we really with what goes on in the classroom? How could I be so wrong about myself? Is it just that I am my own worst critic, or is something else going on here? Does this lack of confidence infuse my writing to? Gosh...

Maybe I just expect too much from the classroom. I have visions of book discussions that resemble the discussions that my writing group has about books we've read. In these discussions we analyse the meaning of the book, the use of symbols and metaphors. We review the writing style and try to understand what we do or don't like about it and what parts we can adapt and adopt in our own writing. We discuss at great length what the author was trying to achieve. But maybe what I have to realise is that all those years that have passed since we were in school have actually taught us something. Maybe it is totally appropriate that a bunch of middle aged writers have in depth discussions about books that I can't get a classroom of students to have. Maybe we really have learned something over the years.

I have to remember that a lot of years have passed since I was a university student. This should give me courage to be confident in my knowledge. Sometimes that is hard to have when I feel so out of touch with the students. I don't listen to the same music or understand their references, but then I guess that's okay, because I'm not 23 any more, so maybe they just don't expect that of me.

I'm feeling pretty good today about teaching and writing. Yahoo for a good evaluation.

Daily writing and the writing day

A writing mentor told me years ago that it is important to write every day. Of course I didn’t follow that advice, I have a life after all. It’s hard enough to find some time to write, let alone some time every day. But now I have a couple of weeks off and I’m writing every day, and I am reminded of that advice and how wise it is. Not because writing every day makes us better writers, but because writing every day makes us write. The more we write the more we write. It seems obvious, but it isn’t really. As days go by without any writing, I forget to make the time to write. Other things like getting Rowan to his soccer game, or making it to the grocery store before it closes, become more important. The writing time slips off the list to lie forgotten on the floor. But when I write each day, I remember to make time the next day to write, and the next day after that, and the next day. And suddenly a project is closer to completion. It seems so easy, so simple. So now, as part of living as an artist, I am going to talk to my family about structuring our days so that I have a bit of time each day for writing. Maybe that way some of my half started projects will actually get finished.

Okay, so I decided to take some action. To talk to the publishers, to prod my husband about getting something happening with his work. And the results--good. Things are moving again. The publishers had some ideas of how to move forward, and while I am still waiting, at least I am waiting with some forward momentum. I like that feeling.

Karmic Virtues Of Waiting

I've been pondering the karmic virtues of waiting. I seem to spend a lot of my time waiting for things, and the question I have is, is it better to wait--to let the fates have their way and to flow with life, or to take control and move things along, even when it might seem like a backwards movement? For example, an editor has had a little manuscript of mine for quite some time now. We have worked a lot on it together, and she is enthusiastic about it. But, the publishing house doesn't have any money right now, so progress on the book has been stalled. I like working with this woman, and want to stay with her, so I keep waiting. But maybe that's not the right thing. Maybe I should just take the manuscript back and start again, looking for another publisher. My husband is in the same position with a job. To wait, while the slow cogs of bureaucracy turn, in the hopes that the time and energy he has put in will pay off, or to make a change and take his chances there. This is the question he asks. Now that I have written this, the answer seems more clear. Taking control always seems like a good thing. although, I also see virtue in letting life flow over us. Maybe what I should really cultivate is patience!

Garden Photos

Living Art

Walking home today I was thinking about all of the art that surrounds us. The cakes my cousin makes for her friends, the flower arrangements I saw at an art opening. The quilts my Mum makes. All those things that we love and which make our lives beautiful, but which no one ever pays for or gives us awards for or interviews us about. The home art. I'd like to start celebrating these small bits of art that people, usually women, but not always, bring into my life. I'm pondering ways to do this, and thinking about what makes art art. Why are some types of art things that can be sold for lots of money or currated on a wall for many people to enjoy and other pieces of art we just say oh that's nice and never think about it again. There's something there about how capital A art is more thought provoking, or pushes us in some way. But the home art holds something else in it. An expression of creativity, a fine use of colour or texture. These things are often gifts of love. These are important expressions of art too aren't they? These are my musings of the day as I walk home with the dog.

Computer Stores and Consumer Destiny

Most visits to computer stores are fraught with frustration, but yesterday I had a rare enjoyable trip. Mostly when I go to computer stores the service people are trying to get me to throw out my old computer and buy a new, better one. Mostly they say things like “it’s going to be out of date in a year anyway.” And I always ask’ what do you mean by better?” “Faster” is usually the answer, and, of course, there is nothing wrong with “faster” except that I don’t need it. What I really want is a computer that will last longer and work. What I want is a computer that won’t break down every few months and need to be entirely replaced. Imagine that—a computer that would last for years and years, like fridges and washing machines. Would it be all that hard? Could it not be that when something in my computer broke that piece was simply fixed or replaced, leaving me still with my old but repaired computer?
Every time a piece of electronic equipment dies and we put it on the growing pile in our house, I think of the mountains of electronic waste that are growing around the world. E-waste is fast becoming the biggest source of garbage in the world. And not only that, much of it is toxic. United Nations estimates say that some 20-50 million metric tonnes of e-waste, including lead, cadmium, mercury and other hazardous substances are dumped every yea. Hence my reluctance to buy new computers all the time. (Well, that and the cost of course). And hence my delight yesterday when I got a call from the computer store telling me that whatever was wrong in my computer had been replaced.
I went to the store to pick up my computer, and as I was turning it on to make sure it really was working, the man behind the counter said “that should last a while”. Imagine my delight. In fact I was so happy at this sentiment that I didn’t even ask him how long “a while” was. I knew I would be disappointed in the answer, and I wanted to savour the moment. It wasn’t the duration that was important; it was his believe that lasting “a while” was a good thing.

Living As an Artist

Welcome to my year of...no wait, that's already been done, hasn't it? A year of living without made in China, a year of eating locally, a year of doing everything Oprah says. All good and interesting projects. But I think I'm looking for something different. How about welcome to my blog about learning to live as an artist?

Living as an artist may not sound difficult to you, but to me it is, because it's about more than working with words and fabrics. Those are my more obvious mediums, but to me living as an artist is also about applying the focus and intentionality I strive for in my art to other, more philosophical parts of my life. Shopping for example. Don't laugh. I'm serious. I'm trying to learn how to be a conscious consumer in the same way I try to be a fabric artists or a writer. I am trying to set out my intention, apply focus, and do my best work.

It's not as frivolous as it sounds. We hope, as artists, to make an impact on the world. I know, as a consumer, that I do make an impact every time I make a consumer related choice. So I am trying to ensure that impact is a positive one. I'm trying to make choices to buy products that support economies in need, empower women, are made in ecologically sensitive ways, and/or support local artists or artisans or farmers.

In what way am I living as an artist when I make consumer choices? It's not that I'm making art by being a consumer --that would be a stretch--it's just that I am trying to be deliberate, to be intentional, to be focused, to consciously make choices, much as I would as a writer.

There's more. Living as an artist is not only about applying artistic principals and strategies to different parts of life. Living as an artist is also about making art a high priority in our lives. So many artists I know, and I am the top of this list for this, spend much of their time working, being parents or partners, members of a community, being the person who keeps the house clean, does the laundry, goes grocery shopping and generally keeps the house going. So how is it possible to make being an artist a priority amid all of this? That is another question I am going to try to answer in my attempt to learn about living as an artist.

My first strategy is a simple one. I have joined a group of women who have devised for themselves a novel writing month. The real novel writing month is November, but we are going out on our own in April. I've been working on a novel for years, spinning my wheels, never quite finding time to put into it. So here goes. novel writing month here I come. And with it intentional consumerism. I'll let you know how it goes.