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.