Shirley's WebLog Archive
October 2003
Wednesday, October 1, 2003
5:05 pm
A new month. I printed out what I had written in here in the last month and find it makes for quite a pile of paper. This is encouraging, as I am interested in volume as a sort of starting point. I have been keeping up my private journal as well, and filled a book yesterday as well. My last entry was about organizing myself, and keeping track of the things I mean to do. Stuff like write with a particular audience in mind, and how to fit the humdrum stuff into my days, without letting it all take over. And getting some stuff out to potential markets.
I visited a friend yesterday, her birthday, and she told me the same thing my write friends have been telling me; work on essay/column type stuff and get it out there. I think I should start paying attention.
Today was the second Excel class, and I managed it better, without the screaming backache. Eating very little, and no coffee seem to be part of the key, seeing as all I was doing physically was sitting on my butt. I actually enjoyed this class -- found out how the program works, enough anyway to actually make use of it, which hasn't been the case until now. Excel fits into the same kind of puzzle solving, nit-picky category that desktop publishing occupies, and for some reason I can get into it.
I have been sitting too long today, so this is going to be an ultra-short entry. My back is finally beginning to protest.
Friday, October 3, 2003
11 am
I sat here at the computer a couple times yesterday, and my fingers wouldn't move. It was the strangest thing. I've been wondering about the difference between writing with a pen on paper, and writing with my fingers on a keyboard. The words come out faster when I'm typing, that's one difference. Of course lately my keyboard writing has been for this on-line journal, and so I hesitate to blab away about some of the thoughts going through my head. It's hardly the same sort of writing as a personal journal. I don't think it's only because there's nothing in my head.
I've also been mulling about what I should be writing about, whether this is a need or a fantasy... Yesterday I was out picking up groceries and thought if I just found a job and went about life like a normal person, perhaps I'd be happier. Just forget the writing business, which sits in the back of my mind all the time, like homework I'm not doing. It would be so much simpler. But it's not so long since I worked in an office that I've forgotten how dreary I found that. Am I just a misfit? Or is this just one last round (I hope the last) of pms? That's a possibility; I have reached the stage where each period may be the last, and I get teased with two and four month gaps between, but this week, alas, I am still a bleeder.
I wrote in my other journal this week, that next week I should start as though at a new job, and give myself regular hours to devote to the writing business. I think I will try that; Monday morning I'll be in this room at 9 am and see whether I can do what countless writers before me have done. Write.
I'll be away for the weekend, and may not check in here until Monday. I'm on a field trip with my book club-- we're supposed to have read Mrs. Dalloway, and I confess I haven't. This week I've been reading Wormholes by John Fowles. It's a collection of essays and 'occasional writings'. Besides that he uses some pretty big words (I suspect there is something different going on in educating the English over how we do it here in the colonies) he seems to be just about as neurotic as the next writer. Maybe it is just that a lot of us are unfit for regular employment and so have to dream up a way to spin tales and save ourselves from the rat race. Helps to be clever too, judging from Fowles's writing. (Speaking of clever, see how I managed to include myself as one of a group with the likes of Fowles? By saying "a lot of us". Contradictory ego here as I doubt myself.)
I read in the paper that J.M. Coetzee has won the Nobel prize for lit. He's another one; quiet and withdrawn. Apparently he declined to show up to pick up his Booker Prize (one of them). You could probably predict the kids who will grow up to be writers with a simple personality test, along with a popularity test in high school. A few would slip by, but I'll bet you could pick out a lot of them. The same way you can spot the (likely) future criminals.
Tuesday, October 7, 2003
9:11 am
The weekend flew by. I went to Duncan with five other women from my book club to stay at the house of one of our alumnae. She and her husband have built a palace in the countryside. Well, maybe that's a bit of hyperbole, but a very very nice house. Lots of wood, lots of space inside and out; does it for me. I catch myself fantasizing making such a move, but It's a lot of work building a house like that, and a lot of work maintaining it, and I'm a single not a double. These two in Duncan also have young children at home, which makes a very big difference to the pattern of their lives. I realize I've reached a time where expanding is no longer desireable. But I still house two (large) children so I won't be making any changes one way or another anyway. It's all just conjecture at this point.
I picked up a new book last week, called Making a Literary Life by Carolyn See. That's what I'm trying to do I guess, and talking about it in here is breaking one of her first suggestions, except that I've gone beyond conjecture about writing at least, and feel I've been putting words on paper (and screen) for long enough now to feel happy in the public designation, writer, even though the bylines are in short supply. Anyway, this book is funny, it made me laugh out loud, and it's inspiring. I was reading it on the ferry instead of our book club book, which was Mrs Dalloway. That book is still sitting on my coffee table where it landed when I fell asleep reading it last week. I still intend to read it; good medicine, or part of my education. But it's a tough slog. One of my friends figured out I was reading something else, because of the aforementioned laughing.
I meant to be back at work here on Monday morning, but had a few things left over from the weekend. Sunday is the day I usually visit my Dad, and grumpy old man though he is, I can't quite write him off yet. So that was first on Monday, and then I had some shopping to do. These things are sometimes like smokescreen, that keep me from writing; there's this shaky balancing act. Life or writing, but what life without the writing? Anyway Carolyn See has simple advice and lengthy advice, depending on circumstance, and based on the idea that any writing is better than none. So, I will try and rise to her simple prescription first, which is to write a thousand words a day (or two hours of revision). This is only around four pages, an amount that seemed huge to me when back in high school, but that was a long long time ago. Four pages is not much. (I'm not including this in my count, so don't get fooled by the occasional doubling of words for emphasis -- I'm not cheating!)
But yesterday I didn't write anything. I went shopping, as I said. Today my day is clear of the need to leave the house, but the last couple of stories came in for PIBC News, and so it has now become a deadline. One with the promise of a paycheque mind you.
Last week I said I'd try this week to treat each day as a regular working day, and so today is shaping into that. But now I've got that idea of a thousand words a day lurking in the back of my mind as a more amorphous goal that I'm working towards as well. We'll see how I do, but I feel pretty optimistic this morning. Must be because my period is over.
Wednesday, October 8, 2003
1:06 pm
Well, I must be queen of good intentions, but my follow-through is not so great. This living a literary life is tricky. It is so true that the day is only so long, and when chores fall in your lap that need to be done, they get done. I got the first draft done for the magazine I lay out. I can never plan it carefully to fit into a schedule, because the people I do it for are inclined to send stuff late, and then need the issue done quickly. I think printers are used to this sort of thing as well. "What do you mean you can't get it done by tomorrow!!" Anyway I was up late last night working on it, and not on my 1000 words... the way the days go it seems 100 words would be more likely, and I don't often get that many done either. But, each day is a new day, and regrets are kind of useless. Besides, there were dishes to do.
I read in the paper today about a woman in the States being convicted of contributing to her son's suicide, because she kept their house so badly, and didn't look after him properly. Seems he didn't keep himself very clean, and sometimes stank; he was bullied a lot. Apparently Mom didn't do the dishes enough and the bathrooms were dirty. It sounds as though she kept house much like the average adolescent tends to when the mom goes away for awhile, except that she was working two jobs while she was slacking off at home. I suspect there might be a bit of hardship here that the jury and prosecution were ignoring. I remember trying to get children to wash. I remember trying to look after the house and everyone else's well-being, and get myself to work and them to school on time. I remember making a conscious decision to not worry about lousy housekeeping (futilely, I fretted anyway), because there were other things that took priority. I consoled myself with the idea the kids would be less likely to get sick, because they were so well-exposed to bacteria. Good thing the housekeeping police never checked up on me. I guess that jury in this case is hoping the grieving mother will kill herself, too. I'm sure she wasn't devastated enough at her son's death. The world is mad.
Oh, and I know, I should be able to get someone else to do the dishes. Like the convicted lousy housekeeper should have been able to get her son to keep clean. And taken him to therapy. I remember trying to do that with my kids, when I thought our family needed help. (It probably still does ;-) I was the only one who would go. It's hard to hold onto three children who are determined to bolt. It's like herding cats. My doctor phrased it well; You can take an adolescent (or child) to therapy, but you can't make him/her talk. I would add that it's hard to get them to sit down.
So now it's 1:30, almost, and I think I'll take myself out for to a coffee shop with my pen and paper, and see what happens. It'll be a while before the draft copy of the magazine comes back for corrections. The dishes are clean. What am I waiting fo
Friday, October 10, 2003
12:35 pm
I did write around a thousand words on Wednesday. Not that hard. But yesterday I didn't write anything. I was all day on my computer, getting another draft of the magazine together. It was one page too many before. Now it's one page too few. Ah well. I ordered dinner from takeout yesterday too, and when I stopped to notice, I never actually got dressed. You can't really get away with that at an office, can you?
This morning I slipped out for groceries. We seemed to run out of milk yesterday, and a few other things. Then I finished up and sent the magazine (draft) off to the editor. I should have a reprieve; likely it'll clog up my weekend, but I feel that it's almost done. Fingers crossed.
I've also sent off a few more copies of my resume to UBC. I used to work there, and could use another job, just to add a little cash to the pot. So I can keep on sending out for dinner on days when I've got deadlines. My son was out at the Canucks' season opener with his dad, so takeout was a bit cheaper than it might have been. I went to bed before he got home, but I saw on the news that the Canucks won. This is good.
I have learned over the years to watch hockey games and enjoy them, sort of. Another of the things women will do for the relationships with men, or in this case boy. I have actually found knocking down my original resistance to watching sports has given me a different outlook on men. I credit my son with giving me the impetus to look at this aspect of existence, the male one. Women and men have very different ways of looking at the world (duh). We all give that notion lip service, but at the same time women and men tend to dismiss the opposite sex as inexplicable, crazy. What do women want? (Women tend to know the answer to "what do men want?") You see? That was an example of a subtle put down of men. Which I don't really mean to do. I think that if the two sexes (and those in between) could study each other as separate cultures, perhaps there would be more mutual respect. Anyway, I've begun my study with hockey and rugby with junior, and now football with my father.
Stereotypes about men and women always have their exceptions. But a few years back I thought it'd be nice to meet some men once in a while (my husband having removed himself from the premises) and I noticed that if I just stuck to activities that interested me I'd never meet any. Lots of women wherever I go though, and plenty of good friendships with women. So I'm not complaining; as a young woman I used to object to other women falsifying themselves to attract men. I still do, and find being single (though not alone, what with the kids back and forthing) just fine, and far preferable to faking it.
How'd I get onto this?
I think I'll have to sit down with my pen and paper and see if I can't find a thousand words about men, women, and football. And kickboxing too. My oldest child, daughter, has taken up kickboxing and is getting better and better. It is hard for me to watch, having an aversion myself to throwing punches and also to my children receiving them, but again, I have to stop and look at my biases. I can see that this strange sport is doing good things for my daughter. Life is peculiar.
Saturday, October 11, 2003
11:40 am
It's funny. I was typing away here and Dreamweaver quit on me. A type 3 problem, which is the equivalent in MacSpeak to those illegal operations on PCs. I hadn't saved yet. I was typing stuff in that I wasn't sure I wanted in this venue, the public-ish journal. So cosmic forces crashed my computer.
Never hurts to be reminded to save, save, save. But does this really have cosmic dimensions? Maybe some of our thoughts are meant to be ephemeral, and the occasional crashing of a computer just ensures that.
I don't really believe that. I don't believe there are cosmic forces behind one person's house burning to the ground and the next one surviving a forest fire. There is no cosmic intervention and we're all in this alone.
Unless we decide to not be alone. What I was typing about before the crash was Thanksgiving, and how this year I am not the cook. I guess that's the first thing to be thankful for, except it means I'll not have a fridge stuffed with leftovers. There are always pros and cons.
This year my brother and his wife have taken on both of their families at the same time. This is a first, mainly because our father doesn't travel well, and probably stopped my brother from doing this before. I will have to ask him. Assumptions are usually wonky. Maybe he just never thought of it before. But it is true that our father has become more reclusive than ever with the death of his wife last February. He wasn't ever very keen on family gatherings; I think the evidence of that is that he almost never invited family to his house, and he grumbled about coming to ours. Now he has the excuse of grieving. We suggested making a dinner at his house, but he's not ready for "all that disruption". But what the hell, I'll go watch football with him on Sunday, and then enjoy turkey dinner with a large group of people, all of whom I like, and some of whom I love. And all I have to do is make a big salad, and roll out some pie crust for my daughter to fill. An easy way to give thanks.
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
9:24 pm
I think I forgot to post what I wrote on Saturday, and it's Wednesday already. This was a full weekend, with family stuff and trying to get the magazine done. I've spent all of yesterday and most of today again with my head stuck in front of this screen. The trick with layout of a magazine is getting everything to fit on pages in multiples of 4, so that the spreads work. At one point I had 25 very nice pages, then I had 23, now I have 24. Tomorrow it goes to the printer.
It's probably needless to say, but not much writing gets done when it's all about making pies and visiting folks. I have made a point though of getting away from here for a little bit each day, out for coffee and some writing time in my other journal, the one I don't share, , but thought just so I don't forget how to do it, I'd get a bit of a posting up.
This weekend coming up is the Surrey writer's conference, and I'm going to go and see if I can soak up some resolve to make up for this past week of heavy pagemaker usage. I went last year with two of my Plum-writing buddies; this year I'm on my own. I'll be commuting too (last year we shared a room--lots of fun) as paying for a room in Surrey seems ridiculously extravagant by myself, and I wasn't keen on finding a room with someone I didn't know. Anyway, this way I get to check in on my house and my sweet grown-up-almost children.
Tomorrow I think I'll have time to do this space justice.
Thursday, October 16, 2003
9:17 pm
Tomorrow I am off to the Surrey International Writer's Conference. I finished the magazine this morning, got it all bundled for the printer. I think it looks pretty good. Then I spent the rest of the day cleaning up my house -- I hate it when the place disintegrates, and three people and three cats can turn a place into a shambles pretty quickly. Anyway, it was gloomy outside, so I thought I would polish the inside. Unfortunately, some of the outside is leaking into the dining room, around the window. I have my own version of leaky condo stuff here -- I've had different work done over the years, and still, every now and then in a good rainstorm, which today certainly has been, the water comes in.
I just remembered tonight that I had entered the conference's contest. Guess I didn't win. This is disappointing, and it's stupid. Stupid that I am disappointed I mean. There could be hundreds of entries, or, admit it, very few. But my ego says "My writing is the best", and then I get no response from the judges. How can this be?
I am being facetious of course. I guess my writing is not always the best, but it is sometimes pretty damn good (see, ego is still fine) even if sometimes I get a bit confused in this blog. But then I'm writing in here partly with the intention of unscrambling what I think. One thing I think is that the contest thing is something I am reconsidering. The impulse that gets me to send a piece of writing to a contest is similar to the impulse that gets me to buy a lottery ticket. And interestingly, I have to pay for both. Contests are a money-maker for different magazines and entities like the Surrey conference. I imagine they come out ahead as well.
Why do I write. Not to enter lotteries. I write because I am compelled; it's the strangest thing. I would like to be published, yes, but I want it to be my job, not a prize. The income tax folks recognize the difference, and I am beginning to as well. I want to be paid for my writing. I'm even willing to pay taxes on the income, something I wouldn't have to do if I won a contest. (Don't get me wrong. I'm not sending back any lottery winnings.)
I am still young to be "retired"; I quit my last wage-slave job a few years ago because I wanted to be a writer, and figured I better get cracking, before I got old and it was too late, or I stopped dreaming. Every job needs some kind of training and apprenticeship. I recognize that writing falls into that category, if I am serious about it. And I am.
So I think I have a new answer for people who ask me what I'm doing these days. I am working at being a freelance writer, a writer who aspires to be paid. I think it's time I was clear about that. The desktop publishing work I do is extraneous to my real purpose which is to write.
This weekend in Surrey is professional development. I will try and update this blog each night, but no promises as the days will be long. But never fear; I plan to scribble in my carry-along journal during the breaks.
And you know, if I never get published, I will still be writing. And I will still be serious about it. When I'm not trying to be funny anyway. Which I guess I wasn't today. But I'll bet I get some funny stuff out of the next few days.
Monday, October 20, 2003
10:30 am
I'm not sure I got anything funny out of this weekend, except that during one workshop there was a guy behind me who snuffled and snorted a lot. He was pretty fat, so this was socially awkward. But only for me. You can't really turn around and ask someone to stop breathing, can you? The chairs at these workshops were also pretty uncomfortable, and packed in like economy on an airline. But I only got myself stuck the once, between large people and the aforementioned snuffler behind me. And at the end of my row a woman who brought along her laptop to take notes, click, click, click punctuating the workshop, interrupted occasionally by snuffle, snort.
But those were just distractions. I had a good and full weekend, and didn't drown either on the drive there on Friday. I feel extremely fortunate when I look at the newspaper today. Floods all over, and the worst I've managed is a dripping in the dining room, which stopped before the rain stopped. My theory is that there is a gap that needs just one peculiar direction of the wind to let the water in. It's been several years since the dining room leaked, and may be several again. Something I will have to disclose, should I sell the joint, unless I actually finally get the leak fixed. Hard to tell, considering it's inconsistency.
But, the conference (Surrey International Writers' Conference); I know I have friends wanting to know if I learned anything there.
Friday (17th)
Things started off with a keynote address by Terry Brooks. He's a fantasy writer, one I haven't read, but was aware of. Lots of his books at White Dwarf books, and he shows up there fairly regularly for readings.
He did a good job, making people laugh and nod their heads at the same time. His points? Writing and writers are weird; what are we thinking? And also lonely, so the weekend was for rededicating ourselves to writing. Off we went to workshops.
Friday I decided to explore a practical vein of writing. I guess this led out of my musings about trying to find a way to actually earn some money, as opposed to paying for the lottery entries that contests are. The first workshop I went to was on "The House of Non-Fiction", given by Elizabeth Lyon, who as it happens was the judge of the non-fiction lottery which I did not win. (The entries that did win sounded deserving; don't worry, my ego is intact.) I guess I wanted to be sure she knew what she was doing. I think she does. Actually, I bought one of her books, A Writer's Guide to Nonfiction.
Anyway, her advice was all eminently practical. Non-fiction writing is the big seller, depending of course on your category. This workshop was a refresher for me in a way – a lot of what was discussed I picked up in journalism school, but then I've never applied much of that, so I guess a refresher was a good idea.
Simple structure for non-fiction: the Lead, or hook that gets people to keep reading, the Body, adn the Conclusion. This is not the same as for a newspaper-style story, but for magazine-type articles. She suggested lifting your lead and using it in a query letter – hook the reader, hook the editor. Lots of handouts. People are eager for handouts.
Then lunch, where I ate way more than I ever do, including the first plateful of dessert objects of the day. Some of the tables were sorted out by groupings, so I sat at the one labeled Vancouver writers. Someone pointed out my nametag said Surrey – which required quick editing. Then off to a workshop on Research, with Cricket Pechstein, a woman with a name that almost demands you treat her as irrelevant. Almost as bad as being named Candy, or Perky. I went anyway, as she's an agent, and I was curious and hadn't signed up for any agent or editor appointments. For some reason it didn't occur to me until just this moment that I could have taken my non-winning entry to one of these sources, and found out what they thought. Ah well, next year, should I go, and I'm inclined at this point, I'll try and snap out of denial and take some 'finished' work with me.
Cricket was professional, funny, and worthwhile. I think that's true (I'm never sure with what falls out the tips of my fingers. I could just being knee-jerk nice). She has one comment that echoed an idea in Making a Literary Life, by Carolyn See, which I've talked about previously (thousand words a day, forever, weekends off). They both suggest writing notes to people – in Pechstein's case, thank you notes after doing interviews, See suggests "charming notes" to writers you admire as contacts that connect you to a writing world.
She also had some ideas for keeping track of what you're doing when organizing a novel. A nuts and bolts presentation. Useful.
Workshop 3, we're getting tired now...I didn't sleep much on Thursday night, a lot of flip-flopping, which happens from time to time, so really I could use a serious nap about now. This may explain why this workshop discouraged me. Topic: Make the leap to full-time freelancing. I don't think the presenter has children. She does have boundless energy, youth, and she was tall and thin (she made a joke about worrying about the extra 20 pounds, which considering some of the bodies I saw lumbering around the workshop, let alone my own obsessions with body-image, fell out of her speech with a clunk, almost a visible faux pas). But, hey, I'm a nice Canadian. I liked her; and she was full of sage and useful advice. If only I wanted to write stuff I don't want to write. She makes lots of money, is good at what she does (former lawyer) but the basic criteria that a freelance writer is a self-employed business person who happens to be a writer, well, it discouraged me. Like I said, I hadn't had enough sleep. I want a life with enough sleep, but I also want a life where something has passion, and writing looks to me like the place to find it.
I figured this out when I took the journalism program at Langara. I do not want to write stuff I'm not interested in. The money really needs to come from somewhere else; it's not the point. And this doesn't make writing just a hobby, which is how she may have put it, or someone else this weekend; if you aren't making money it's a hobby? No. That would put all those years of child-raising in the same categoy. Hobby.
Anyway, I don't want to run a business. I don't want to enter lotteries with my writing. I do enter lotteries with money, because I'd be happy to have bundles more so I could just please myself in how I fill my time. I'm only 51, I'll figure this out eventually.
Thank goodness, it was time for booze, and dinner. They had lousy scotch, so I bought a gin an tonic. I also made a friend. Whew. A woman who writes poetry, lives on a boat by herself in the Crofton/Duncan area of the Island. I guess she's a bit older than me, but who can tell? Her kids are a bit older than mine, and she reassured me that they do eventually have their own life (she has five grandchildren!). Ate more food I hadn't cooked, and my second plate of dessert. Did I say I worry about my weight? Am I female?
At this point I was ridiculously tired, but determined to wait out the speaker of the evening before driving the distance to my bed. The speaker did appear, and he was a real snoozer, and discouraging to boot, though he didn't mean to be. A publisher, he talked too much about the slush pile, and really, I detest slush.
The rain had let up. There wasn't too much traffic. The liquor store was still open, and I picked up that good scotch I was grumbling about. This is pathetic I know, but I was wacked, and there are times when a good drink soothes me. I don't think this is a problem, she said, trying not to protest too much. But I slept well.
Saturday (18th)
No traffic, and way less rain, found a Starbucks close by, so avoided the error of drinking coffee (I don't count lattes as coffee – no indigestion) so I arrived in fine shape, feeling positive again. But Friday's experience caused me to choose workshops that were in more of a creative vein. To hell with nuts and bolts. I got them anyway, but inspiration too.
Keynote speaker was Lowell Sheppard, Canadian author, lives in Japan, better known in Great Britain. His message: Three imperatives for the aspiring writer. 1. have a map, or vision. Know where you are, and where you are going (good advice for me this weekend) 2. Give a damn (that fits too, doesn't it?) and 3. Don't quit.
On the don't quit theme, he mentioned there is a Japanese word for don't give up, which is a common greeting. He heard it a lot when he took his son hiking up Mount Fuji, which sounds like the Grouse Grind times 3 or 4. He also mentioned a Japanese word for crisis — kiki. He said it was written with two Chinese characters that mean danger, and promise & opportunity. This was spooky for me, because when I was a little kid learning to speak, Kiki is the name I used for my older brother Ken. He was filled with danger, promise and opportunity. More danger though, as it turned out.
The first workshop choices didn't get my heart pounding, but ever hopeful I went to a panel on Suspense. John Saul has written many books, he's on the supermarket shelves all the time. I haven't read his books so can't comment to quality, but they are thrillers. Lots of blood and guts I think. Elizabeth Engstrom was there too, and a producer, Andy Cohen. I went because of Engstrom. I haven't read her books either, hey, I try and read everything that I want, but still, I suspect she's the better writer. Anyway, they made people laugh, and a few good comments came out as well, yes, mostly from Engstrom. Suspense: drawing out the action. Twist expectations, care about the characters.
Lunch was the so-called Genre lunch, at which you sort yourself out by category (and fandom). I am amused to see the Literary Fiction is a genre. Poetry, too. I sat at that table because Susan Musgrave was anchoring it, and I like her. I bought my second book, one of hers, and even asked for an autograph, which I've never done before, but what the heck. More vast quantities of food, then back to the workshops.
Next workshop I went to was with Lois Peterson, and way more interesting and useful. Storycraft. More nuts and bolts I guess, but with a liberal helping of inspiration. Also some hands-on story building, just to get the idea. It was actually fun, and the different results people came up with did the trick as far as illustrating Peterson's points. Lots of handouts again. She likes to give prizes; her doorprize was a book, to whoever had a birthday on or close to April 14. That would be me. Nothing like a birthday present to boost the spirits, especially when it's a book (short stories by Katherine Govier). Better than a handout.
I went to Strategic Plotting, which was Elizabeth Engstrom's workshop. I think I went to the same thing last year, but I've noticed it doesn't hurt to be told the same thing more than once. She is very good, clear and funny, so you don't fall asleep.
Plot is conflict. Use a protagonist with flaws. Make us care. Make the conflict both internal and external. Make the protagonist change over the arc of the story. Basically a three-act structure, of setup, complication(s) and resolution. You don't have to order it this way, but the structure has to be there. When the trouble's over, so's the story. In case we weren't listening, she had a handout too.
After the workshops, before dinner, there was more cocktail socializing time. I went for a walk, across to Guildford shopping centre. What an enormous place. I wandered from one end to the other; Walmart is crazy. It was weird, because outside the buildings all was quiet, the parking lot didn't seem that crowded, but inside was an explosion of people and noise. So I went back to the hotel and bought a glass of wine. Mingle mingle, (actually, twitch twitch and feel all alone in a crowd, couldn't find my friend from the night before) and I got to talking to a woman from near Portland, who writes short stories. I fear she may fall into the literary fiction genre, but what can you do.
The table we ended up at had several people from Winnipeg, so the conversation jumped around pretty well; and our table got called to the food trough first, so there was a pretty good mood. The keynote speaker was Anne Perry, a writer of mysteries, none of which I've read (though I started her fantasy/allegory Tathea, which has gone astray in the piles of paper in this place). Can't keep up, and don't always want to. Another inspirational talk about how blessed we all are to be communicators yada yada.
So to bed, after a somewhat extended drive home, because of a road block. Watched a movie with my daughter; the Matrix Reloaded. A treat to watch, don't delve too far into the philosophy, because it'll give you a headache. Basically a comic book, it is to be continued. The final comes out this month I think. Will the hero (The One) win? I think it's safe to predict yes, but I'll pop for the on-screen version anyway.
Sunday (19th)
l am wearing out now, but got out of bed and on the road in time. Sunday morning I checked my map and took a different route; instead of crossing town I escaped south across the Oak Street Bridge, and then took the Richmond connector, and went over the Alex Fraser Bridge. This leads to more time on Surrey streets, but I'm not as used to them as the slog across Vancouver, so it was more interesting. Another stop at Starbucks, and I was ready for the next onslot.
Susan Musgrave was the speaker for the morning pep talk, and she does a really good job. She is funny and clever, and obviously eccentric enough to convince me that a misfit like myself has a future as a writer. I have recovered from my Friday discouragement. She's maybe the first Canadian speaker they've had as a keynote. It's noticeable the dearth of Canadian writers at the Surrey conference, it's one of the things that bothers me a bit about it; the crowd of Americans telling us about writing, not that I think they can't be good writers, but that they don't know anything about here. They did invite a Canadian for the literary fiction workshops though – Karen X Tulchinsky. Small steps. I did notice SFU's writing and publishing people had an information table, so I think there's the beginning of an awareness that there are resources here.
Anyway, again, I'm wearing out here, just like I did on Sunday. But first workshop was back to Ms Engstrom (actually I'm bothered by borders, because just as they know little of us, the border blocks distribution of a lot of their writers, one's we might have a lot in common with; the one's from up and down the coast, who share a similar landscape).
The workshop was on the Final Draft, and Engstrom's talking about novels, so this is a little premature for me, as I haven't finished any drafts at this point of any novels that may be in me. But there's no point in not being prepared, and I do like her. I did a search of the library, and of Chapters' on-line store, and there's hardly a sign that she has published, but a search of amazon.com comes up with a long list of titles.
I don't want American titles to swamp our Canadian authors, but I also don't like the insularity. As we're sitting up here feeling smug about how little American's know of us, we're blocked from a huge pile of information, by the artificiality of a border. I wonder whether what is coming out of Washington or Oregon isn't as relevant to me as what's being produced in Ontario or the Maritimes. Which makes me think I need to take a drive one day down to Bellingham, just to root through their bookstores. But I digress.
None of the last workshop choices got me at all worked up, but I thought I was feeling good enough to go to another nuts and bolts session, so I took in the presentation about writing query letters. This'll save me having to read that section in Writer's Market. Lots of information (yes, and handouts), and at the end she passed around a basket for us to toss in a business card, for a draw for her 60 page booklet (pdf file) on query letter writing, which she said she would send to the winner. A copy was in my e-mail when I got home, so I've no excuse now.
Lunch, lots of food, last chance at the dessert table, and last speech, from John Saul. He has published 30 books, all best-sellers, and I didn't like him. But he did a good job of being inspirational, and telling us to go home and keep writing. Lots of clapping, then I found the two women I'd connected with and swapped contact information, and then it was back on the highway.
I stopped in at my Dad's before I got home, and caught up on the football scene – Seattle beat Chicago, clinched it with an interception; all is well.
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
9:06 pm
I spent the day as Shirley's mobile tech support. I visited my younger daughter, and got her computer properly hooked up to the Internet, also showing her how to do a few basic file management things. Then I moved on to visit Wenda, and got her e-mail straightened out. I'm on a bit of a roll; my across-the-street neighbour also has an e-mail glitch, and I'm going to go show her how that works tomorrow morning. Which reminds me that a neighbour several doors down also asked me for some help. She's promised me dinner, so I guess I'll have to remind her. (This isn't a hint to anyone else I've helped. It'll come back in some other way.)
I am surprised by how much I do know, though I think I'm a rank amateur. I'm sort of at the point where I realize how much I don't know about how these computers work. Wenda did show me something I hadn't stumbled on before with Windows. It happens almost every time I sit at a computer with someone else. But I'm not sure I want my head quite this stuffed with how the machines work. I manage to drive my car without having to fine tune it myself. (Of course it's expensive to hire mechanics.) But computers aren't yet as easy to manage as cars. A bit more user-fiendly than user-friendly (sorry, old joke).
Thursday, October 23, 2003
11:17 am
Yesterday a job fell in my lap– nothing exciting, just transcribing a tape for a friend of a friend. It was an interview with a former professor of law, one of the founders at UBC, so interesting. But transcribing a tape is tedious. I'd forgotten. And time consuming. I'll say no next time.
The sun is shining, and the Grind is open again today. I am going to go and slog the mountain with my younger daughter. We suffer friction often, but it seems to alleviate when we go up the mountain. Another of it's benefits I guess. I haven't been up there in weeks, or so it feels. It may be a long hike, but it's always good.
I need to start something or change something. Maybe it's the changing season, or maybe it's just the condition of my life, but I feel the need for something new. Hmmm, something novel?
I do have a character in my mind, but I haven't figured out what to do with her yet. Maybe I'll have an idea on the mountain. It's a good thinking place.
Saturday, October 25, 2003
6:00 pm
Well, I did go hiking with my daughter. I didn't bug her, and we agreed to go again on Monday. Friday I had tickets for two writers' festivl events, one at 10 am and one at 1, after which I met up with my plum buddies and shared some time and laughter. I miss them when we have too long a gap between writing mornings – we have been in flux and not getting together to write as often. A good day at the fest – I love seeing writers I already enjoy reading, but love it almost more when I stumble on one who intrigues me enough that I go and drop some cash on a book, which is what I did on the way home. I stopped at Book Warehouse (cheaper than at the festival, what can I say) and got a copy of one of Jasper Fforde's books. I will report back when I have read into it and let you know if it is as good as he made it sound. I am tempted to read the books of the emcee as well, Kay(?) Porter, of Porter Books. (Maybe I already have, come to think of it. One of her books is called the Bookfair Murders, and it sounds familiar...). The other two as well. I can't keep up.
Usually we come to books without any idea of the author, but the writers fest smorgasbord is a different way of choosing which book to read next. I was a reader first, and am always on the lookout for the next book. And sometimes they have to be started instantly, or the moment is lost, and the book joins the others on my shelf waiting for me to be inspired to dive into a new story/new world. There's always a little bit of readjusting at the beginning of each novel, before you're swept along. (And a small loss when I reach the end. Which is I guess what makes a series so appealing.) The best grab you right at the beginning. Though that's probably not true. It's easiest though to be caught in on the first page. But when I read Possession, (A S Byatt) it took me several tries to get into it, till finally, I was there, and what a fine time I had.
Today younger daughter called up and asked if I wanted to go hiking again today instead of Monday, and I cannot resist her (if I'm free that is) so off we went for another slog up the mountain. Whew. There is a difference on Saturday though to hiking on a weekday. Everyone on the weekdays seems to be hardcore. At least they're all a lot faster than me. Today we were actually catching up to and passing people on the hike (daughter kindly keeps to my pace). I don't have to go faster to have this happen. But it's also a lot more crowded, and the forest loses some of its appeal when there is a constant horde tromping up with you.
I'm off to another event tonight. Four "science fiction" writers, two of whom I have read and really enjoy; William Gibson and Spider Robinson, and the aforementions Jasper Fforde who I am now reading, and one more, who may lure me to buy one of his as well. I put science fiction into quotes because I'm not sure it's the right way to identify writers. Fforde was at an event for crime fiction on Friday. Same book. I remember Gibson's last book, when it came out, caused a kerfuffle, because it wasn't "science fiction". But most booksellers I would bet still will shelve it with his other titles, in sci-fi. Atwood has written a couple of science fiction titles, and they're probably not shelving her books in the sci-fi ghetto though you can get them now in the sci-fi store, White Dwarf Books. (good store) It's all marketing. So low-brow, money.
I've one more ticket for an event tomorrow afternoon, which I'll take in after I stop by for my football fix with my dad. Then there'll be nothing left to stop me from working on my own writing. Hah. There's always the mountain.
Monday, October 27, 2003
9:00 pm
Saturday night, Sunday afternoon at the writers' fest. I had a good fix of listening to writers talk about writing (and read a bit of their work too). I particularly enjoyed the sci-fi guys. They all read a bit, and then they answered questions; there are always a lot of people in the audience who are writing as well as those who read, so the questions fall along the lines of how do you do it. I'm often hearing the same answers – ass in chair – being one of the most common responses. The sci-fi guys had a different response about plotting though than last week at the conference, with Elizabeth Engstrom. They all seemed to concur that knowing the ending when they started out would bore them out of writing. So they sweat out their stories, and find the endings as a surprise, just like the readers. This is incredibly encouraging, when I think about writing, and have been stalled in my tracks for years, thinking I had to know where I was going before I could start. And guess what? I've never started. Not really. Not at "the novel".
This weekend, piled on top of the last one, has left me with a renewed resolve, and I guess a reignited dream, or belief in the dream, about me and writing. Good stuff.
Today went by in getting work-for-hire done, and then I also attended to my overgrown lawn, thinking I won't have to cut it again for awhile. It had responded alarmingly to all the recent rain, by growing and growing. I've chopped it back now, and my house is again presenting an acceptable face to the street (except for the peeling paint on the front stairs, sigh). Cutting the lawn, I remembered my mother, back on east 15th. She hacked down the grass every few months, sort of on the principle of whether it needed it or not. She would first nag my brothers, and nag them some more, and then finally give up and do it herself (it never occurred to me back then that I might cut the lawn myself). We were a pretty useless lot, her kids. My mother used a scythe, which you don't often see anymore. She would stand out in the back yard making hay; great sweeping strokes through our tangled back yard. The image is indelible in my brain.
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
8:31 pm
I started the day out with some writing, imagine that! A page and a bit about Drew. I plan to get up tomorrow and write another page and a bit at least again. I also did some other chores and then went off to pick up my daughter, as we had agreed to hike again today. The Grind is an obsession, I must admit it, but a healthy one, so I don't feel too worried about being obsessed.
However, today it was also very time consuming. We got to the trail about 1, and slogged up pretty slowly but steadily. The wind picked up when we were past the half-way marker, making it colder, and also making us wary. Trees do fall. We were about two thirds of the way up, when a hiker heading back down told us the trams weren't running until the wind died down. So a decision, which was to continue up and wait for the ride. The Grind is a great workout for me; gets my heart pounding and makes me strong, but the great thing about it is that you can ride back down. I find that going down a steep trail is really hard on my knees. So I avoid it, what else can I say.
We had to hang around on top for about three hours, doing penance for not scrambling back down. But I was also leary of being on the trail when the sun went down, so think we made the right choice. Fortunately I carried up a sweatshirt, and my daughter had her fleece, but we were both still cold. Out of the wind though, and the lattes are good.
Once the trams started running again, it took a while to get on one – we made it onto the third one down. A bit spooky by this time. The tram had all its windows open so that the wind would blow through it instead of batter it about, but it also travelled slowly. Stalled once. And again, right at the bottom. So tantalizing to be almost at the bottom, but still stuck. My daughter was missing a class, so this was particularly frustrating. We did finally get down, not quite hypothermic, but pretty damn cold from the ride. Then into the car, and very speedy driving soon had us at her school, after which I could slow down. Hurry up and wait is what you do a lot with city life. Today was wait and wait, then hurry up. And a reminder that the trail is indeed on a mountain, and only pretends to be connected to the city. The wilderness is out there.
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
6:02 pm
There's a lot of energy bubbling out of my writing friends, judging by the e-mail activity lately. It matches my own mood, which is a nice thing. I wonder have they noticed how we were all down and depressed at the same-ish time too. Instead of getting out periods in sync, which is getting kind of passé, now we're getting our energy cycles in sync.
I've been clearing stuff that's cluttering my desk today. This is housekeeping I guess, just as useful. I've done some of my homework for this weekend's writing session with my Plums, and it's not even the night before. I've also scanned a pile of photos from France which I mean to send off to the women from that workshop. And I've added one photo to this site, of me on top of Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh. Not the Grouse Grind, but it was a good little hike, thus the flushed cheeks.
And this afternoon I went for a hike through the woods to UBC, where there is a new Staples store. I needed to pick up some printer cartridges, and so was glad for the excuse. I could have driven there of course, but so much nicer through the forest. There's plenty of signs of yesterday's windstorm in there. Nature has figured out how to get her pruning done. I only had to duck under one fallen tree though. The rest was fallen branches, and leaves and twigs, which improve the colour of the trail. Last year the GVRD started "repairing" or "improving" a bunch of trails by dumping this glaring white gravel on the trails. It's true they filled some of the mudholes, but the colour of the gravel grated, and the sound too. It's harder to have a quiet walk through the woods when your feet are crunching gravel. Anyway, the fallen leaves and other debris temper the effect.
Friday, October 31, 2003
3:30 pm
The pumpkin is carved, and the sun's getting low. Who knows what could happen tonight.
I spent yesterday helping my daughter gather costume stuff. Or tried anyway. I think in the end she will use stuff left over from last year. It made for a long day. But I also found a corncob pipe, plus sailor hat, for the Popeye in my family. No squashed spinach cans though.
Tonight I will hand out chocolate bars (and try not to eat them myself) to some mini extortionists. Then I imagine I will sit around listening to firecrackers for some hours, as it is not raining and it is Friday night. I do not know where my children will be.
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