Become a Patron of the Arts for Just $5 (and Save My Studio!)

Ever want to be a Patron of the Arts, but figured you had to be in a bigger tax bracket?

Ever want to make a real difference in someone's life in one easy step?

You can.

This is the short version:  For four months now, I have been living the creative life -- writing, making art, et cetera.  It's going well, but things haven't taken off at the rate I need them to.  I've begun applying for full-time jobs, and I'm sure I'll find a job and get caught up soon, but here is the problem: it's the last day of June, and (thanks to the mail delay/back-log from the strike/lock-out by Canada Post) I don't have my studio rent for July.

I love my studio.  Not only do I write and create art here, but I also use the space to tutor kids who need extra help in reading and math.  It's a happy space, surrounded by energetic and creative people, and it would break my heart to lose it.  My landlord is a very jovial fellow with whom I have a great working relationship, and while I'm pretty sure he won't toss me out at the stroke of midnight tonight, nothing strains connections between people more than money owed.  I don't want to put either of us in that position.

So I could really use some help.  And since I don't believe in "something for nothing," this is what I'm offering:

Become a Patron of the Arts for Just $5:

For a minimum donation of $5 to my PayPal account, you will receive the following:

• an electronic copy of my short story, "Castles," never before published or available anywhere but my hard drive!  It's 14 pages (double-spaced for readability) and 3612 words.  (That's more than seven words for every penny!  Talk about a bargain!)


• a "Patron of the Arts" graphic like the one displayed here, personalized with your name, for display on your own blog/website.


• your name on the "This Space Brought To You By" wall in my studio


• bragging rights and my eternal, undying gratitude.

Once I receive the confirmation of your donation from PayPal, I will use the email address PayPal sends me to email you the story (PDF) and the personalized graphic file (PNG).  I would love to do a direct download instead, so you wouldn't have to wait, but then I wouldn't be able to personalize the graphic.  Time is also of the essence here and I don't know how to do a direct download yet.

Please know that if you can help, it will mean the world to me.  Once I get a job, keeping my studio is one of my top priorities.    Even if I can only be here a couple of hours a day while I'm working somewhere else, I can still create in a space and time dedicated to that purpose.  I didn't expect to find myself in this "will I be here tomorrow?" position, but the postal strike took me by surprise and hijacked some of my finances, as it did to many small businesses and artists out there.

Answers to questions you may have:

"How will we get the story and graphic?"

• I will be checking my email frequently and will send the files to you as soon as I see the PayPal confirmation.

"How do we know you're not some con artist?"

• This blog isn't just a fly-by-night operation.  I've been pouring my heart and soul into it for years now.  If you read the entries, you will know me.  Ripping people off isn't my style. :)

"How do we know you can actually write?"

• I am the two-time winner of the Canadian Author and Bookman Short Fiction Award (in 1990 and 1992).  You can look me up under my maiden name (Kraglund) in the Canadian Periodical Index for those years.

"Can we donate more than $5?"

• If you want to, sure!  (Like any struggling writer/artist will say no to that!)

"What if you raise more than just your studio rent money?"

• I will first pay this month's studio rent, and any more than that will go towards next month's studio rent so that the intention for the donated money will remain the same.

Again, thanks for any help you may be able to provide, and even if you are not in a position to help, just spreading the word would mean a lot too.

Here's the button.  Thanks for your support. :)

Dusting off an old hat.

A long time ago (not quite the Precambrian era, but it sure feels like it sometimes), everyone knew me as a writer.  It was as much a part of who I was as my own name.  And after winning a national creative writing award from the Canadian Author's Association twice in three years, I had a tongue-in-cheek nickname in the English Department at Acadia: "The Future of Canadian Literature."  At one point, to perpetuate the joke, I had a purple ballcap emblazoned with gold thread lettering: "TFoCL."  Those were the days, my friend. :)

It's been twenty years since then, and when I made up my Day Zero list of 101 things to do in 1001 days, I put quite a few writing-related goals on it.  But I haven't exactly been focusing on them -- or the list in general, for that matter.

So today I decided I would kill two birds with one stone.  I would cross an item off the list and I would pick up my "WRITER" label once more.  I rejoined the Writers Federation of New Brunswick -- after nearly fifteen years of being MIA.  Within ten minutes, I had sent in my application, paid my dues, heard back from the Executive Director, and received the Spring 2011 issue of the newsletter.  Gotta love the Internet!

I don't think the purple hat would fit any more.  After all, being 41 years old sort of goes against being "the future" of anything.  But being back amongst like-minded individuals who identify themselves as writers is already going a long way towards waking up that long-dormant part of my Self. I'm looking up markets, and jotting down ideas, and fiddling with plot outlines, and mulling over lines of poetry...

... and it's only been an hour.

*     *     *

Update: About that craft show...  I didn't do as well as I'd hoped to do.  Actually, I only sold three items and didn't manage to break even after the table fee.  After pouring everything I had into it for several days -- including sleeping on my studio floor -- I was pretty disappointed.  But I met a lot of great people and I won the raffle basket, so not all was lost.

WriMoNoGo -- again.

Well, after yesterday's decision to fight for the finish line, I immediately wrote 745 words -- and then stopped.  So I'll leave my insane wishful thinking to other pursuits, such as winning the lottery, and call it a day.

November just isn't a good month for me to try to write a thirty-day novel.  Everything about me slows down then, combined with the ramping up of holiday responsibilities.  November is when I feel the coming winter and have to fight hibernation tooth and nail.  So the fact that I managed 15,000 words this month is astonishing to me.

So I'm a "non-winner" once again.  But it wasn't a total loss.  I got a good start on my novel, and many magical moments with my Muse.  Someone who was supposed to just be a two-dimensional villain has now blossomed in her own right, and I have the entire story structure laid out in an outline -- something I've never done before.  In past NaNo projects, I've put the piece of writing away, never again to see the light of day.  But with this novel, it's still working away in my brain, with ideas bubbling to the surface.   I think it's quite appropriate that it's called Carrying On, because that's exactly what it's doing.

So, NaNoWriMo, the tradition of me going to the TGIO (Thank God It's Over) Party as a "non-winner" continues.  But I have learned a great deal about myself, about finally spending time writing as a grown-up instead of a giddy, love-struck teenager, and I have written more this month than I have in years.

And perhaps next April, which is also thirty days long, I'll begin my own version of the contest: "MyNoWriMo."  :)

NaNoWriMo -- Days 12 to 24

The Data:

• November 12th — Target: 20004 word — Actual: 14802 words


• November 13th — Target: 21671 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 14th — Target: 23338 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 15th — Target: 25005 words — Actual:14802 words


• November 16th — Target: 26672 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 17th — Target: 28339 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 18th — Target: 30006 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 19th — Target: 31673 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 20th — Target: 33340 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 21st — Target: 35007 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 22nd — Target: 36674 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 23rd — Target: 38341 words — Actual: 14802 words


• November 24th — Target: 40008 words — Actual: 14802 words

Houston, we have a problem.

I was doing so well, and then I skidded off the path and got stuck in a snowbank.  I lost my momentum for three days and that was all it took.

Still, it's not impossible.  35,000 words in the next ten days is do-able.  I average about 2000 words an hour when the story is going well.  And the story is still unfolding -- expanding -- in my brain.

Okay.  That's it.  I'm going to do it.  5866 words per day for the next six days.

Failure is not an option.

WRITE ON!

NaNoWriMo 2010 — Days 4 to 11

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.  Wait, someone else wrote that -- not me.

First, the good news: This is the first time I have made it into the double digits, date-wise, in any NaNoWriMo attempt.  My word count when I went to bed last night was 13237, which is also a record for this particular author.  I am hopelessly smitten with my male protagonist, and, with help from a friend, I have found a very generous soul who will help me with Mac's speech patterns!  There are many good things to celebrate here!

But now the bad news: The NaNoWriMo people always say that Week 2 is hard, and I have to agree.  It started with Piper, my dog, having minor surgery on Monday.  She's fine, but the surgery and ensuing drama of finding a way to get her to leave the wound alone that did not involve the Evil Traumatizing Cone Collar From Hell chewed up most of Monday and Tuesday.  And that was just enough to get me behind.

I spent a good five hours at Starbucks yesterday, and wrote for about three of them, so that broke up the log jam a little bit.  But I'm still further behind than I am comfortable with -- on the dangerous precipice of getting past the point of being able to catch up.  So tomorrow I will probably go back to Starbucks, and then I will attend the local NaNos' write-in tomorrow evening, and hopefully that will help put me back in the race.

The Data:

• November 4th — Target:  6668 words — Actual: 6813 words


• November 5th — Target:  8335 words — Actual:  8335 words


• November 6th — Target:  10002 words — Actual:  8901 words


• November 7th — Target:  11669 words — Actual:  11052 words


• November 8th — Target:  13336 words — Actual:  11052 words


• November 9th — Target:  15003 words — Actual:  11958 words


• November 10th — Target:  16670 words — Actual:  13237 words


• November 11th — Target:  18337 words — Actual:  13237 words

In order to get caught up by the end of tomorrow, I will have to write 6767 words.  Looks like I've got my work cut out for me.  If there are any cheerleaders out there, please comment!  I need you! :)

NaNoWriMo 2010 -- Days 1 to 3

Well, here I am, three days into this crazy writing odyssey known as NaNoWriMo (short for National Novel Writing Month -- the daunting task of writing a 50,000 word novel in the space of thirty days).

This is the fourth time I've given it a shot, and well -- so far, so good.  I'm not going to jinx myself by saying those dreaded words ("This might be the year I make it!"), because when I did that last year, I got swine flu for six weeks!  It's like saying, "Gee, this might be a shut-out," at a hockey game.  You just don't do it.

My novel is called Carrying On, and I've been carrying it around in my head, in bits and pieces, for the last eighteen months or so.  The characters carry on conversations in my head at all hours of the night, and I've been privileged to listen.  So now I'm putting them down on paper, and doing my best to flesh them out in the manner that they deserve.  It's the same story I started last year, before I got H1N1ed, but in the interest of fairness, I started from scratch on Monday.

Here is a quick summary of how the first three days went:

• November 1st -- Target: 1667 words -- Actual: 697 words


• November 2nd -- Target: 3334 words -- Actual: 4012 words


• November 3rd -- Target: 5001 words -- Actual: 5936 words

Because my male protagonist is from Scotland, I'm currently looking to find someone in Scotland who can provide advice on "authentic" dialogue for him.  I want Mac sounding as if he's from Scotland, but not like a cartoon, or what North Americans might think he should sound like.  I want him to be genuine -- partly because I'm a little bit in love with the man.  And the fact that he looks and sounds like Kevin McKidd doesn't hurt, either. :)

Now if I can just convince Nero to stop trying to lay across my wrists when I'm typing away, things will improve immensely!

Tap, tap, tap ...

Hey!  (blowing off the dust)  Is this thing on?

It has been fourteen years plus forever, it seems, since I've written anything here.  Oh, sure -- I told you about adopting Nero -- but that wasn't exactly a wordy post like you're used to.  Forgive me, Gentle Reader.  It's been a period of ups-and-downs and growing pains.  Nothing too catastrophic -- don't worry -- but just enough to keep me relentlessly preoccupied.  Forty is the new eighteen, I guess, and I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up! :)

You know when you meet someone who inspires you, and just by talking to them for a little while, you can tell the creative parts of your brains are humming along at the same frequency?  I met such a lady a little while ago and just blogged about her on The View From the Market.  Go read it. It's okay -- I'll wait here.

I've been doing a little bit of rughooking lately, but I'm really being drawn to the dye pots for the first time.  I have started accumulating tools (pots, spoons, Cushing's acid dyes...) but I've been a bit timid.  So this week I decided to start off with a kinder, gentler dye project.  I used Kool-Aid!

Aren't the colours just gorgeous?  I'm completely in love with the Tropical Punch red, and the Orange makes me crave Creamsicles.  I've designed a geometric rug to use these on, but haven't gotten it transferred to backing yet.

In other news, I've applied for a job that I'm really, really hoping I get.  I haven't heard anything yet, but my fingers are still crossed.  The job would mean steady income at a decent rate, and would allow me to do the Masters of Science in Space Studies.  It would also go a long way to helping me replace my aging car.  I love Betsy the '98 Malibu, but at her last safety inspection, they said she only had about a year left in her, and it's just a matter of time before the rust takes over completely.

In other news, I began gearing up for NaNoWriMo on October 1st.  Although this is my fourth year giving it a shot, I'm determined that this is the year I make it to 50,000 words.  And in a legitimate way.  I mean, I could have my characters act in a production of Romeo and Juliet and then just paste the Bard's words in as dialogue, but hey.  Where's the challenge in that?

So I'm writing an outline.  A detailed outline of what I should expect to accomplish each day.  I'm normally more of a write-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type, but that hasn't gotten me to the finish line of NaNoWriMo yet.  So it's time for a change.  And when November 1st gets here, and the starter's gun sounds, I'll be ready!

And now, a confession: After seven months of "sobriety," I've fallen off the wagon and am drinking Diet Pepsi again.  Well, actually it was more of a swan dive.  But how I missed it!  I feel awake for the first time in months.

Not sure if I told you or not, but the non-credit creative writing course I was going to be teaching at the university was cancelled, along with all of the other non-credit courses for the fall semester.  It was a red tape thing, with there being problems in securing classroom space.  We're all hoping that things can fall into place in time for the winter semester.  I was really looking forward to teaching, but here's hoping for a second chance.

Anyway, I should go hang out with the pets for a while.  With Nero's arrival, Zaphod Beeblebrox and Piper are feeling a little bit displaced, so I'm making an effort to give extra snuggles and ear skritches.  Talk soon!

Another Day at the Market

Hello, Gentle Reader.  I know that I've been very quiet this week, but it's for a good reason.

I've been here.

This is my little temporary studio space in the Saint John City Market.  Today is my fourth day here, and I am so happy.  I'm settling into a routine now -- Hubby drops me off on his way to work and I stay here all day until he picks me up at the end of the day.  In between, I write, I draw, I hook, I talk with my "neighbours"...  I am trying so hard to not get too attached to this place, but oh!  I am bonding.  It is my happy space and I am learning so much about myself up here.

This spot is also a people-watcher's paradise.  Young couples with quick smooches.  Little girls in sundresses walking with their mothers.  Chefs picking up fresh vegetables for their lunchtime creations.  I feel like I'm invisible up here, with a commanding view that's constantly changing.

I'm very conscious of the fact that this is my space for such a limited time, and that sense of urgency has been keeping me focused.  I don't want to miss any of these precious hours I have here.  Nine hours seems like a long time when you say it out loud, but the time just slips away.

My project for the City Market is almost ready to take wing and fly.  It will likely be this afternoon or tomorrow, actually.  Stay tuned for more details!

A-Marketing We Will Go ...

One of the greatest things about living in "Canada's original city" (incorporated in 1785) is that one is surrounded by heritage and tradition.  For about thirteen years, I was involved with the tourism sector in Saint John, either giving tours of historic churches, being a visitor information counsellor, or -- my favourite -- working as a walking tour guide, introducing visitors to the area to my hometown.

I've lived in Saint John most of my life, having moved away just enough to realize that this is Home, and one of my favourite places here is the City Market.  Built in 1876, the Market is always a hub-bub of activity, and one never fails to meet a friend strolling through the aisles.  I can remember visiting the Market when I was a toddler, and getting my mother some mayflowers for Mother's Day.  In high school, I would often stop to get some ice cream on my way to the bus stop.  The City Market is a constant in a Saint Johner's life.

So it was only natural that when Chris, a lifelong friend who is visiting from New England and preparing to move back, suggested that we get together to chat, we decided to meet at Java Moose in the Market yesterday morning.

A little aside -- One of the things that I've learned about myself is that I don't do any work at home.  If I need to get schoolwork done, I go to the university.  I figure I could triple my output if I had a designated space in which to work and concentrate.  So I've been casually looking for a cheap "studio space" in which to create -- writing, designing, painting, hooking -- and not nap.

So, back to yesterday morning...  Because I'd hitched a ride uptown with Hubby, I got to Java Moose quite early.  As I waited for Chris, sipping my Wild Raspberry Iced Tea, my gaze drifted up to one of the ice sheds now used as offices in the Market.  It was vacant.

You know in the movies, when there is a glowy light and sounds of choirs accompanying a major epiphany?  Yeah -- exactly like that!

My brain started swirling. How could I find out about it?  Okay -- breathe -- go to the Deputy Market Clerk.  How could I afford to rent it?  I'm unemployed and still looking for a job.  Okay -- Figure out something I could provide that the Market could use.  I was so completely absorbed in this thought process that Chris greeted me with, "What are you up to?"

Over the course of the conversation with Chris, I figured out something I could offer in exchange for the use of the space.  Normally a huge procrastinator in cases where I might not be able to achieve something on which my heart is set, I sent an email to the Deputy Market Clerk the moment I got home.  I told her I had an incredible win-win idea and would like to meet with her.  Then I spent the next three hours getting my proposal together.



This morning was the traditional Canada Day flea market in the uptown, so Hubby and I were there bright and early, as we are each year.  After taking in the wares on King Street and in King's Square, we wandered into the City Market and I took him down the side aisle to show him what I'd been bubbling over about last night.  "It's up there," I whispered, gesturing above the soaperie.  "That little room."

Hubby looked at it, and looked at the little staircase leading up to it, and nodded.  As we walked up towards the east end of the market, I looked up at the Deputy Market Clerk's office.  "She's there," I whispered.  "Up in her office."

"Then you should go talk to her," Hubby replied.

I hesitated, suddenly timid.  I've never been one to step outside my own shadow when it comes to something like this.  But after a gentle nudge from Hubby, I took a deep breath, scooted up the stairs and stuck my head in the office.  "Hi!" I said.  "I'm Karen -- I emailed you yesterday."

To attempt to wrap up a long story, I pitched my idea for the City Market (which I can't share with you yet, because it's still in the early, confidential stages), and asked about the little space.  The Bad News: it's been leased.  The Stupendously-Awesome News: the new people have leased it for August 1st, so I can use it for the entire month of July!

The Deputy Market Clerk and I went down to look at it together.  Gazing out the windows, I just kept grinning.  I can't believe I actually have it -- a space to work, in one of the most personally-inspiring places in the city.  I'm almost beside myself with excitement!  Each morning, after checking the job bank listings online, I'll pack my bag with my supplies for the day, be it writing or drawing or hooking or whatever, and I'll either go with Hubby or hop the bus.  I'll spend the whole day being creative!

It's going to be an awesome July, Gentle Reader.  I can feel it all the way down to my toes!

Happy Canada Day! :)

Super Short Story Cards: Instant Illustrated Fiction

I think I may have just created a new art form.   Haven't heard of anyone else doing this.  (If you have, please let me know!)

There are various "categories" of short fiction, including what's called a postcard story.  The idea behind a postcard story is that it's an entire story that could be written on a postcard (and it usually runs about 250 words).

Well, I was wandering around my friend Jessica Doyle's website and, as often happens, I found myself with the urge to doodle afterwards.  I really love her whimsical style!

Anyway, I cut a piece of watercolour paper to 3.5" x 2.5" and used my Prismacolor Art Markers to doodle a flower.  Then I noticed all that "white space" I had beside it.  Not wanting to wreck the image (as I generally do when I try to add things in), I decided it would look good with some writing beside it.

The writing you see here is a entire short story, written directly on the card in India Ink, with absolutely no editing or revision whatsoever.  Brain to pen to card.  Finis!

I'm quite in love with this little piece of instant creativity, and the way that it just flowed out of me.  Sometimes trying too hard leads to creative blockages.  I just drew and wrote down what the Muse said!

What do you think, Gentle Reader?

The Immature Muse

My mom tells me that I started telling stories even before I could talk.  I'd be sitting in my crib, making all of my stuffed animals talk to one another.  Since I hadn't mastered language yet, she had no idea what the storyline was, but I was very serious about the whole thing.



By the time I was in Grade Three, I was actually writing.  Mrs. Reece, my teacher, was amazed by my stories.  For an eight-year-old, I guess they were pretty advanced (although from what little I remember, they starred only one character -- a St. Bernard named Tippy in the Swiss Alps).

Fast-forward to Grade Seven, and I was writing scripts for my favourite TV show, Tales of the Gold Monkey.  I wrote with enthusiasm and dedication -- particularly during math class.  (But what Mr. Blinn didn't know didn't hurt me.)

Grade Nine found me in the school library every day before school and at lunch, feverishly scribbling away at a 400+ page stack of loose leaf featuring Duran Duran and passing the completed sheets to a receiving line of anxious readers, while various adults nodded sagely and whispering about how they'd be able to say, "I knew her when..."

In Grade Ten, I wrote stories running the gamut of being set at the Kentucky Derby to a series of stories based on a-ha's Hunting High and Low album, to an amusing piece of fluff featuring my latest crush as a top-secret spy with an amazing car (I then gave it to said guy as a birthday gift -- unknowingly the day he started seeing my best friend).  I kept writing in high school, dabbling in poetry as well as fiction, and to this day when I bump into a member of the Class of '88, I inevitably get asked, "Are you still writing?"

In university, my Friday night hot date was composed of a two-litre bottle of Diet Pepsi, a stack of fresh loose leaf, and a black Papermate pen.  I'd lie on my stomach on my dorm room floor and start writing at about 8:00 PM, and before I went to bed, I'd have a short story written.  Some of them were really good (I was a two-time winner of a national short fiction contest, in 1990 and 1992) and some of them were really awful.  As my mentor, Dr. Graham Adams, in his eroded North Carolina accent said, "You don't do 'sappy' well."  (And it's true -- I don't.)

In 1996 I got married...and stopped writing.  Not because I was discouraged by my husband (far from it), but because I was just too darn happy.  And so things like my vampire novel (long before the current fanged craze) and my short story collection featuring people on a bus all got put on the backburner -- on 3.5" floppies that I can't even open now.

Well.  So.  Here I am, at the ripe old age of forty (still puzzling that one out, actually), and I'm trying to write again.  And it's frustrating, because it's not going well.  My inner author, after spending the first twenty years of her life being some sort of child prodigy, is having a hard time dealing with the fact that her voice hasn't changed, nor has her skill level.  I'm looking at the stuff I've written and it just looks like amateur night.  I know a lot of it is just that I'm out of practice, but at the same time it's just plain blah.  My muse has a severe case of arrested adolescence.  What was brilliant and astounding when I was fifteen is just plain silly now.  I have to shake the Etch-a-Sketch and start over at Square One.

In other words, I have to learn to write again, and pretend I never knew how.  That's the only way I'm going to be able to shake my bad habits and find my new voice.

Here's hoping I have one.

(Not so-subtle plea for attention:  If you've ever thought about leaving a comment, now would be a fantastic time to do it.)

Been busy ...

Sorry to have disappeared off Planet Earth. Too many terrestrial concerns at the moment. Nothing bad, just stuff. You know how it goes.

This year's edition of Seasonal Affective Disorder seems a lot more "affective" than usual. I'm wandering around in a zombie state usually reserved for much later in the season, after months of lack of sunlight. You know, like February. In February, my mantra is "only six more weeks to normal again." I'm not sure what to say to keep myself going in mid-November.

More later. I need bed now. Again.

I'll be in touch again soon.

PS -- NaNoWriMo just ain't happening this year. But you knew that already, didn't you? *grin*

NaNo, NaNo

In the sidebar you'll note an indication that it is now October: I have placed my NaNoWriMo participant's icon.

For those unacquainted with this literary adventure, NaNoWriMo is short for "National Novel Writing Month", a yearly November endeavour in which writers all over the world strive to finish a 50,000 novel in just one month. According to their website, this banner will show my progress as NaNoWriMo goes on. Since it's still early October, I won't worry about the "unknown" part until later. (In other words, I'll procrastinate by trying to fix it once November arrives!)

This is my third year saying I'm going to do NaNoWriMo, and this year I'm planning to actually "git 'er dun".

SS #120 -- Ghosts

Single White Ghost

You cannot ever see me
but you know I'm here.
I'm the thoughtful one
who put the soap in your beer.

My body's just a shadow
but my humour's still intact.
However else could you explain
your manic running cat?

I have such strong stage presence:
you know I'm in the room.
But beauty's such a challenge
when my make-up's shade is "Moon".

Still, it can get lonely
As I walk through door and wall
I'd like to go out dancing ...
Please just give me a call.

It's the darnedest thing.

It's a little quirk my Muse has -- one I'd totally forgotten about. When people ask me why I don't write much anymore, I tell them it's because I'm too happy and I think that's why the ideas dried up on me. But this past week has shown me that it's something altogether different.

There's been a lot going on in my life the past couple of weeks. Besides trying to finish up my university courses (final assignments, take-home Space Studies exam, tutorials, preparing for the Stats final), and all of the end-of-school-year activities (graduation, retirement dinner, etc.), and now, added to the mix, my 20th high school reunion (where the heck did those 20 years go?!), and I'm running around like a crazy woman.

And, of course, this is when the Muse decides to start talking. Sometimes it's the "what-if?" game, when I'm driving past a former greenhouse that's for sale. "What if the owner of the greenhouse has something significant buried beneath the greenhouse floor, and that's why he's refusing to sell the property, despite his sons' persistence?" Or "what if, during construction on a bridge, during the delay of waiting for the flagman to change the sign from 'STOP' to 'SLOW', someone in a stopped car decides that it's some sort of deep metaphor and he decides to get out of the car and leap off, leaving behind a variety of scarred witnesses who couldn't help but watch the whole thing?" (Guess where I was when the Muse came up with that one?)

Or else it's in dreams. Like last night, when my Muse decided to show me a mini-movie, complete with beginning, middle, and end. I'm actually surprised there weren't credits rolling when I finally woke up. And that was the third one this week. What I hate about those ones is that, too often, the details sneak away from me before I get them written down. I used to keep a notebook on my bedside table to do some mad scribbling upon waking, but it's hard to do that when you have a black and white dog joyfully jumping up and down on your solar plexus, ecstatic that you're awake once again.

So I'm trying to write all of these things down. Murphy's Law pretty much decrees that once this insanity is over, and my life calms down, my Muse will take a long nap, and my story idea well will once again run dry.

At the reunion, the one question I get asked over and over is, "Are you still writing?" Even people I didn't know really well are asking me. Instead of "captain of the football team", or "valedictorian", my unofficial caption was clearly The Writer. I did not realize that until this weekend.

And I miss writing. A lot.

Maybe that's the biggest lesson I need to take away from this reunion. (Well, that, and "everybody gains weight by the time it's twenty years on.")

PS -- My hubby says I look a lot younger than my former classmates. I love Hubby.

Just so "done."

I have gotten a few days teaching in this week, which is kind of nice. As the school year winds down, I need as many days as I can get. The only problem is, I’m a total zombie these days. I feel like I could sleep for about 36 hours straight, with the right A&E documentaries playing in the background. Stick a fork in me — I’m “done”.

And I’m not the only one. Yesterday I was teaching a class of grade twelves. I used what energy I had to try to motivate them to work, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I finally acknowledged it was a losing battle when a student actually said to me, “No offense, Mrs. McLean, but we’re in grade twelve. We already have this credit in the bag, next week is the last day of class, and we’re graduating in less than a month. We’re done.”

How could I argue with him?

My Stats midterm is coming up on Wednesday, and on the one hand, I’m very worried about it, and on the other hand, I know I can probably do well. I have completed three assignments now, with marks of 54/54, 64/66, and 31/32. I may not have a clue what it all means, but I can follow the examples and get the right answers. Since she’s giving us a formula sheet on top of a one-sided 8.5?x11? cheat sheet we can put just about anything on, so long as it’s handwritten, it’s essentially the same thing. I’ll just write really small and put a bunch of examples on the sheet, and I should be okay.

I still wish the course were “in the bag”, though — I’m working my tail off on it. And I can’t ever remember being this tired, except maybe after the last time I had surgery. Who ever could have thought that just thinking could tire one out so?

Maybe we’ll get back our Space Studies midterms today.

One thing I have noticed that I’d forgotten about — the busier I am, the more story ideas that creep into my head. They’re becoming so numerous that it’s downright comical. It’s like the creative side of my brain is feeling neglected by all this studying I’m doing. It’s like a dog batting me with its nose, trying to get attention. I see a truck licence plate, and I get an idea. I pass a family greenhouse for sale and I get an idea. It’s just crazy.

And of course, when all of this winds down and I want to actually concentrate on creative works, my Muses will have gone on vacation, simply because that’s the way they roll.

So simple.

Write when you can.
Finish what you start.
Edit what you finish.
Submit what you’ve edited.
Repeat.

SS #104 -- Out of this World

Eight years old, when all the universe was just one big possibility, and everything was a giant book waiting to be read.

Tomas lived in the apartment building next door to my duplex. We were two of only six grade threes mixed into a classroom of grade fours. Since all six of us had different ethnic backgrounds, we had just finished a social studies unit on our respective heritages. He was Spanish. I was Danish. We were both Canadian, and, it would turn out, both curious residents of Planet Earth.

It was a spring evening, and it had finally grown too dark to continue playing two-person soccer baseball. Neither one of us had won, but, then again, neither one of us had lost. (Strangely, it was the same result every night.)

"What's that?" Tomas asked, pointing up to the sky.

My gaze followed his outstretched finger to a set of lights slowly moving across the darkening sky. "That," I announced, "is an airplane."

"No, it's not. Look at the way it's moving."

He had a point. The lights weren't going in a straight line, but seemed to be making an arc. The lights weren't the usual colours, either. Instead of red, or white, or amber, they appeared to my eyes as a sort of aquamarine. But this was Tomas - my next door neighbour, best pal, worst enemy, first love ... and there was no way I was going to agree with him.

"Airplanes don't have that many lights," Tomas argued. "I think it's a UFO."

"A UFO?!" I started laughing and made the outline of a flying saucer in the gravel at my feet at about where home plate had been. It was too dark to see either. "There's no such thing as UFOs."

The lights seemed to be getting closer, though -- or at least bigger. We watched in silence for several long minutes, mesmerized by the strange pattern of colour against the black. We must have made for a strange picture ourselves: two small children, one holding a half-inflated ball, both with heads tilted at the same angle, and neither one moving even to breathe.

"Do you think they'll abduct us?" Tomas burst out. "You're a girl. I'm a boy. It would be one of each. You know -- for their zoo."

A cold chill went over me. That would make sense.

My fear was broken by the sound of my front door opening. My mother was poking her head out, calling my name. It was, after all, dark now.

"Definitely a UFO," Tomas decided as we walked towards our respective homes. "Airplanes don't look like that."

We muttered a bit back and forth for a few more steps, then went our separate ways. I reached my front door at the same time he reached the entrance to the apartment building.

"Hey, Tomas? That is an airplane," I shouted across to him. "I know, because I took one to Winnipeg last summer."

Grinning, I shut the front door behind me. There -- I had played my trump card. Surely he would see the error of his ways -- and even if he didn't, I couldn't hear his response.

(And yet, to this day... I'm not entirely convinced I was right.)

All I have to do is dream ...

The number one reason I miss my Palm Lifedrive? My dream journal is suffering.

My dreams are frequently very vivid, and, in keeping with my being a writer, usually have a plot. Setting and conflict. Rising action, climax, and (if I get to it before the alarm clock) dénouement. Often I wake up thinking, "What a GREAT story! I should write this!"

Back in the good old days, I would reach over to my bedside table, grab the Lifedrive, and write down each and every single detail I could remember, before my feet hit the floor. It's very rare that I remember anything once my day gets underway (unless something triggers a memory, and even then, it's only a flash).

And now the absolutely amazing dream I had last night is completely gone from my memory, save for the main character's name, which I repeated over and over again until it was engraved.

And no -- I won't tell you what it is until I write about her. It's a cool name and I don't want to risk someone out there stealing it. Yes, it's THAT cool. *grin*

And how is your Monday going so far?

Words to Write By

A writer needs three things, experience, observation, and imagination, any two of which, at times any one of which, can supply the lack of the others. -- William Faulkner