The shootings in Montreal yesterday at Dawson College are featured on the front page of our local paper, The Record. The two lead articles are about the "rampage" and I don't disagree with their placement. But - there's a picture - and a huge one of students leaving the college and at the bottom of the picture, there's the blood and the covered body of the gunman.
Gee thanks - I really needed to see that. My twelve year old grandson really needs to see it too. He reads the paper every day. I don't subscribe to the paper and only saw it by accident while having coffee at Tims. And you can be sure I'm not going to subscribe anytime soon.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Wildlife and A Wild Life
Yesterday, people in the area were told to watch out for escaped bison and a couple of weeks ago, there was a black bear wandering somewhere on the outskirts of the city. But it won't be long before any large animal will have no space to hide in around here. I've had the opportunity to tour the outskirts, or what used to be the outskirts of Kitchener Waterloo. There are so many new subdivisions going in that I began to wonder if I was seeing Calgary.
What the hell are the so-called planners thinking? They're building houses in environmentally fragile areas and, according to the man in my life, one huge subdivision is being built on land that will surely sink. At this rate, we'll soon become just another suburb of Toronto. The Region and the Province keep talking about improving the "transit corridor" between this area and the Big Smoke, but nothing happens.
Since I live in what the city refers to as the Civic Centre area I do have the luxury of visiting any of the three court houses, if I want to be entertained. The court house that is closest to my apartment building is going to be renovated. It's the Family Court and they need a new court room that will be designed for children's needs. That's fine, but the contractor wants to work on the building from 5 in the evening until 6 in the morning so that the court will not be shut down. That's not fine at all, and no one in the neighbourhood was notified of the contractor's intent until the last second. The contractor claims not to have known about the anti-noise bylaw. City council has not approved an exemption yet, and if local residents can protest loudly enough, maybe the council will stand firm. I hope so, because I'd like to have a few quiet months before spring arrives and the city begins tearing up the street on the far side of this building to replace water and sewage lines and repave.
I've been reading "Floor Sample," Julia Cameron's memoir about her life. She wrote The Artist's Way and The Artist's Way at Work and several other books about the creative life. The Artist's Way at Work is on my bookshelf. I read it a few years ago and found that writing morning pages helped me to clarify why I didn't want to work at the community centre any more. So, I was interested in finding out more about Julia Cameron. She's led a "wild" life in many ways and seems to have always followed her creative instincts, sometimes without remembering to care for herself.
I'm going to write my morning pages again for a while and see what they tell me.
What the hell are the so-called planners thinking? They're building houses in environmentally fragile areas and, according to the man in my life, one huge subdivision is being built on land that will surely sink. At this rate, we'll soon become just another suburb of Toronto. The Region and the Province keep talking about improving the "transit corridor" between this area and the Big Smoke, but nothing happens.
Since I live in what the city refers to as the Civic Centre area I do have the luxury of visiting any of the three court houses, if I want to be entertained. The court house that is closest to my apartment building is going to be renovated. It's the Family Court and they need a new court room that will be designed for children's needs. That's fine, but the contractor wants to work on the building from 5 in the evening until 6 in the morning so that the court will not be shut down. That's not fine at all, and no one in the neighbourhood was notified of the contractor's intent until the last second. The contractor claims not to have known about the anti-noise bylaw. City council has not approved an exemption yet, and if local residents can protest loudly enough, maybe the council will stand firm. I hope so, because I'd like to have a few quiet months before spring arrives and the city begins tearing up the street on the far side of this building to replace water and sewage lines and repave.
I've been reading "Floor Sample," Julia Cameron's memoir about her life. She wrote The Artist's Way and The Artist's Way at Work and several other books about the creative life. The Artist's Way at Work is on my bookshelf. I read it a few years ago and found that writing morning pages helped me to clarify why I didn't want to work at the community centre any more. So, I was interested in finding out more about Julia Cameron. She's led a "wild" life in many ways and seems to have always followed her creative instincts, sometimes without remembering to care for herself.
I'm going to write my morning pages again for a while and see what they tell me.
Friday, September 08, 2006
It 'Themes' to Me
A friend remarked that she seems to write about the same thing in many of her stories and I started to think about that. Sometimes I'm a slow thinker but once in a while I have a flash. I'd think it was a hot flash, if I wasn't too old to have them. I seem to have an object fetish. When I write, I like to change the role of ordinary things like chocolate, or brushes or slippers and I guess I'm also fascinated by death and being near death and lost chances for love and connection. Just your typical writerly fascinations, I suppose.
I've been participating in an online discussion about what love is and men and women's different approaches to it. It's fascinating to read what some young people think love is. As for me, I'm in the same camp as Scott Peck. I think love is not primarily a feeling (though, believe me I enjoy the feeling) but an activity and an opportunity for spiritual development for both people.
Okay, that's more than enough high-falutin' philosophizing for one blog. It's time for nitty gritty things - like putting one sentence after another. Maybe I can even manage to write a whole paragraph without rereading and changing every sentence as I go along.
Maybe.
I've been participating in an online discussion about what love is and men and women's different approaches to it. It's fascinating to read what some young people think love is. As for me, I'm in the same camp as Scott Peck. I think love is not primarily a feeling (though, believe me I enjoy the feeling) but an activity and an opportunity for spiritual development for both people.
Okay, that's more than enough high-falutin' philosophizing for one blog. It's time for nitty gritty things - like putting one sentence after another. Maybe I can even manage to write a whole paragraph without rereading and changing every sentence as I go along.
Maybe.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Tree-House Days and Talladega Nights
My grandsons have had a tree house in their back yard for about seven years. Their father built it for them and it was supported by two ornamental trees. It has a window box, a rope climb entrance and a slide for an exit. There's a sand box on the ground under the tree house. The tree house has been a magical place for the two boys, but that's about to end. The trees that support the structure are rotting and the boys favourite hide-out isn't safe anymore. Their special place, and the trees that hold it up are about to be removed. Now that the boys are twelve and fourteen, maybe they can live without it. But they talk of building a fort to replace it. I'm glad they're still innocent enough to think a fort isn't a silly idea.
Friday, I took both boys to the movies. We saw Talladega Nights, The Ballad of Billy Bobby, and we all enjoyed it. Some of the satire went un-noticed by the boys, but not all of it. And of course they liked the fast cars and the silly parts of the movie. Both grandsons covered their eyes when Billy Bobby kissed the villain. Kissing is yucky anyway, says the youngest and I don't think that my fourteen year old grandson has kissed anyone, of either sex, except family members, yet.
Their comparative innocence won't last, I know. Frankie's is bound to be challenged when he starts grade 9 in a September and Sam has to cope with a new school too. At least they can just be boys for a few more days.
Friday, I took both boys to the movies. We saw Talladega Nights, The Ballad of Billy Bobby, and we all enjoyed it. Some of the satire went un-noticed by the boys, but not all of it. And of course they liked the fast cars and the silly parts of the movie. Both grandsons covered their eyes when Billy Bobby kissed the villain. Kissing is yucky anyway, says the youngest and I don't think that my fourteen year old grandson has kissed anyone, of either sex, except family members, yet.
Their comparative innocence won't last, I know. Frankie's is bound to be challenged when he starts grade 9 in a September and Sam has to cope with a new school too. At least they can just be boys for a few more days.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Not in the 'Write' Mood
I wasn't in the mood to write anything last week. Of course, some folks say mood should have nothing to do with it. They may be correct. In any case, I had to write something about children and obesity for a client and so, I did. Sometimes the have-to factor rules. Then, I thought I'd work on getting into fiction-writing mode by editing an old short story that's been around the block a couple of times. I'm always surprised by how much I can find to change when I reread a story I haven't looked at for a few months. I don't suppose I should be surprised, but if I don't start out with some belief in what I'm doing, I'd never reach the third or fourth or tenth edit stage. Every time I finish an extensive edit, I think - boy! That's got to be it. I'd like to be right more often about that.
Speaking of writing, my dear friend and fellow writer, Lori Hahnel was on the short list for the PRISM International short story contest. If you search her name on the Internet, you'll see that link and links to many of her other fabulous fiction credits. Here's the kicker - PRISM didn't tell her she'd made the short list. She only found out when she checked Google to see which of her writing credits were still showing up on the World Wide Web (Bill Walsh insists those words should have capitals). Here's the link: http://prism.arts.ubc.ca/
Early this morning, I noticed some pedestrians were wearing light jackets, the Canadian National Exhibition has opened and school starts in less than two weeks. I don't know about you, but for me those things are signs that summer will soon be over. I didn't do a lot of the things I had planned to do this summer. I was going to repaint my bathroom. I was going to visit friends in Toronto at least twice. I was going to stick to a writing schedule, but I never figured out what the schedule should be. Oh, and most important, I was going to be at least half way through a decent draft of my novel. Life is filled with unfinished business, but now I have a little list, a little list. Actually, it's a long list, but never mind, at least I've made the list. And, I'm going to tack it up somewhere very visible, then I can cross things off when they're done.
I've had an extraordinary summer in many respects. Much of this summer's joy came from time spent family and friends and with the man in my life. There's been some sorrow , but maybe that, and the joy too, will find its way into my fiction.
Speaking of writing, my dear friend and fellow writer, Lori Hahnel was on the short list for the PRISM International short story contest. If you search her name on the Internet, you'll see that link and links to many of her other fabulous fiction credits. Here's the kicker - PRISM didn't tell her she'd made the short list. She only found out when she checked Google to see which of her writing credits were still showing up on the World Wide Web (Bill Walsh insists those words should have capitals). Here's the link: http://prism.arts.ubc.ca/
Early this morning, I noticed some pedestrians were wearing light jackets, the Canadian National Exhibition has opened and school starts in less than two weeks. I don't know about you, but for me those things are signs that summer will soon be over. I didn't do a lot of the things I had planned to do this summer. I was going to repaint my bathroom. I was going to visit friends in Toronto at least twice. I was going to stick to a writing schedule, but I never figured out what the schedule should be. Oh, and most important, I was going to be at least half way through a decent draft of my novel. Life is filled with unfinished business, but now I have a little list, a little list. Actually, it's a long list, but never mind, at least I've made the list. And, I'm going to tack it up somewhere very visible, then I can cross things off when they're done.
I've had an extraordinary summer in many respects. Much of this summer's joy came from time spent family and friends and with the man in my life. There's been some sorrow , but maybe that, and the joy too, will find its way into my fiction.
Monday, August 14, 2006
The Canadian Motor City Gets My Vote. Take Note, Toronto.
My trip to Windsor was almost everything I hoped it would be and I'm very glad I went back to my old home town.
Once upon a time, long, long, ago, local radio stations referred to Windsor and Detroit as the Motor Cities. I can't vouch for the condition of Detroit, but Windsor still retains the Canadian title. It's tied to the auto industry, much as it was in the past. Everyone should have a car, or a truck or a van, and preferably a Canadian-made one. In the less wealthy neighbourhoods, nearly everyone does. But in parts of Walkerville, one of the upscale neighbourhoods, I saw some expensive foreign cars. Oh, the shame of it!
I was most impressed by what Windsor has done with its waterfront. The city has gorgeous waterfront parks that stretch for kilometres. Riverside Drive hugs the shoreline of the Detroit river and absolutely no development is allowed on the side of the road closest to the river. The city also reclaimed the railway lands (the tracks used to run along beside the river). It's truly amazing that a city of 200,000 has the ability to resist the type of hideous but extremely profitable condominium development that ruined the central waterfront in Toronto. My old and still very politically active friend, Patsy, is one the people responsible for fending off the developers. Every five years or so, the no-development policy is challenged at City Council, and Patsy rallies the troops.
On the downside, Windsor is still a city that isn't much into the idea of public transit. There were about 7 bus routes 10 years ago and now, I think there are 10. The bus terminal is exactly the same as it was in my youth. If I'd ever taken psychedelic drugs, I'd have assumed I was having a flash-back when I saw it. At least the city has some newer buses, and yes I was on one.
Most of my exploration of the city took place on foot and, as my grandmother might say, my feet is plumb wore off at the knees. It was the best way to get a feel for the neighbourhoods I wanted to see. I walked all around the downtown area, the Wyandotte street strip, the Erie street area, Willistead and the street I grew up on and other areas. I spoke with several business owners, they were all friendly and took the time to give me their impressions of the city. The Casino is undergoing renovation but it was well-patronized. I couldn't get over the number of different slot machines. Did you know there are some that take $500 for a single chance? Egad! No one was trying their luck at one while I was there. No bloomin' wonder. I wasn't tempted to try anything, not even the nickel slot machines. And anyway, most of them were being used by seniors. I visited the poker rooms. One is not allowed to make casual conversation with the dealers, I discovered. The man who sold chips was not inclined to answer my questions. Maybe I started with the wrong question though. When I asked if seven card stud poker was available, he marked me down as a complete innocent, or an idiot.
On the "our girl makes good" side, that's how Patsy refers to it, another friend of mine from way back when I worked at the Windsor Women's Centre is now the head of the United Way. Patsy, who seems to know every other person in town decided we would drop in on Sheila and we did. A wave at the receptionist and off we went to the head honcho's office. She was glad to see us and we didn't over-stay our welcome.
The funniest thing that happened to me was an encounter with a memorable woman. There's a famous, or maybe infamous, jewellery store in downtown Windsor. It's one of those institutions you have to see to believe. It's been on the same corner for thirty years, or more. Not a thing has changed. The store sells a lot of figurines, plates and miscellaneous chochka's as well as jewellery and fine china. It has display cases so close together that even a thin person must be wary and the carpets are almost see-through. On one counter-top near the door, there is a picture of Mr and Mrs. S., the founders of the store. I naturally assumed that both of them had retired. They were 'old' when I was a young sprat. But I was wrong. The inimitable voice of Mrs. S. accosted me. Mrs. S. knows nothing about subtle sales tactics.
I said, "it's nice to see the store still looks the same after twenty years."
She said, "Where have you been? "
"Toronto," I replied.
"So," she said, "why haven't you come here? Lots of people come here from Toronto."
Oy vey! The conversation went on in this vein for a while. I agreed to look around and asked about Mr. S. He was away on a buying trip. Fortunately for me, Mrs. S. was distracted by the arrival of some Americans. I managed to get out without buying anything and without laughing until I was around the corner. Those Americans would not escape without buying something, or her name isn't Mrs. S. She was once famous for going into the street, stopping tourists and dragging them into her store. After seeing her in action, I suspect that when she is having a good day, she probably still does.
I have pages of notes from my trip and they may be useful, but the most important thing was renewing my acquaintance with the city.
It's still got a great heart and I'll miss it
Once upon a time, long, long, ago, local radio stations referred to Windsor and Detroit as the Motor Cities. I can't vouch for the condition of Detroit, but Windsor still retains the Canadian title. It's tied to the auto industry, much as it was in the past. Everyone should have a car, or a truck or a van, and preferably a Canadian-made one. In the less wealthy neighbourhoods, nearly everyone does. But in parts of Walkerville, one of the upscale neighbourhoods, I saw some expensive foreign cars. Oh, the shame of it!
I was most impressed by what Windsor has done with its waterfront. The city has gorgeous waterfront parks that stretch for kilometres. Riverside Drive hugs the shoreline of the Detroit river and absolutely no development is allowed on the side of the road closest to the river. The city also reclaimed the railway lands (the tracks used to run along beside the river). It's truly amazing that a city of 200,000 has the ability to resist the type of hideous but extremely profitable condominium development that ruined the central waterfront in Toronto. My old and still very politically active friend, Patsy, is one the people responsible for fending off the developers. Every five years or so, the no-development policy is challenged at City Council, and Patsy rallies the troops.
On the downside, Windsor is still a city that isn't much into the idea of public transit. There were about 7 bus routes 10 years ago and now, I think there are 10. The bus terminal is exactly the same as it was in my youth. If I'd ever taken psychedelic drugs, I'd have assumed I was having a flash-back when I saw it. At least the city has some newer buses, and yes I was on one.
Most of my exploration of the city took place on foot and, as my grandmother might say, my feet is plumb wore off at the knees. It was the best way to get a feel for the neighbourhoods I wanted to see. I walked all around the downtown area, the Wyandotte street strip, the Erie street area, Willistead and the street I grew up on and other areas. I spoke with several business owners, they were all friendly and took the time to give me their impressions of the city. The Casino is undergoing renovation but it was well-patronized. I couldn't get over the number of different slot machines. Did you know there are some that take $500 for a single chance? Egad! No one was trying their luck at one while I was there. No bloomin' wonder. I wasn't tempted to try anything, not even the nickel slot machines. And anyway, most of them were being used by seniors. I visited the poker rooms. One is not allowed to make casual conversation with the dealers, I discovered. The man who sold chips was not inclined to answer my questions. Maybe I started with the wrong question though. When I asked if seven card stud poker was available, he marked me down as a complete innocent, or an idiot.
On the "our girl makes good" side, that's how Patsy refers to it, another friend of mine from way back when I worked at the Windsor Women's Centre is now the head of the United Way. Patsy, who seems to know every other person in town decided we would drop in on Sheila and we did. A wave at the receptionist and off we went to the head honcho's office. She was glad to see us and we didn't over-stay our welcome.
The funniest thing that happened to me was an encounter with a memorable woman. There's a famous, or maybe infamous, jewellery store in downtown Windsor. It's one of those institutions you have to see to believe. It's been on the same corner for thirty years, or more. Not a thing has changed. The store sells a lot of figurines, plates and miscellaneous chochka's as well as jewellery and fine china. It has display cases so close together that even a thin person must be wary and the carpets are almost see-through. On one counter-top near the door, there is a picture of Mr and Mrs. S., the founders of the store. I naturally assumed that both of them had retired. They were 'old' when I was a young sprat. But I was wrong. The inimitable voice of Mrs. S. accosted me. Mrs. S. knows nothing about subtle sales tactics.
I said, "it's nice to see the store still looks the same after twenty years."
She said, "Where have you been? "
"Toronto," I replied.
"So," she said, "why haven't you come here? Lots of people come here from Toronto."
Oy vey! The conversation went on in this vein for a while. I agreed to look around and asked about Mr. S. He was away on a buying trip. Fortunately for me, Mrs. S. was distracted by the arrival of some Americans. I managed to get out without buying anything and without laughing until I was around the corner. Those Americans would not escape without buying something, or her name isn't Mrs. S. She was once famous for going into the street, stopping tourists and dragging them into her store. After seeing her in action, I suspect that when she is having a good day, she probably still does.
I have pages of notes from my trip and they may be useful, but the most important thing was renewing my acquaintance with the city.
It's still got a great heart and I'll miss it
Monday, August 07, 2006
Checking out The Ambassador Bridge and Other Adventures
On Thursday, I'm going to Windsor. I'ts been years since I visited my home town and I need to soak up its ambience, its flavours. I plan to take lots of notes and maybe some pictures, though a lot of places won't look the same as they did ten years ago. Maybe I'll met an old friend for coffee, if she isn't out protesting something. Patsy must be at least seventy, but she still has a radical heart that leads her in some interesting directions.
What's the first thing a travelling writer packs? Lined note pads, of the right size and shape to fit into a small purse. I found some and I've already stashed them in my suitcase. The other packing won't happen until the last minute.
I plan to visit some of my old haunts - the park under the Ambassador bridge (the best place to watch the submarine races) and a couple of other parks too, the Casino (for research purposes only), the Tunnel Barbeque, if it still exists, and the street where I lived as a child.
I really don't know if I can capture what I need, but I'm going to try.
Sometimes I have lucky days. Saturday was one. The man in my life had suggested earlier in the week that if the weather cooperated we would go to the Mill Race Folk Festival in Galt, if I was interested. I was delighted by the idea and I had the chance to mention I was going to the festival to a friend who lives in the big smoke. It turned out that she was going to be at the festival too. The day was clear with wispy clouds, little humidity or pollution and not too hot. We found a shady spot close to the main Mill Race stage and the river and enjoyed the singers. We weren't easy to see in the crowd, since we were tucked way in a corner, but my friend Dorothy, who can actually see people from more than 500 feet away, spotted us. So, Dorothy and I had a chance to talk between performances. I also enjoyed the music and singing along on the choruses. It was a perfect afternoon.
Maybe my trip will contain some unexpected delights too.
What's the first thing a travelling writer packs? Lined note pads, of the right size and shape to fit into a small purse. I found some and I've already stashed them in my suitcase. The other packing won't happen until the last minute.
I plan to visit some of my old haunts - the park under the Ambassador bridge (the best place to watch the submarine races) and a couple of other parks too, the Casino (for research purposes only), the Tunnel Barbeque, if it still exists, and the street where I lived as a child.
I really don't know if I can capture what I need, but I'm going to try.
Sometimes I have lucky days. Saturday was one. The man in my life had suggested earlier in the week that if the weather cooperated we would go to the Mill Race Folk Festival in Galt, if I was interested. I was delighted by the idea and I had the chance to mention I was going to the festival to a friend who lives in the big smoke. It turned out that she was going to be at the festival too. The day was clear with wispy clouds, little humidity or pollution and not too hot. We found a shady spot close to the main Mill Race stage and the river and enjoyed the singers. We weren't easy to see in the crowd, since we were tucked way in a corner, but my friend Dorothy, who can actually see people from more than 500 feet away, spotted us. So, Dorothy and I had a chance to talk between performances. I also enjoyed the music and singing along on the choruses. It was a perfect afternoon.
Maybe my trip will contain some unexpected delights too.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
An Encouraging Rejection
As all three or four, or maybe, sometimes five, reasonably regular readers of my blog know, I wrote a story about a man named Jesse. The story, Jesse's Gift, had been revised to a fare-thee-well. I sent it to PRISM International in April and hoped it would fare well.
Today, my SASE to PRISM came back to me. I could see that the piece of paper in the envelope wasn't even a letter size reply. Oh great, I thought, just one of those notes that says sorry and they've conserved paper by giving me toilet-tissue size response. Well, the editor does say no. But, below the - We receive many excellent submissions but due to space constraints we're unable to publish them all, etc. Please try us again in the future - he added a hand-written note.
"This story of full of detail. It is visceral and sensual and beautifully depicted. I like how this depiction relates to the characters and the worlds that they live in. Thanks so much for the strong submission."
According to other writers, getting a personal note from an editor of a first rank magazine like PRISM is a very good sign. So, I'll have to put on my market research hat and find another place to send it.
Today, my SASE to PRISM came back to me. I could see that the piece of paper in the envelope wasn't even a letter size reply. Oh great, I thought, just one of those notes that says sorry and they've conserved paper by giving me toilet-tissue size response. Well, the editor does say no. But, below the - We receive many excellent submissions but due to space constraints we're unable to publish them all, etc. Please try us again in the future - he added a hand-written note.
"This story of full of detail. It is visceral and sensual and beautifully depicted. I like how this depiction relates to the characters and the worlds that they live in. Thanks so much for the strong submission."
According to other writers, getting a personal note from an editor of a first rank magazine like PRISM is a very good sign. So, I'll have to put on my market research hat and find another place to send it.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Wal-Mart and the movie, The Producers
The last full week of July is upon us. Summer is half-over. Okay, maybe not officially, but in other ways, it is. So many things start again in September. For now though, I'm in lazy summer mode and maybe the weather can be my excuse.
On the weekend, our plans changed due to rain and we saw another movie, The Producers. It's very funny, thanks mostly to Mr. Lane who is consistently hilarious. Before watching the movie, I had the opportunity to visit the local Cambridge Chapters/Indigo bookstore. Of course they didn't have the book I was thinking of purchasing, but I did buy the July issue of Harper's magazine because the cover listed this article: Breaking the Chain, The Antitrust Case Against Wal-Mart. The article is long and informative. It discusses the deleterious effects of the unchecked power of W**^***t including monopsony, my new word of the week. "Monopsony arises when a firm captures the ability to dictate price to its suppliers because the suppliers have no real choice other than to deal with that buyer." Many firms have been affected adversely after chaining themselves to the Wal-Mart star in the hope of soaring. But that is only part of the problem. And you probably wonder why I'm linking The Producers and W-place in my subject line.
Even if you don't wonder, here's why. "Every day Wal-Mart expands its share of the ... markets for magazines, recorded music, films on DVD and books (YIKES, even books). This means that every day its tastes ... weigh that much more on decisions made in Hollywood studios, in Manhattan publishing houses ... (and soon, maybe other publishers).
So, if the retail super-behemoth should decide that a film like The Producers, which features a musical number called Springtime for Hitler, and other possibly unacceptable shenanigans, shouldn't be distributed in DVD format, then it wouldn't be available to the 30 percent of American consumers who shop there. Would that be tragic? Well, no. But is this the thin edge of the Whale-Mart tells us what to view or to read wedge?
I wonder.
On the weekend, our plans changed due to rain and we saw another movie, The Producers. It's very funny, thanks mostly to Mr. Lane who is consistently hilarious. Before watching the movie, I had the opportunity to visit the local Cambridge Chapters/Indigo bookstore. Of course they didn't have the book I was thinking of purchasing, but I did buy the July issue of Harper's magazine because the cover listed this article: Breaking the Chain, The Antitrust Case Against Wal-Mart. The article is long and informative. It discusses the deleterious effects of the unchecked power of W**^***t including monopsony, my new word of the week. "Monopsony arises when a firm captures the ability to dictate price to its suppliers because the suppliers have no real choice other than to deal with that buyer." Many firms have been affected adversely after chaining themselves to the Wal-Mart star in the hope of soaring. But that is only part of the problem. And you probably wonder why I'm linking The Producers and W-place in my subject line.
Even if you don't wonder, here's why. "Every day Wal-Mart expands its share of the ... markets for magazines, recorded music, films on DVD and books (YIKES, even books). This means that every day its tastes ... weigh that much more on decisions made in Hollywood studios, in Manhattan publishing houses ... (and soon, maybe other publishers).
So, if the retail super-behemoth should decide that a film like The Producers, which features a musical number called Springtime for Hitler, and other possibly unacceptable shenanigans, shouldn't be distributed in DVD format, then it wouldn't be available to the 30 percent of American consumers who shop there. Would that be tragic? Well, no. But is this the thin edge of the Whale-Mart tells us what to view or to read wedge?
I wonder.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Hot and Cold
It's been miserably hot, but a storm blew in last night and cooled things off, temporarily. Good thing, because I was tired of being confined to my living room.
It was hot on Thursday when we celebrated Sam's birthday. He loves hot food, so he had pizza with hot peppers, and hot wings too. Friday I got a rejection letter for one of my short stories from NQ. I rather expected it, since NQ is a notoriously difficult magazine to conquer, but I have to try once a year. By Saturday, it was downright horrid outside. I went to the market early and bought a bouquet of flowers for myself. Why not?
Better things happened on the weekend. The man in my life took me to the movies. We saw Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean Part II. I didn't like all the dead critters, but at least there was Johnny to look at, and Orlando Bloom.
Yesterday, I got more birthday mail. It was more than somewhat late, but I don't mind having my birthday goodies spread out. My friend Sharon sent me a silly card, a generous gift certificate for the LCBO, and a copy of her brochure (one I did some work on). So, I can celebrate all over again, perhaps with a lovely single malt scotch, when I'm able to walk as far the LCBO. It may be a while before I can do that, though.
My knee is not speaking to me - it is yelling instead. So, I'm giving it the old cold treatment. I recall one of my many physiotherapists saying "Ice is Nice." That's a damned lie. But I have to use it anyway. And I guess kneeling is off my list of can-do things for now. Floor washing is boring and can be postponed.
I'm going to Windsor August 10 to 13th. Research, research and lots of note taking. Maybe a visit with an old friend, if she is in town, and a visit to the Casino. After all, I have to make the gambling scenes realistic. I won't spend as much as my character does though, she has a bigger budget.
It was hot on Thursday when we celebrated Sam's birthday. He loves hot food, so he had pizza with hot peppers, and hot wings too. Friday I got a rejection letter for one of my short stories from NQ. I rather expected it, since NQ is a notoriously difficult magazine to conquer, but I have to try once a year. By Saturday, it was downright horrid outside. I went to the market early and bought a bouquet of flowers for myself. Why not?
Better things happened on the weekend. The man in my life took me to the movies. We saw Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean Part II. I didn't like all the dead critters, but at least there was Johnny to look at, and Orlando Bloom.
Yesterday, I got more birthday mail. It was more than somewhat late, but I don't mind having my birthday goodies spread out. My friend Sharon sent me a silly card, a generous gift certificate for the LCBO, and a copy of her brochure (one I did some work on). So, I can celebrate all over again, perhaps with a lovely single malt scotch, when I'm able to walk as far the LCBO. It may be a while before I can do that, though.
My knee is not speaking to me - it is yelling instead. So, I'm giving it the old cold treatment. I recall one of my many physiotherapists saying "Ice is Nice." That's a damned lie. But I have to use it anyway. And I guess kneeling is off my list of can-do things for now. Floor washing is boring and can be postponed.
I'm going to Windsor August 10 to 13th. Research, research and lots of note taking. Maybe a visit with an old friend, if she is in town, and a visit to the Casino. After all, I have to make the gambling scenes realistic. I won't spend as much as my character does though, she has a bigger budget.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Canada Post, or Pony Express
After my weekend in Port Ryerse, and after receiving excellent advice from my writer friend in Calgary and a friend here, I added the final grace notes to the story I'd been revising, and revising. Then, I prepared to send it out. I decided to be brave and choose two markets this time. I was feeling happy about this decision as I walked to the postal outlet in the card store in the old market building on King. When I handed the envelopes to the person behind the counter and paid the postage, he stamped them and put them in the outgoing first class bin. As I was turning away, the woman who had been waiting beside me "went postal" and began berating the clerk.
She claimed that this postal outlet had lost a package worth $4,000. And furthermore, nothing that she had mailed through this outlet since June 15 had been received. Someone has threatened to sue her, she claimed. Then she said she might sue Canada Post.
I was transfixed by this tale, not to mention worried. It was too late to get my envelopes back, so I'll just have to hope they get to their destinations. I considered that outlet my lucky place, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'll have to choose another.
There are plenty of horses in this area, perhaps someone could start a new version of the pony express.
She claimed that this postal outlet had lost a package worth $4,000. And furthermore, nothing that she had mailed through this outlet since June 15 had been received. Someone has threatened to sue her, she claimed. Then she said she might sue Canada Post.
I was transfixed by this tale, not to mention worried. It was too late to get my envelopes back, so I'll just have to hope they get to their destinations. I considered that outlet my lucky place, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'll have to choose another.
There are plenty of horses in this area, perhaps someone could start a new version of the pony express.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Some Mild Patriotic Words
Tomorrow is Canada Day and while I'm not going to wave the flag about, I do want to say - Happy Birthday - eh!
A couple of nights ago, I answered a telephone opinion survey. It was a political survey and after the first three questions, there was no doubt in my mind. The survey was designed to find out whether Canadians agree with Harper's policies and his agenda. There were about 15 questions connected with the likelihood of a terrorist attack on Canada and how the government is handling this supposedly urgent matter. There were also a lot of questions about how much information the government should be able to access (in order to prevent terror attacks, naturally) and how further access to information, conversations, you name it, could be made legal. Finally, there were questions about Canada's role in Afghanistan and our role as peacekeepers.
Many of the questions started with "Are you afraid? - of terrorist attacks, of youth gangs, of criminals not being locked-up forever, of refugees who may be terrorists, of our inability to defend our arctic waters, of ill-equipped customs officers, or conversely, of not being able to enter the United States of... Well ... Everything.
How can anyone reasonably answer a question like - will there be a terror attack on Canada in the next year? Yes, no, maybe - all are equally correct. If terrorists are going to target us, they are not going to warn us about it.
The questions concerning Canada's peacekeeping role were equally unsuitable. Should we stick to our "traditional observe and help role;" or should we take a more "Military" role. In the first place, our traditional peacekeeping role has always included military "action" when necessary in a protective manner. In the second place, actively assisting the Americans in Afghanistan to attack and kill is not peacekeeping. And it will not stabilize anything.
The whole questionaire seemed designed to prod paranoia buttons. Well my button didn't function. Let's not try to become Americans. We are Canadians, and that is more than good enough.
Harper, smarten up. Don't make me smite ya.
A couple of nights ago, I answered a telephone opinion survey. It was a political survey and after the first three questions, there was no doubt in my mind. The survey was designed to find out whether Canadians agree with Harper's policies and his agenda. There were about 15 questions connected with the likelihood of a terrorist attack on Canada and how the government is handling this supposedly urgent matter. There were also a lot of questions about how much information the government should be able to access (in order to prevent terror attacks, naturally) and how further access to information, conversations, you name it, could be made legal. Finally, there were questions about Canada's role in Afghanistan and our role as peacekeepers.
Many of the questions started with "Are you afraid? - of terrorist attacks, of youth gangs, of criminals not being locked-up forever, of refugees who may be terrorists, of our inability to defend our arctic waters, of ill-equipped customs officers, or conversely, of not being able to enter the United States of... Well ... Everything.
How can anyone reasonably answer a question like - will there be a terror attack on Canada in the next year? Yes, no, maybe - all are equally correct. If terrorists are going to target us, they are not going to warn us about it.
The questions concerning Canada's peacekeeping role were equally unsuitable. Should we stick to our "traditional observe and help role;" or should we take a more "Military" role. In the first place, our traditional peacekeeping role has always included military "action" when necessary in a protective manner. In the second place, actively assisting the Americans in Afghanistan to attack and kill is not peacekeeping. And it will not stabilize anything.
The whole questionaire seemed designed to prod paranoia buttons. Well my button didn't function. Let's not try to become Americans. We are Canadians, and that is more than good enough.
Harper, smarten up. Don't make me smite ya.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Signs, signs, everywhere Signs - Open the Door!
My birthday weekend was replete with the kinds of people and events, I'd wish everyone I care about could have on their birthday. And yes, there were signs.
The front of my daughter's house was decorated with a Happy Birthday sign. Primarily, it was there for my grandson, who celebrated his fourteenth birthday on Saturday, but I choose to believe it was there for me as well.
This evening, Wayson Choy spoke about signs and symbols in a writer's life and I realized there have been quite a few signs pointing the way for me. However, it takes me quite a while to understand the portents.
New ones given to me on Sunday, when I visited my daughter. My youngest grandson made a card for me. The front of the card has a "door" that opens, and the card says
"Do you choose to open the door to life?" I am not impartial. I'm blown away by my soon-to-be twelve grandson's ability to cut to the heart of things. My daughter gave me a beautiful brick candle to light my way. And the man in my life gave me a book. And not just any book, but: Writing Life: Celebrated Canadian and International Authors on Writing and Life.
Over the years, there have been lots of other signs. Some of them seemed negative at the time. My eighth grade teacher insisted I couldn't possibly have written the story I submitted and tried to fail me. My tenth grade teacher said I should continue to write poems. Eventually, I did, but they came back from editors with notes that said - not these, but do you have more. I didn't send more. This could be an endless list. My mother kept every letter I ever sent to her until I insisted she get rid of them. One of my ex-lovers has a stash of my letters and will not give them back to me, nor will he destroy them. I've only written eight short stories that I feel are "finished" but two have been published. That should be considered a good average, but of course I don't consider that - I wonder what's wrong with the rest of them.
I've managed to ignore the fact that I wrote a two page letter that enabled the Veterans program to get half-a million dollars in expansion money, and every other grant proposal I wrote brought in money too. Then there was the condolence letter I wrote to a former client's son. It was a simple and direct letter about having known his father. I did it because I wanted to acknowledge a man's life, but the son was so moved by it that he made a very large donation to the agency, and a friend tells me that he continued to do that for two more years.
So, there have been lots of signs, I'm just a slow reader.
The front of my daughter's house was decorated with a Happy Birthday sign. Primarily, it was there for my grandson, who celebrated his fourteenth birthday on Saturday, but I choose to believe it was there for me as well.
This evening, Wayson Choy spoke about signs and symbols in a writer's life and I realized there have been quite a few signs pointing the way for me. However, it takes me quite a while to understand the portents.
New ones given to me on Sunday, when I visited my daughter. My youngest grandson made a card for me. The front of the card has a "door" that opens, and the card says
"Do you choose to open the door to life?" I am not impartial. I'm blown away by my soon-to-be twelve grandson's ability to cut to the heart of things. My daughter gave me a beautiful brick candle to light my way. And the man in my life gave me a book. And not just any book, but: Writing Life: Celebrated Canadian and International Authors on Writing and Life.
Over the years, there have been lots of other signs. Some of them seemed negative at the time. My eighth grade teacher insisted I couldn't possibly have written the story I submitted and tried to fail me. My tenth grade teacher said I should continue to write poems. Eventually, I did, but they came back from editors with notes that said - not these, but do you have more. I didn't send more. This could be an endless list. My mother kept every letter I ever sent to her until I insisted she get rid of them. One of my ex-lovers has a stash of my letters and will not give them back to me, nor will he destroy them. I've only written eight short stories that I feel are "finished" but two have been published. That should be considered a good average, but of course I don't consider that - I wonder what's wrong with the rest of them.
I've managed to ignore the fact that I wrote a two page letter that enabled the Veterans program to get half-a million dollars in expansion money, and every other grant proposal I wrote brought in money too. Then there was the condolence letter I wrote to a former client's son. It was a simple and direct letter about having known his father. I did it because I wanted to acknowledge a man's life, but the son was so moved by it that he made a very large donation to the agency, and a friend tells me that he continued to do that for two more years.
So, there have been lots of signs, I'm just a slow reader.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Older than them thar Hills But, Not Smarter, Yet.
It's that time of year again. The time when I officially get older. It isn't a decade birthday, but today my grandson officially graduates from elementary school and on the weekend he will be fourteen. In two years, Frankie will be driving. I guess that makes me older than them thar hills. It's a good thing I became a mother at such an early age, because I'll have more than one generation to depend on as I enter my dotage.
I'm still too young to have any of the advantages of being older, like crankiness and forgetfulness, the flaws people ascribe to our elders. But I've decided some early practice wouldn't hurt. Maybe I can "forget" to pay some bills and use the extra money for a treat, and maybe I'll ask the mail carrier what he's done with all the acceptance letters that should be in my mailbox. I might even tell the superintendent of my building that I don't want to hear about every complaint she receives. Well, I might, if I have a personality change, but it's more likely that I'll continue to listen to her.
I'm not any smarter than I was last year. Probably that's just as well, though, because if I was too smart I'd give up the mug's game of writing fiction, since logic would say my chances of success are so low.
Fortunately, I'm not smart enough to accept that. Instead, I plan to celebrate being young enough to pursue my dreams.
I'm still too young to have any of the advantages of being older, like crankiness and forgetfulness, the flaws people ascribe to our elders. But I've decided some early practice wouldn't hurt. Maybe I can "forget" to pay some bills and use the extra money for a treat, and maybe I'll ask the mail carrier what he's done with all the acceptance letters that should be in my mailbox. I might even tell the superintendent of my building that I don't want to hear about every complaint she receives. Well, I might, if I have a personality change, but it's more likely that I'll continue to listen to her.
I'm not any smarter than I was last year. Probably that's just as well, though, because if I was too smart I'd give up the mug's game of writing fiction, since logic would say my chances of success are so low.
Fortunately, I'm not smart enough to accept that. Instead, I plan to celebrate being young enough to pursue my dreams.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Capri Pants Must Die.
I was at the mall today looking for a skirt, or a decent pair of dressy straight-legged slacks. Every other woman who passed me in the mall was wearing capri pants. Ick! They make women's legs look shorter and fatter. Unless you're a stick figure, they simply don't work. What really aggravates me is that next year, that fashion will be as dead as dead can be, and hundreds of thousands of women will put the Capri pants or cropped pants, or whatever you want to call them, (I just call them ugly) at the back of their closets.
And while I'm still in fashion rage mode. Why are there only ballerina, flouncy skirts on the racks, or skirts with weird zig zag hem-lines? And why is the only suitable cotton A-line skirt in the entire mall priced at $80 (including the taxes) and made in China? Maybe the pretty beaded filigree trim accounts for it, but I have my doubts.
I also doubt that I'll be able to add anything else to my wardrobe in the near future.
I am only a channel for "The Fashion Maven," side of my personality and take no responsibility at all for her crankiness.
And while I'm still in fashion rage mode. Why are there only ballerina, flouncy skirts on the racks, or skirts with weird zig zag hem-lines? And why is the only suitable cotton A-line skirt in the entire mall priced at $80 (including the taxes) and made in China? Maybe the pretty beaded filigree trim accounts for it, but I have my doubts.
I also doubt that I'll be able to add anything else to my wardrobe in the near future.
I am only a channel for "The Fashion Maven," side of my personality and take no responsibility at all for her crankiness.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
The New Yorker, The Walrus, and Snidely Whiplash
The good folks who live in Toronto are recovering from the media frenzy that blared forth when suspected terrorists were arrested on Friday. I think it was Friday, time seems to waiver when news reports leave out details. Before this incident I'd been thinking about the media and humour in the media. Now, I wonder what The New Yorker magazine and The Walrus magazine would have to say about the incident. I know what Snidely Whiplash would say, he'd say "Curses! Foiled Again."
So why am I mentioning Snidely in the same sentence as those two magazines? It all began when I bought an April issue of the New Yorker and then the June issue of The Walrus. I like to buy Canadian magazines, and I wish that at least one could compare to The New Yorker. The Walrus tries hard, and the June issue has a very good article by Roy Romano on Canada, as well as an article by Mark Kingwell about the empire of the United States but it also has a pitiful attempt at humour by Marni Jackson. The New Yorker is still a weekly magazine, and it's the only weekly magazine that will print long detailed articles, fine fiction, and humour and there is always at least one cartoon in every issue that makes me laugh. Maybe someday there will be an equivalent Canadian magazine, maybe, but that's about as likely as the return of Snidely Whiplash. Snidely, the inept cartoon villain from The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, might say - tie Ms. Jackson's computer to the tracks. Then, I'd have to stop him in order to preserve his reputation. But I'll give him another task, he can make a brief appearance or two in my novel, if he misbehaves in the appropriate manner.
So why am I mentioning Snidely in the same sentence as those two magazines? It all began when I bought an April issue of the New Yorker and then the June issue of The Walrus. I like to buy Canadian magazines, and I wish that at least one could compare to The New Yorker. The Walrus tries hard, and the June issue has a very good article by Roy Romano on Canada, as well as an article by Mark Kingwell about the empire of the United States but it also has a pitiful attempt at humour by Marni Jackson. The New Yorker is still a weekly magazine, and it's the only weekly magazine that will print long detailed articles, fine fiction, and humour and there is always at least one cartoon in every issue that makes me laugh. Maybe someday there will be an equivalent Canadian magazine, maybe, but that's about as likely as the return of Snidely Whiplash. Snidely, the inept cartoon villain from The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, might say - tie Ms. Jackson's computer to the tracks. Then, I'd have to stop him in order to preserve his reputation. But I'll give him another task, he can make a brief appearance or two in my novel, if he misbehaves in the appropriate manner.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Squabbleland and Brokeback Mountain
If there was a country called Squabbleland, then I have some people who should be sent there. In that land, they could carry on endless arguements about small issues and drive one another to the brink of insanity.
The United Nations has not agreed to the formation of Squabbleland, and even if it did, there would be an ongoing and of course fruitless struggle to define the borders of the new country. In the meantime, I guess I'm stuck with the folks who seem to enjoy constantly disagreeing with one another.
So, I'll talk about a movie instead. I saw Brokeback Mountain on the weekend and am not sure what kept me from going to sleep while I was watching it. Maybe it was the Alberta scenery. If the cowboy is laconic as well as iconic, then I suppose the two stars of the film did what fit the bill. They couldn't say what the screenwriter didn't provide, and he or she didn't provide much dialogue. If the film hadn't been about a same sex relationship between two men-of-the-range would it have caused a ripple? I'd say no.
The United Nations has not agreed to the formation of Squabbleland, and even if it did, there would be an ongoing and of course fruitless struggle to define the borders of the new country. In the meantime, I guess I'm stuck with the folks who seem to enjoy constantly disagreeing with one another.
So, I'll talk about a movie instead. I saw Brokeback Mountain on the weekend and am not sure what kept me from going to sleep while I was watching it. Maybe it was the Alberta scenery. If the cowboy is laconic as well as iconic, then I suppose the two stars of the film did what fit the bill. They couldn't say what the screenwriter didn't provide, and he or she didn't provide much dialogue. If the film hadn't been about a same sex relationship between two men-of-the-range would it have caused a ripple? I'd say no.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Out of the Pop Culture Loop - Like - Way out.
Every so often, my status as a one of the people who is perennially "out of the loop" about pop culture is re-confirmed. Last night was one of those occasions. I couldn't sleep and so, instead of reading I turned on the television and watched a little of the David Letterman show. He was interviewing a young woman I didn't recognize. She is one of the stars of the television show Will and Grace. I've seen the show a couple of times but that's all, and when Rogers cable gets around to disconnecting me, I won't be catching any reruns.
When my grandson talks about the bands he listens to I'm perplexed. I only recognize the name of one band and I haven't heard their music. Apparently they are "like ... really cool." I'm amazed that the word "cool" is a staple in the vocabulary of a fourteen year old, and I certainly won't tell him that I used it way back in the dark ages when boys would be kicked out of school for having below-the-shoulder length multi-coloured hair and wearing jeans. and girls could be sent home for wearing skirts that didn't cover their knees, or for not wearing a brassiere. Dinosaur days.
When it comes to pop culture books, I'm also not up-to-date. Stephen King has a new book out, "Cell." My daughter read the first part of it and gave up. She won't allow my grandson to read it until he's older; although she has let him read other Stephen King novels. She's decided that if it's too graphic for her, then it's certainly not appropriate for her fourteen-year-old son.
Speaking of books, a couple of days ago, one of my neighbours gave me "Three Day Road" by Joseph Boyden. It's the One Book One Community selection for Kitchener Waterloo this year and I was excited to acquire it, even though I must return it to the library by February 28th. It is a much better choice than last year's book "Hominids." I'm only on page 60 because I'm savouring the writing, but already I'm extremely impressed. The book isn't a pop-culture novel - it's way too good to be given that label.
I can't say I'm completely un-exposed to pop culture though. Sunday I went to see the movie "RV" with the man in my life. It wouldn't have been my first choice, but since he's taken me to many of my first choice movies, I agreed. He found it hilarious, and I thought it was mildly funny although I could have done without the exploding trailer toilet episode. On the positive side, Robin Williams is very good at physical comedy and has a very expressive face. We went to the matinee and there were lots of children in the audience. They loved the movie.
I miss seeing free cartoons before a movie starts, but that just means I'm old.
Tha tha tha that's all folks!
When my grandson talks about the bands he listens to I'm perplexed. I only recognize the name of one band and I haven't heard their music. Apparently they are "like ... really cool." I'm amazed that the word "cool" is a staple in the vocabulary of a fourteen year old, and I certainly won't tell him that I used it way back in the dark ages when boys would be kicked out of school for having below-the-shoulder length multi-coloured hair and wearing jeans. and girls could be sent home for wearing skirts that didn't cover their knees, or for not wearing a brassiere. Dinosaur days.
When it comes to pop culture books, I'm also not up-to-date. Stephen King has a new book out, "Cell." My daughter read the first part of it and gave up. She won't allow my grandson to read it until he's older; although she has let him read other Stephen King novels. She's decided that if it's too graphic for her, then it's certainly not appropriate for her fourteen-year-old son.
Speaking of books, a couple of days ago, one of my neighbours gave me "Three Day Road" by Joseph Boyden. It's the One Book One Community selection for Kitchener Waterloo this year and I was excited to acquire it, even though I must return it to the library by February 28th. It is a much better choice than last year's book "Hominids." I'm only on page 60 because I'm savouring the writing, but already I'm extremely impressed. The book isn't a pop-culture novel - it's way too good to be given that label.
I can't say I'm completely un-exposed to pop culture though. Sunday I went to see the movie "RV" with the man in my life. It wouldn't have been my first choice, but since he's taken me to many of my first choice movies, I agreed. He found it hilarious, and I thought it was mildly funny although I could have done without the exploding trailer toilet episode. On the positive side, Robin Williams is very good at physical comedy and has a very expressive face. We went to the matinee and there were lots of children in the audience. They loved the movie.
I miss seeing free cartoons before a movie starts, but that just means I'm old.
Tha tha tha that's all folks!
Monday, May 08, 2006
Beware of the "Should" People. They're Multiplying.
I don't know how you feel when someone tells you should do something, or act in a certain manner, but I know how I feel. It annoys me.
Maybe it all started when I was at George Brown College and so many of the people in the Human Services Counsellor course were members of Alcoholics Anonymous. "Don't should on yourself" was one of their favourite expressions. And I still think it's good advice, but I'd like to amend it slightly to include don't 'should on other people either."
The word, or its intent has been popping up frequently. Harper implies that we should all be happy with the budget, since everyone gets a tax cut. Well, if everyone gets a tax cut (and that's not quite accurate) then revenues will fall. And he's got lots of spending plans. Next thing you know, he'll be telling us how necessary it is to raise more money, by cutting frills (read services here, if you are not a Conservative) and increasing private health care.
A few days ago, the latest issue of This Magazine arrived. There's an article in it by the writer, John Degen, titled "Suffering for One's Art is Romantic, But it's Still Suffering." I agree with much of what he says about arts funding, but here's what got my attention and got my goat, too. (Note the word too at the end of that sentence). He says, and I quote:
"A good novel should take five years from conception to launch."
He goes on to talk about "writing, rewriting, self-editing, finding an agent, (if you are extremely lucky), finding a publisher (see finding an agent), editing again, copy editing, launching and touring."
Maybe he's right, and there are writers who have had to endure an even longer time line; but, that should sticks in my craw. It could be that I don't like his idea of how long it ought to take. because in five years and one month, I'll be sixty eight. That's awfully close to seventy, and I sure hope I finish my novel before I hit the next decade.
There are other people who are saying you should to me. A member of the e-editing circle I joined is quite fond of that little word. You should never end a sentence with 'too,' says he. And, you should never use strange descriptive words. He also listed quite a few, you should not's, but I'm not going to mention them.
I'll think I'll go and break a few writing rules. My errors, if indeed they are errors, can be corrected when I rewrite, and rewrite. But right now, I want to make some, and I need to, too.
Maybe it all started when I was at George Brown College and so many of the people in the Human Services Counsellor course were members of Alcoholics Anonymous. "Don't should on yourself" was one of their favourite expressions. And I still think it's good advice, but I'd like to amend it slightly to include don't 'should on other people either."
The word, or its intent has been popping up frequently. Harper implies that we should all be happy with the budget, since everyone gets a tax cut. Well, if everyone gets a tax cut (and that's not quite accurate) then revenues will fall. And he's got lots of spending plans. Next thing you know, he'll be telling us how necessary it is to raise more money, by cutting frills (read services here, if you are not a Conservative) and increasing private health care.
A few days ago, the latest issue of This Magazine arrived. There's an article in it by the writer, John Degen, titled "Suffering for One's Art is Romantic, But it's Still Suffering." I agree with much of what he says about arts funding, but here's what got my attention and got my goat, too. (Note the word too at the end of that sentence). He says, and I quote:
"A good novel should take five years from conception to launch."
He goes on to talk about "writing, rewriting, self-editing, finding an agent, (if you are extremely lucky), finding a publisher (see finding an agent), editing again, copy editing, launching and touring."
Maybe he's right, and there are writers who have had to endure an even longer time line; but, that should sticks in my craw. It could be that I don't like his idea of how long it ought to take. because in five years and one month, I'll be sixty eight. That's awfully close to seventy, and I sure hope I finish my novel before I hit the next decade.
There are other people who are saying you should to me. A member of the e-editing circle I joined is quite fond of that little word. You should never end a sentence with 'too,' says he. And, you should never use strange descriptive words. He also listed quite a few, you should not's, but I'm not going to mention them.
I'll think I'll go and break a few writing rules. My errors, if indeed they are errors, can be corrected when I rewrite, and rewrite. But right now, I want to make some, and I need to, too.
Monday, May 01, 2006
When in Doubt, Move Furniture or Nudge Golf Balls
Last week I managed to completely avoid working on my fiction. It was WAW Writing Avoidance Week for me. Maybe it could become a national holiday.
I found a lot of other things to do, and in case you want to follow my shining example, I'll give you the short list.
First, I acquired a new internet service provider and then I filed my taxes online, before the deadline. That gives me bonus points because last year, I was a late filer.
Then I rearranged my living room (again) because the shelves I'd moved made me feel hemmed in and besides I needed to vacuum under some furniture, and its spring. That may be the last time I move the shelves for a while, since I'm not sure what's holding them together and I don't want to create ill will in them. I need their support since they hold my writing books and miscellaneous things like the stapler, the stack of evnvelopes and file folders, the paper clip supply,the phone books and my bus map Now they are backed with cork board so I can stick things on them.
My best avoidance activity of the week was mini-golf. I'm not good at it since my ability to judge distances, angles, and elevations is so poor. But blind luck and the ability to distract my worthy opponent led to victory. After 36 holes, I had taken one stroke less than my partner. The mini-golf course has a field behind it and it was receiving an application of manure. Mostly the wind was blowing away from us, but when it blew in the wrong direction my allergic opponent began to sneeze. Maybe I won because I sneezed less. A rematch is very likely, but the number of courses we can choose from is limited.
I also watched a bit of the hockey play-off games. It's time to say farewell to cable television and I've cancelled my Rogers account, but since they haven't yet disconnected me, I'm indulging in an advance bout of nostalgia; after all, why should I wait until the service stops.
I guess I'd better go and put one word after another.
I found a lot of other things to do, and in case you want to follow my shining example, I'll give you the short list.
First, I acquired a new internet service provider and then I filed my taxes online, before the deadline. That gives me bonus points because last year, I was a late filer.
Then I rearranged my living room (again) because the shelves I'd moved made me feel hemmed in and besides I needed to vacuum under some furniture, and its spring. That may be the last time I move the shelves for a while, since I'm not sure what's holding them together and I don't want to create ill will in them. I need their support since they hold my writing books and miscellaneous things like the stapler, the stack of evnvelopes and file folders, the paper clip supply,the phone books and my bus map Now they are backed with cork board so I can stick things on them.
My best avoidance activity of the week was mini-golf. I'm not good at it since my ability to judge distances, angles, and elevations is so poor. But blind luck and the ability to distract my worthy opponent led to victory. After 36 holes, I had taken one stroke less than my partner. The mini-golf course has a field behind it and it was receiving an application of manure. Mostly the wind was blowing away from us, but when it blew in the wrong direction my allergic opponent began to sneeze. Maybe I won because I sneezed less. A rematch is very likely, but the number of courses we can choose from is limited.
I also watched a bit of the hockey play-off games. It's time to say farewell to cable television and I've cancelled my Rogers account, but since they haven't yet disconnected me, I'm indulging in an advance bout of nostalgia; after all, why should I wait until the service stops.
I guess I'd better go and put one word after another.
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