Seven Things You Didn't Know About Me

Fellow writer and blogger, Angela Addams (The Temptress, Cobblestone Press, 2009) nominated me to write on this topic.

I had to think a while since I don't want to reveal anything that would lead you to believe I'm extremely weird. I will admit that I'm odd, but most likely you are too.

The list:

1) I attended a one-room red insul-brick school for my first two years of' 'edumacation' and even when I sat in the front row, I couldn't see a darn thing. In spite of that, I learned to read and kept on reading - see point 2

2) My childhood bedroom was in the basement of my grandparents' house. The cement floor was very cold in the winter and very wet when it flooded every spring. I had an antique console radio in my room. It was large and had tubes inside that glowed in the dark. I was seldom allowed to listen to it late at night so a flashlight and a book became my companions. I don't need to use a flashlight anymore, but I still read in bed.

3) I've had very long hair and very short hair (my current style is pixie-like), curly hair and straight hair, but I've never dyed, tinted or streaked my hair. I am not opposed to doing any of those things. Someday, I might colour my hair. In the meantime I enjoy seeing the colours and styles other members of my family choose to adorn their heads.

4) When I lived in Toronto, I rented out the second bedroom in my apartment in order to almost make ends meet. I did this for quite a few years and my roomies came from exotic places like Jamaica, Somalia, Pakistan, Japan, and Hamilton Ontario. I learned a lot about what you need to tell them.. For example, don't poke at the coils inside the freezer compartment of the ancient refrigerator with a knife - the fridge doesn't like that and it will die. Please, oh please, don't mop the hardwood tiles with water. And finally, don't let your boyfriend in if he has a weapon.

5) I have no piercings anywhere on my body. I do have scars - a very long appendix scar since the surgeons were in a great rush to get inside me and a long scar on my knee.

6) I love baby beef liver and hate cooked cauliflower.

7) Most of my furnishings were given to me or inherited. In fact, if I kept only what I've purchased with my own money I'd have: a piano, a very old stereo, three sets of book shelves and a kitchen table and chairs. Thank goodness I frittered away my fortune in other ways.

Deep dark secret disclosures: I like hearing bad puns, eating real ice cream, rereading Little Women, and watching Johnny Depp in any movie, (even the Pirate movies).

In This World

In this world, a reality starlet had ten well-tended plastic surgeries.

In this world, Haitian children's limbs were cut off with no anesthesia.

In this world, Survivors thrived as a 'reality' television show.

In this world, how many Haitians died no one can know.

Are we one world, as so many now attest?

When the music stops and the stars move on to other causes, other shows

The lost and broken ones move off the screen but they exist

In this world.

A Couple of Books I Recommend

First, a thank-you to the people who responded to my previous post about editors. I'm only annoyed and disappointed when an editor says something vague like - it's not our style. And yes, I do get over my anger. I'm a Cancer sign so that takes time because Cancer people are stubborn, though I prefer to think of us as tenacious.

I hope my brother is tenacious too, he is back in the hospital and we don't know much yet. Writing is hard to do when one's fingers are permanently crossed. Therefore, I decided to mention a couple of books I recommend.

Delivery by Betty Jane Hegerat (Oolichan Books 2009) is an absorbing and sometimes heart-wrenching novel about a young woman who has to decide whether to give away her baby. The baby's grandmother gets involved and then ... no, I can't reveal what happens. Read it. It's excellent.

During my volunteer shelf-reading stint at the library on Wednesday, I discovered Outwitting Writer's Block and Other Problems of the Pen by Jenna Glatzer. It has already given me quite a few laughs and given my current frame of mind, that's no easy task. The book is light-hearted - a rare thing since it's about a serious, or semi-serious subject. It won't ever be classed as "literature", but it's fun to read. Here's a sample quote:

"You decide Real Writers would never stare at a blank page for three days. .... You are defective ....Don't think I'm going to correct you. ...If I weren't so defective in the first place I'd probably never be a writer ... But the world needs us weirdos. If we didn't write about the glorious lives of bag ladies, mountain climbers, misfits, barflies, and homecoming queens, who would? So, go right ahead and be defective and write anyway."

I haven't finished the book yet, but I found more to giggle about this morning, and more motivation too.

Write.

The Editor as Black Hat and Sometimes, White Hat.

In very old western movies, the bad guys were easy to identify and were known as black hats. Sometimes, editors must be bad guys. I wore my black hat on Boxing Day weekend when I took on the role of gunslinger/editor and shot down long confusing sentences. They were not my sentences but it was not an easy task. I feared I would be ambushed by the obscure jargon which lurked amidst the already complex language thickets of a long report. I was also afraid that my client wouldn't accept all of the many changes I had made. Fortunately she accepted almost all of them and I became the good guy, white hat, this time.

It is far easier to edit other people's writing, especially non-fiction writing than it is to edit my own fiction. Some of the fiction rejections I received recently have offered comments. My first reaction to any negative comment received in a rejection letter is always anger. Yes, I know, that's not the way to respond. I'm working on it, and I'll continue to work on my stories too.

It's a new year and there is hope.

Season of Hope

It is the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. At the moment, the light in my living room comes from my small Christmas tree-of-hope in one corner by the window and the sweet grass candle on my dining room table. I light this candle when I want to concentrate on sending good thoughts into the universe and as the sky grows ever darker and night draws in to surround me; I remember that tomorrow the day will be longer and I hope for many things.

I hope that my family members will find work to sustain them. I hope that two of my long-time friends will also find work to sustain them. I hope that a very dear friend's mother will be given more grace and favour time to be with those she loves. I hope that my brother's health continues to improve.

Yes, I hope for the greater good too. World peace, an end to hunger, and the realization that this small blue globe is fragile and needs our immediate care.

I will be hoping and praying for these things this evening.

As my pagan friend says "Blessed be."

May all your hope trees bear sweet fruit.

Season of Darkness. Season of Lights

As I type this, the snow is falling thick and fast. The roads are slippery and some sidewalks are invisible. There was a vicious wind this morning when I went out to gather just a few things and lugged two heavy bags full of treats back to my cave - and it isn't even winter yet. I know why our ancestors almost hibernated at this time of year, and why they put weight on in the fall. I think it's ingrained, that instinct to eat and eat because who knows when the next mastodon will pass by. So, I will enjoy my treats, in moderation, and postpone regrets until the weather improves, or until I forget to regret, whichever comes first. After all, it's gloomy out there. It gets dark enough now to need lights on in my apartment by four-thirty in the afternoon and sometimes even earlier.

For me, lights are an essential part of the celebration and the anticipation of return of the sun after the shortest day of the year ends. I do my best to conserve energy, but I must have Christmas tree lights, and lights on in my living space when the skies are grey and the weatherman predicts still more greyness in the days ahead. By 5:30, my lights will be on and they will stay on until it's time for me to go to sleep. There are incandescent lights on the Christmas tree, in my reading lamp and in the ceiling fixture over the dining room table. The rest of the lights are those wriggly energy-saving bulb thingies, and daylight fluorescent tubes in the kitchen. They do not please me.. Incandescent lights give a warmth that other types of lighting don't provide.

Besides, incandescent is an inspiring word, "intense in feeling, expression, ardent," according to the Oxford Canadian Dictionary. I need all the inspiration I can get.

Enjoy the season of lights.

Tiny Reasons for Happiness

Christmas is approaching rapidly. Somehow, as soon as December arrives the days are too short for all the things I think I should do. So I pick some 'want to do" things and let the rest go. I want to say a bit about happiness which is often a fleeting thing but always welcome when it pays a visit. Sometimes the reasons for my happiness are tiny.

For instance, the appearance of a charming and peaceful eight-week-old baby at our condominium Christmas party and my ability to use the tiny (and tinny) keyboard to play Christmas music at the party. I also used a tiny bit of self-deprecating humour to get people to relax and sing along with me.

Then, there's the word itself. "Tiny"" is short and not appealing to the ear, except when used by The Viking in this phrase. "She's a tiny woman, like you." I am not a 98 pound weakling or wonder. I'm a middle of the road woman, with a middle. But, I'd never disagree him. It's too delightful to hear him say those words and they always make me smile.

How can I apply the theme of this post to my writing life. Well, there has been a tiny bit of progress in the last three months. I wrote a short story ( It needs revisions and I will get to them.) I edited a couple of articles for my daughter and also had one paid assignment. Tiny things all, but still, they are good things.

I wish you good things, both tiny and large, for the holidays.

Harper - No Life Jacket, Lots of Lies

It's a weird ol' world, ain't it? The Prime Minister accuses his parliamentary opponents of slagging the Canadian Armed Forces. They didn't. Before that, he accused a Canadian senior bureaucrat of being both incompetent and a liar. From all reputable reports, the bureaucrat is competent and was forwarding information he had received.

Today, there is a picture of Harper at sea, in a small boat. He is not wearing a life jacket. I can only wonder what lie he will tell about this mistake, and who he will blame. At the moment, I wish he was far out at sea in a small boat, without a life jacket, and alone. I will try to get over feeling this way about our supposed leader, whose actions indicate that he knows only how to attack and doesn't know how to lead by example or by working with others, but it won't be an easy task for me. Maybe the Christmas spirit will find me, and find Mr. Harper too. I sure hope so.

Aim High. Fall on Butt. Get Up. Try Elsewhere

I followed Margaret Springer's advice. "I will do my best work and send it to the top appropriate markets, working down from there as ncessary. (Otherwise I'll never know how good I am)."

So, in the last three weeks, I've had three rejections from major literary short story markets (in Canada). It ain't no fun, but I've accepted them and my next goal is to get the stories out again.

Not this weekend though, since the weather is perfect and The Viking and I will spend time together. I'll start on Monday - that seems appropriate.

My Wild, Weird and Wet Week

I've had more than a week's worth of wildness, weirdness and water. It's been like a roller coaster ride, and while I enjoy roller coasters, I appreciate them more from a distance. So, here's what has happened since my last post.

First, I heard the great news about my brother's health. The major surgery and all the treatments he endured have put him among the 5% of people who beat the odds. It was a terrific birthday present for him and for all of us. And after that there was more good news. The Viking has to have a nasty test periodically and his results were fine. Hooray for our side and all that.

I almost didn't get depressed when I received another rejection note, because - I had aimed high - and I received interesting advice. However, I was fretting and holding my breath for another reason. My daughter and son-in-law were in negotiations to sell their business. it got complicated, way too complicated, and communications were a big problem. I continued to fret about their situation until 4:45 Thursday morning when there was a loud knocking at my door.

If that had happened when I lived in my old apartment in Toronto, I would have known it was a drunk person and would have ignored it. However, if there are drunks in this building, they don't roam the halls, so I went to the door. The man who lives below me wanted to know if I had water in my laundry room. Oh boy! did I, and it was seeping toward the living room. We looked at the ceiling in the laundry room and discovered water was dripping down through the air conditioning duct system, or from somewhere else above me. I grabbed my mop and pail and got to work. I thought I was making headway and then the drip got faster and faster. So I had to mop faster and faster and faster. It was still coming down and I wondered what on earth had happened above me. After a time, my neighbour returned and told me a hot water heater two floors above me had burst and they were waiting for the plumber. I mopped some more, then the head came off the mop (probably in protest at the abuse it was taking), I popped it back in and continued. My arms and my back and arms were aching by then, but I didn't dare stop. Finally at about 6:30 the wet invasion ended and I made progress. By 7 a.m. no more water was arriving and I had mopped up everywhere. But, water had seeped under a corner of the living room carpet.

For two long days and two long nights, I had an industrial dehumidifier and fan running constantly. Everything is dry now, but I have something else to worry about. What about my hot water heater?

There was good news at the end of the week though. My daughter and son-in-law have sold their business. What's next. They don't know yet and neither do I, but I'm sure it will be good.

I hope for a calm week ahead with no more flooding and lots of writing time.

Mail Oddities

No, it doesn't say male oddities. That's another subject and I have only limited experience with certain kinds of male oddities. Never you mind.

So, about mail, real mail that is. The kind that comes in an envelope and is delivered by a mail carrier. I have received a weird selection of things over the last few days.

First, I got a letter from one of the banks about a RIF cheque that had been issued to my friend, The Bear, in 2000 and never cashed. I found a lot of uncashed cheques in The Bear's apartment when I took over his affairs, but I didn't find that one. I am amazed that the bank has offered to reissue it. However, I filled in the required paperwork and sent it in. If I receive a replacement cheque, I'll be re-amazed.

Then, I found one of my self-addressed stamped envelopes returned by certain Canadian literary journal. I knew right away it contained a rejection because I could see the tiny little slip of paper inside. So, I have another "no" slip to add to my growing pile but the thing is, I can't discover what I sent to them. Normally I write down my submissions in three places, sigh. I know I'll figure it out, it's probably a late, late, late, reply, but I can't figure out why that little envelope took over two weeks to arrive according to the post mark. Maybe it came by lame pony express, or maybe the mail sorters (out of luck writers?) knew what was in it and decided to delay the bad news.

I never expect mail to be swift but once in a great while, I'm surprised. I was surprised today, because I ordered four books from Chapters/Indigo on Monday - ship by regular mail - and they were outside my apartment door today (Thursday). The books wouldn't fit in my mailbox and I wasn't home, so the mail carrier, who is male, brought them upstairs. I don't know if it's legal to do that but he did. Now I have four Christmas presents on hand, but they're not for the males in my life.

Also, today I also received another book in the mail from a friend. "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society" is a wonderful title and I'm looking forward to reading the book.

The last item in the mail was a cheque for a little bit of technical writing I completed last week. Things go in streaks, so probably next week there will be nothing in my mail box except bills.

Have you received any good or weird mail?

A BILLION Hungry People - No Media Frenzy

In this morning's newspaper, the UN food agency reports that the number of hungry people has increased to 1.2 BILLION and will continue to rise if the right kind of help is not given. The short article about this appears on the World News page (page 7) rather than on the front page where I think it belongs. There is no editorial addressing this either. The paper does have a local focus, but this issue is so huge, and growing, that I think it should have had a lot more attention.


Has hunger in other parts of the world become just a background noise that we can ignore? After all we have heard the refrain so often. "People are starving in ________.
" Well," some folk say, "we send food, and then more food. and things never improve , why don't they help themselves?" I understand why they say that but, that response ignores a lot of factors like wars, displacement, prolonged drought and the fact that agricultural aid to increase food production has dropped.


When I donate money towards world hunger, as I did today, after reading the newest numbers, I choose agencies that work toward long term results, like The Mennonite Central Committee's Food for All program. My point is a lot more people might do that if they knew the benefits.


Shouldn't we take care of our own first? That's something I've heard people say too. So, what about local hunger? Food banks in our area report that demand has increased because of higher unemployment and other factors. The Thanksgiving food drive hasn't reached it's goal yet. My daughter and son-in-law's business participated this year, as they did last year. The amount of food they collected from their customers was slightly lower this year (847 pounds), but since they have fewer customers due to the economic downturn, I'd say they had a good result, although they had hoped for more donations. A local church offered a free Thanksgiving meal and had record numbers of diners. I am not surprised, since people on assistance (government income support programs like workfare and ODSP) often have a very hard time paying for both rent and food. These are the very same people that are accused of spending all their money on drink and cigs. I can tell you from experience - most recipients of government assistance don't do that. Yet, the myth endures.


Meanwhile, the media give us more and more infotainment (sorry, I hate the word, but that's what they call it) and less and less hard news.

Maybe it's our fault. We don't want to hear about it and it doesn't sell papers, or make people click on Internet ads. Are the people that run the publishing conglomerates right and what we want is more fake news - the latest about the celebrities of the moment? Or, could the real news actually sell?

Techno-Wonders?

I don't own more than an average amount of technology and some of what I have is obsolete. My stereo receiver and turntable were purchased in about 1986. They still work, but I can't tune in CBC Radio One on the FM band, though CBC Radio Two reception is fine. When my AM-FM clock radio stopped working, I found a new one at crappy Tire. The price? A whopping $9.00, tax included. The radio is in the bedroom, close to the window and it picks up the CBC Radio One signal clearly. The radio was made in China, as was my previous one which was only two years old when it died. It's impossible to buy small electronic items that are made in Canada. Everything is made off-continent. I wonder how long my new radio will last, and I wonder about a couple of other things, too.

If e-books are the way of the future, and many people believe they are, then how often would one have to buy a new device to read the books, and if the device dies, don't the stored books die with it?

I don't want to read a book using an electronic device - give me the real book My favourite way to read the printed word is on paper. In fact, I just subscribed to the local newspaper because I don't want to read it online. Also, if the local television station folds and it might as cable wars continue. I want a reasonably current source of local information.

How much am I contributing to environmental degradation? Paper can be recycled. Little is said about the cost of disposing of dead electronic stuff. Then there's the Internet - you seldom see much info about the enormous amounts of energy that are required to run it and other electronic devices - Crackberries and the like.

I'm glad I have access to the Internet, however, if I had to, I could live without it. But I absolutely must have my books.

Profit and Cheeeezies

My daughter and I had a chat a couple of days ago and one of the things she said made me think about how I interact with money. She said left-wing people ( she knows I lean to the left) often see 'profit' as a bad thing. I can't speak for others on the left, but I know businesses need to make money and since my daughter and her husband run a business, I certainly hope that it will be successful enough to make a profit.

But ......

I think small businesses, such as the one my son-in-law and daughter run are often far more ethical then public corporations. First of all, treating your employees well by paying a reasonable wage and offering what benefits you can afford is the right thing to do. It also makes good business sense to participate in your community and be a good business citizen. "Doing it right' will not necessarily generate a quick profit, or any profit at all, in the beginning - aye, there's the rub. But, I believe that over the long haul a good business reputation is worth a lot.

"Soulless corporations" used to be a left-wing expression. I haven't heard it much lately though it still has value. Why? A publicly owned corporation has only one purpose and that is to make money for its shareholders. People who own shares had grown accustomed to getting larger and larger dividends, no matter what, so solid long-term investments that would provide a lower rate-of-return were scorned. Big fish swallowed little fish and were in turn swallowed by even bigger (and sometimes mythical ) fish, On and on it went, Then the market crashed and there was a lot of talk about regulations, but little if anything has been done to change things.

Greed, not profit, is the dirty word here.

How does all this apply to writing?Well, think of a best selling writer whose book is like a bag of Cheezies. You pay more for it than it's worth, perhaps because so many others are reading it and you want to be au courant. After you finish it, you're left with orange fingers, and maybe a stomach ache, but little or no substance. Then, the writer produces another Cheezie, because, after all, the first one did so well, he has already has the template and why not take the easy way out and reuse it. The product reaches the shelves quickly but maybe a third one doesn't sell as well as the first two.

However; there are the authors who write books that stay in your mind for years. Often, they don't sell that many books, but their readers are not disappointed, they are sustained, maybe even changed by what they have read.

I'd rather write something lasting than write a Cheezie and if my work should happen to make a profit, I'll happily accept my share.

Word On The Street - in the library and in the park

On Saturday morning, Margaret Atwood read at the downtown library. The auditorium was full. Nancy and I watched her on live video in another room. M.A. was witty and enjoyable. I'm not sure if a certain local television personality, who asked her a couple of questions afterward, would agree, but since his tone of voice was somewhat patronizing (we older women are sensitive to those things) he shouldn't have been surprised when she zapped him for being inaccurate. Many of her anecdotes are obviously well-honed but they work well. She also talked about the emergence of CanLit and how little of it there was before 1960.

An acquaintance told me that M.A. signed books for an hour and a half after the reading and was very gracious to everyone who had waited in line.

If you are interested in what writers wear to these events, here's what M.A. had on - a long tunic top, pants, and flat black oxford-type shoes - not memorable, but very comfortable. Since she is on an exhausting multi-city tour to promote her latest book, I'm sure comfort is important.

Sunday afternoon, we went to the Word on the Street event in Victoria Park. The weather was uncertain, which may have kept some people away. But, there was a good crowd and lots of exhibitors. The New Quarterly had a booth and so did Brucedale Press. I was glad to discover that Brucedale Press is doing well, in spite of the current economic downturn. (They publish work about the Bruce Peninsula area, by writers from 'the Bruce' and environs.) There were two booths with information about Islam, and one booth with information and books on creationism. There was an adult authors' tent, and a children's authors tent where writers gave readings. The writers' collective from the library also had a tent where some members read from their work. The local paper, The Record, had a tent too. Reporters and editors answered questions and talked about journalism. That's where Nancy and I spent most of our time, because she wanted more information about the journalism profession.

I collected a couple of freebies. Zoomer magazine is much better than I expected it would be, now that Moses Znaimer is President and CEO of the Canadian Association of Retired People. The slogan: You've aged differently. Now read differently. I think Moses would also like to change CARP's name, and will stand by for that. I also picked up a copy of Grand magazine, a glossy locally-focused mag which has almost 20,000 circulation. It's purty all right, but I wouldn't subscribe to it.

Before we left the park, I bought a new Word on the Street tee-shirt and tote bag. Both for only $10.00, tax included. I'm happy that I could help support WOTS.

There is also a theatre festival going on in town, from Sept 24 to October 3, Impact 09. I didn't know about it until Friday when I was in City Hall and noticed a sign for the 24 hour play writing competition. Several writers were at work in the rotunda. I applaud them for their ability to work in such a public setting, but have no idea how they manage to do it.

As for my own writing, well, I drafted a new story this month and have also revised and sent out a couple of my older stories. So, I've completed part of the list that stares at me from my bulletin board. It's time to get back to work.

Back-seat Writers

My daughter and I had a long chat earlier this week. She was in a jokey mood. Imagine if we all lived with you, she said. We could all sit on the chesterfield and watch you write.I laughed but that scared me. Then, I imagined what else she might say and that was worse. It would go something like this:

Before long, we would be asking when we could read the next page. We could offer our opinions. We could chant - is it ready yet? Whenever you gaze into space, or play games, or just generally fart around we could scold you. We would ask you why you have a fetish about putting your submissions in particular mail box and why you check your emails six times a day. We would ask you why you spend so much time on your short stories, when everyone knows almost no one reads short stories anymore, and why you haven't returned to your novel. And - when are you going to write something funny again. We want more silliness.

It was like having a nightmare while awake. Back-seat writers.

As it happens, I have been productive this week, I've drafted a new short story and tuned up an old one and sent it out again. Maybe if I imagine a chorus of back seat writers urging me on, I'll be able to keep up the pace. Then again, maybe not. The muse is fickle and I may have to bribe her. Bribe suggestions are welcome.

Trust Ye Not The Leprechaun

For verily, I say unto you, ye shall be disappointed. Yon wee leprechaun hath disguised himself as ye federal Minister of Finance and calleth himself Flaherty. He hath not the gold that was taken from us. Let it be known to all those present that he hath spent it all, and mountains more. The weaver of fairy tales, for indeed such they are, had prophesied that all would be well in ye True North, that the vassals would suffer not, nor would they have to pay more evil tax. For taxes be an abomination unto him who sayeth he writeth the budget. Though, truth be told 'tis his master, Harper his ownself, who commandeth him.

Let the edict go forth into all the lands. Let the writ be dropped. Elect him again, we shall not.

(I hopeth)

No Grumbles Day

Today is a no grumbles day. It's important to have one of those, every once in a while. Some good things have happened lately. Herewith, a few of them, in no particular order:

My brother's grueling series of treatments is nearly finished. His courage continues to amaze me.

There were no bills in my mailbox today, and since I pay my bills and The Bear's bills, I'm happy about that.

I found a long-sleeved peach coloured cotton blouse on sale for $10.00, Bargains give me a little thrill.

The Bear's accountant has almost finished the tax return and has suggested another way to save tax dollars next year.

I received a belated birthday present - a Chapters gift certificate, and yes, I used it. I love going to bookstores, especially when I have money.

I finished revising a story this week and hope to get cracking on another one later today.

The weather is perfect today. We have had a lot of rain this summer and now - it is not too hot, not too cold, not too humid, and the sun is shining. Perfect!

Taking it Personally

I've often been told I take everything too personally and that is certainly one of my many faults. One of my other faults is being stubborn and that brought results this month. I guess I need to apply that persistence to my writing. But by now you probably wonder what I'm talking about. I'm referring to finally receiving the Guaranteed Income Supplement (GIS), which is added to the Old Age Security payment for Canadian pensioners who are eligible. Ah yes, "eligible" as defined by our dear government and receivable - when they get around to it. Notice that part. I became eligible based on my 2008 taxable income which was minuscule, but I didn't receive any payment until this month (August). Why? Because the government does not look at the income tax reported by pensioners until June and they only consider those tax forms once a year (in June).

While I'm grateful to have the added income, I can't help but wonder why it took so long. After all, Revenue Canada would swiftly track me down if I owed any money. So the government's slow response irks me, but unless I want to start a protest movement there's nothing I can do about it except grumble, and tell you this. Don't let any senior you know (parent, friend, person-in-the-street) take money from their Registered Retirement Savings Account in order to survive until they are eligible for the GIS. 'Tis better to borrow than to use one's savings. You have been warned.

Don't Go In There Alone 2 Laundrygate

My dear friend, The Viking, often tells the addicts he listens to not to spend too much time alone with their thoughts.

"It's scary in there," he says,

He's right, but I believe writers have to go into their mental attics often, if they are to produce anything real and lasting.

I've been in this world for a lot of years and there's a huge pile of stuff in my attic. Some of it is useful, some of it is gratifying, some of it is boring, some of it is mean-spirited (more on that later) and some of it is terrifying. I could easily get lost in there - I suppose that supports The Vikings point - but I always return.

Sometimes what I find distresses me. I was not happy to discover that I resent the success of other writers (I mean the bad ones) or to find out that my perfectionist tendencies are even more pronounced that I had believed.

Still, I have to go in there. It's where I find the best stuff for my work. I completely understand why many writers found it necessary to over-drink, or use other substances as a way to 'get in,' 'be in the zone," and cope with/ use what they find. However, for me, the larger problem is returning to the 'real' world. That's probably why if I have only half an hour for work, very little happens. Well, that's my excuse.

How do you 'get in' and how do you get out again?

On a lighter note, there is laundrygate. My friend (and my responsibility), The Bear, is in a supported-living retirement facility. Nine pieces of his laundry have not been returned. The articles went to the laundry on Wednesday. He has quizzed the staff relentlessly and thinks that they should have to replace his clothes, if the clothes don't return - immediately. I'm glad that was his only complaint today.