Writing Inspiration
Happy new year! I took a couple of weeks off over the holidays. I started out the month by accepting Nephele Tempest’s December writing challenge, in which you try to find at least fifteen minutes to write every day. It worked exceedingly well for me the first three weeks of the month, by which point I’d met all my writing goals for December and more, so I didn’t feel at all guilty about taking a much-needed vacation from work of all sorts. Like for all writers I know, time off is never just time off. Everything I encounter in the world has the potential to fill the well, inspire me, prompt story ideas, or make me want to be a better writer. That’s one of the reasons I think it’s important to step out of my own head and see what else is out in the world This time, in the deep dark days and nights of winter, I encountered all sorts of things that made me want to write. In no particular order, these included Reading: I read a lot over the holidays. There’s not much I enjoy more than curling up with a great book and a cup of tea or a glass of wine, with nowhere I have to be and nothing else I absolutely have to do. One of the authors I read over the holidays was Mary Balogh. Her historical romances have been auto-buys for me since her Slightly series made me fall in love with Regency romance as a go-to cosy escape read. Mary invariably makes me care about her characters, and every time I realize she’s done that again, it inspires me to write and find ways to do that for my own characters. Watching TV: We’ve been on a bit of a Mad Men kick at our house, late enough to the party to be able to watch straight through from the beginning and still have lots more to catch up on after weeks of returning to it again and again. I’m impressed with the show’s writers’ efforts to show rather than tell. I appreciate writing that respects its audience, and I feel like Mad Men does that. Often, after watching an episode, I am revved up to get some writing done. Exploring: I spent an afternoon wandering through vintage and antique shops, where I always wonder about the story behind the stock. I came home with a blue rhinestone brooch that sparkles in the light and made me happy to look at. There’s a story behind it; I’m sure of it. Also, we found time for a very brief visit to my favourite island over New Year’s, and being there, with the trees and the sea and the stars we can’t ever see in the same numbers in the city, always inspires me to put words on paper. Time with family: I have a teenage daughter, and for most of the holidays this year, I also had my niece staying with us. Every time I feel lazy about writing or consider blowing off planned writing time, I think about them. There’s nothing quite as motivating as knowing your kids are watching every time you make time for – or don’t make time for – your dreams. What inspires you to write? Share...
Happy Holidays
I’m deep into the last-minute preparations – baking, cleaning, wrapping presents – for our family’s Christmas celebrations. But today, I took a couple of hours off to have a hot chocolate with a good friend, and when I got home, a package was waiting for me from another, who lives on the other side of the country from me. Inside? A box of her homemade sponge toffee. It made me teary-eyed when I opened it and saw that she’d taken the time to send a homemade treat from 3500km away. For me, that’s exactly the kind of thing that makes the magic of Christmas. It’s lovely to do nice things for people at any time of year, but there’s something special about a stretch of time in darkest winter when so many people make an effort to be especially kind to one another, to help out, to choose gifts for people they might not regularly have the chance to buy or make things for, to remind the people they love that they love them, to send a handwritten card, to wish each other happiness, to hold a door open for someone laden with packages, and so much more. That’s what this time of year is about for me. To all of you, whatever you celebrate, happy holidays. I wish you magic. Share...
Reflections on This Week
This is going to be a long post, because it’s been a full week in the news already, and it’s only Thursday, and I’ve got a lot on my mind. This American Thanksgiving, I imagine there are a lot of conversations going on at a lot of family dinners about the decision of the Grand Jury not to indict Darren Wilson for the fatal shooting of Michael Brown and the subsequent protests in cities all over North America and the world. I know we’ve been having those conversations at our own dinner table. Whatever your views on this particular case, the fact is that black Americans are statistically far more likely to be killed by police in the USA than white Americans, and that’s a big societal problem that goes far deeper than any one case. (Here’s one look at the numbers, thanks to Jim C. Hines.) I sincerely hope the heightened awareness of the problems that has come out of this leads to positive change. I’ve been feeling for the parents particularly this week. As a parent myself, my biggest worry is keeping my child safe. I’ve been thinking a lot about the parents of teens and young adults of colour in the States, whose base level of fear for their kids has to be so much higher than mine is. I don’t have to raise my child to understand that she might be seen as a threat because of her colour or that the default position of the world around her is to see her as a risk and that that puts her at risk. Parenting is difficult enough without that extra worry, and I wish no one had to suffer it. If you’re struggling to understand what it is to live with that heightened sense of danger, and you have any knowledge at all of Star Trek, Mary Robinette Kowal offers a useful analogy on her blog. *** In other news, former CBC host Jian Ghomeshi has been arrested and charged with sexual assault and is out on bail, ordered to live with his mother. The women who came forward to tell their stories about Jian deserve our thanks. Without their voices, this would not have happened, and Jian could still be working at the CBC, a public figure with access to young women anytime he wanted. It’s extraordinarily brave to speak up about a crime for which our society seems unable to avoid blaming the victim, and I’m proud of all women who voluntarily put themselves on trial on the public stage by doing so. *** Finally, I was very saddened this week by the death of Pat Quinn, former player, coach, president, and GM of the Vancouver Canucks. I’ve often thought that one of the reasons so many people are drawn to their local sports teams, apart from the sport itself, is because of the sense of community they provide. The teams are like our local gladiators, someone to root for, for a community to get behind, when our modern world provides so little opportunity for that kind of large-scale connection with our neighbours. Pat Quinn pretty much single-handedly brought that back to Vancouver in the late eighties and early nineties, an era when hockey was as close to dead as it ever has been in this city, and the echoes of his influence are still heard in the city today. My thoughts are with his family, friends, colleagues, and all the people whose lives he touched through hockey and otherwise. Share...
Day Job Gratitude
Around this time every year, after a couple of months of having every waking minute – and lots of sleeping ones – taken up with my work for the Surrey International Writers’ Conference, the to-do list associated with this year’s event dwindles to a manageable level, and I lift my head and look at the world outside the SiWC box, breathe a little fresh air, get some good sleep, and feel the niggling, aching need to write gathering in my soul. I’m excited to see what comes. But leaping back in the writing pool after a long hiatus is a little scary. Somehow, even though I’ve been here many times before and it always turns out fine, there’s a tiny bit of fear that I’ve forgotten how to swim. So I thought I’d start here with a nice, easy blog post. Besides, I have a giant well of gratitude I need to share. Coordinating SiWC is an amazing privilege. I have made life-long friends doing it, and every October, I get to visit with some of them, meet new ones, and watch all the work I’ve put in for the whole year culminate in four days of learning and connections, camaraderie and inspiration. I love it. It’s exhausting and exhilarating, and I am so very lucky to have it in my life. I’m also uniquely fortunate to be in a position where I get a great deal of feedback about what kind of a job I’m doing. I’ve spent the last few days reading every single one of the evaluation forms turned in by attendees and presenters at this year’s conference, as well as all the emails and blog posts and tweets people have sent or posted. Literally hundreds of people took the time to tell us how the conference was for them, what they loved, which sessions and blue pencils got their wheels turning, what moved them and inspired them, what they’d love to see in future, and more. What an incredible gift that is when you’re trying to do a good job. This year in particular, a huge number of people stopped me while they were still at the conference to say thank you for all the hard work. Isn’t that something? Most of us work alone most of the time. Even if we work in offices or among other people, how often does anyone stop to say, “Thank you. You’re doing a great job”? it’s not something that’s happened to me very often in other jobs I’ve worked, that’s for sure. It’s not that people don’t notice, but it’s not often part of our work culture to express it frequently or even, in some jobs, at all. But the amazing people of SiWC do. They make the effort to say it when they think it. And if they have suggestions for making something better, they tell me that, too. What a gift that is. So to all of you who took the time to say thank you, to share your thoughts, to spread the word about the conference, I say thank you. You make all the hard work worthwhile. In fact, you make me want to work even harder to make SiWC even better for you every year. Sometimes the thank yous I get make me teary-eyed because they’re so touching. That happened more than a couple of times reading the evaluation forms. Some of those comments weren’t meant for public consumption, so I can’t share them here, but two things that made my cry were posted publicly, and I hope you won’t mind me indulging myself by sharing them here. The first was a tweet, posted after the conference by Michele Fogal, who was an awesome volunteer for us this year: The second was this wonderful blog post, written by attendee Amanda Hagarty, whose experience at SiWC was exactly what I hope for when we set to work planning for the year. You can read it here: http://www.amandajunehagarty.com/2014/10/siwc-quite-possibly-best-writers.html Pretty wonderful stuff, at least for me. Thank you again, everyone who attended, volunteered for, talked about, presented at, or was otherwise part of the SiWC community this year. I appreciate you. Share...
Bodies at the Pool
The changing room at my local pool is a busy place. Mums scrub toddlers dry with faded, worn towels, the sort we all hesitate to throw away because they come in so handy for times like these. Little girls stand under forced-air hand dryers mounted high enough on the wall to act as hair dryers, their faces scrunched up against the warm rush of air. They remind me of when I was a kid and would wait my turn to do the same after swimming lessons, reaching up when my turn came to push the big, silver button to start the machine. When it stopped, I’d always wonder if I could get away with pushing it one more time before I relinquished my spot to the next kid in line, my head hot but my hair still wet. Teenagers shower quickly in their suits and disappear into the handful of private cubicles to change behind locked doors. Women my age, having long ago perfected the junior high gym strip dance, manage to change from clothes to bathing suit and back again afterwards without ever revealing much skin. By unspoken agreement, we ignore each other, girls and women, except for the occasional smile exchanged when the little kids do something funny. We are mindful of some of the patrons’ need for privacy where it is scarce. This is not the hockey locker room of my husband’s experience, guys showering naked without giving it a thought, laughing, ribbing each other, and talking while they change. Except for the old ladies. There are a lot of them at my pool. Always have been, my whole life. I have never been to the pool when they have not been there, unselfconsciously walking around naked in the changing room. I am new again to swimming lengths after years away from it, and some of these ladies pass me in the slow lane, their muscles well accustomed to swimming several times a week. They shower joyfully, letting the warm water run freely over their soap-lathered skin, while the rest of us hold our bathing suit tops a little away from our bodies to allow some water in to rinse us off. And then they stand around naked, gossiping with friends. Most of them speak in languages I don’t understand, but I have learned that girl talk sounds much the same in any tongue. They never rush, unwilling to interrupt their conversation by getting dressed. What is most noticeable about them is not their loose skin or sagging breasts, not their wrinkles or soft bellies. In fact, I had to think about the appearance aspect of their nudity when I sat down to write this. What is most noticeable about them is their laughter. They exercise their bodies and then they stand, utterly comfortable in their own skins, and laugh. They are wise. Share...
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