On Writing or The Freedom to Emit Brain Farts

Someone borrowed a number of writing books from me last year and has yet to return them, but has been kind enough to quote advice from one of them: On Writing by Stephen King.

The advice goes something like this:

You take two totally unconnected headlines or news stories and create the plot for a story or novel.

Today's CBC on-line headlines:

Marriages of convenience problems persist

Obama: 'India has emerged'

The melding of these two could lead to a story about massive immigration problems for the Indian sub-continent.  Just imagine all those Indian men being tempted by economic refugee women desperate for a better life.  Imagine the birth rate that could result.  Remember that India has a caste system and no one-child policy to prevent a population explosion.  And what about the social problems caused by the skyrocketing divorce rate.

My father married a woman from Czechoslovakia ... a Hungarian by birth ... who thought he was a rich Canadian.  (He was on an expense account and lonely on his annual three month business trip.)  The marriage lasted a year or so and then they began to split the assets.  She got half the record collection of  Shakepearean plays; he got half the wine glasses they had received for Christmas; she didn't like Shakespeare and he drank only whiskey.  It was not an amicable break-up.

Now try setting that in India in an age of computers.  An American hard hit by the recession meets an Indian man on-line.  They marry as soon as she arrives.  He has cleaned himself up for the occasion, but in real life he is of low caste and living in poverty.  Their honeymoon results in a pregnancy and by the time she learns that he doesn't even own the computer he used to propose, she is trapped on the sub-continent.  No credit card.  No return ticket. Nothing but a worthless American passport.  And no help to be had from her embassy because India has "emerged".

What does she do?
Imagine their conjugal life.
She hates him, the country and her life ... and she especially hates Obama for giving her the news that India had emerged ... until he told her, she had no idea where India was, let alone that it was submerged or encapsulated ...

So how will the story end?
Madness?     Murder?      Infanticide?     Political assassination?    Suicide?

Almost like the last scene of Hamlet which my father's ex-wife probably never managed to discover.

Or maybe you believe in happy endings.  Try to find one here.  She's probably wandering the crowded streets of Delhi among the revered Brahmin cattle, hand outstretched, mumbling, "Where's the beef?" 


The other two headlines contain gems of stories when examined singly.  Whatever might happen if they were combined?

Pope met by gay protesters in Spain
Oops!  They were wrong about him.

Queen Elizabeth joins Facebook
However will she learn to write in disjointed splurts at her age?  Or maybe dementia has already set in and this is her answer to the problem?

And together?

A Facebook correspondence between the two conducted on their walls for all the world to see.  And by god,  they have high speed, so the correspondence could be voluminous.  At least it's not likely to spawn a marriage of convenience or unwanted babies.

... and then there was the article that arrived in my in-box this morning ... all about how laptops are frying testicles ...

Just imagine how that piece of information might make its way into either of these stories.

You can see why I have abandoned my Nanowrimo attempts.

I do wish I had my Stephen King book back though.  I miss it.  Maybe I could get some more ideas to play with.  God knows I need something.

Something I Learned This Evening

Nolan and I went for dinner at David and Beck's (Pat's older son and daughter-in-law's) and I read an interesting article in The Guardian about how fiction is dying and morphing into non-fiction. Wiser heads than mine have accepted the fact that my Nanowrimo novel is not a complete anomaly after all ... in fact it is part of a growing trend to mix autobiography and other non-fiction with invented bits to create a new kind of fiction. Whoo! And here I thought I was just incompetent ... that I started with no idea at all and so had to rely on what was there in my life in order to write anything at all! What a relief!

Nolan and I visited Pat this morning and again this afternoon when we took her a large container of soup I had made for her so that she could eat real food again. Yesterday she was so doped up on morphine that she kept dozing off in mid-sentence. It was very worrying. Today she was in far better shape mentally and I managed to massage cream into both feet and one hand in between visits from a variety of friends, her two grandsons who come every day and wreak havoc (1 1/2 and 3 1/2 ... sweet little boys), and various medical people who pop in and out often.

Tomorrow another Canadian friend from the same era that Pat and I were good friends will be coming for a few days. Claire lives in Peterborough and is enroute to Amsterdam to visit family.

Pat will have surgery in a different hospital on Monday and will return to her home as soon as they feel she is able. This surgery will clean up any remaining infection between the lung and the rib cage and will allow them to ascertain whether there is any cancer in that lung. Then she will be able to undergo chemotherapy once she has recovered from the operation.

I am having a good time ... being with Pat ... spending time with Nolan ... getting to know her family again ... it's all good. Pat and I tease one another and Nolan ... and Ethan, her older grandson asks me for kisses and chooses me to tell him his bedtime story. Tonight I got to read about Pooh and Piglet trying to trap the Heffalump. He is a very gentle little boy and I feel privileged. The baby, Joe, is more direct in his demands and VERY noisy ... but after a good long visit to the park in the rain, he was a dear too.

This is a very short visit but I will leave knowing that Pat is being very well cared for and wonderfully loved by family and friends. If I hadn't come I'd have been worried that she might need me here. Now that I have seen for myself that she is absolutely cocooned in love and that she is getting excellent medical care, I feel much better about things.

I have been watering plants, sketchbooking and journaling in between visits ... no knitting time at all so far. I think I'll take my knitting with me tomorrow. And now it is midnight and I need my bed ... as any of you who know me well will understand ... this is way past my bedtime.

Nanowrimo

I have decided that my blog posts for the months of November will be my daily writing for the novel writing contest; that you can all witness my messes and first draft scribblings ... and perhaps my fall from grace as I fail to balance all the elements of life: teaching, painting, writing, house building, dogs, social obligations, and medical appointments. I expect November to become a strange juggling act in which writing is the least important activity, but the activity that could be the only sane and centering one.

I will start on Sunday morning. During the first week I have a class at Carleton, three hours of teaching, a trip to Montreal, an appointment to get my hair cut, and a wedding to attend. For those of you who live in the city, have jobs, and are not almost seventy, all this may seem inconsequential ... but for me this week looms as ridiculously full. Stay tuned.

Update on Chaos

My life continues to be overloaded ... not unpleasantly ... but I do not deal well with overload.

I have decided to hang on to my old Toyota and have scheduled her next oil and tire change. Must deal with a couple of bodywork things before winter as well.

I have accompanied Yashiko on two excursions, the second one to the lake where we had coffee and banana bread and took Kenya for a walk around the lake. Beforehand we photographed tourists on the steam train and wandered through the cars. I found myself (with a Japanese camera) photographing an old Japanese tourist taking photos with her cell phone of Canadian tourists. I loved my time with Yashiko.

Tomorrow I start work (9 hours over three weeks) with Eberhart, a German student who is determined to learn English because he can no longer count on the language proficiency of his wife since they have recently separated. We will hike with the Wakefield hikers tomorrow. Kenya will be pleased. I hope Eberhart likes dogs.

Tomorrow evening I will have a couple of neighbours for dinner. Tom (Clare's widower) needs such breaks from his solitary existence. He goes daily to the cemetery.

Today I messed up the amphibious chair I am doing for the silent auction donation and so have been fixing the mistakes off and on all day. I also did a run to Reno Depot to buy an outdoor lamp for Peter to install. I hope that Thursday, Friday and the weekend are peaceful days because the following week is going to be hectic.

Sketchbooking on Tuesday, Eberhart on Wednesday, a trip to Montreal on Thursday, Julie and Pat's wedding (and so a hair appointment beforehand) on Saturday ... and, of course, Nanowrimo all of November!

It is becoming increasingly clear to me that Nanowrimo may fall off the rails ... or my sanity will.

Oh ... forgot to mention ... I have been asked to produce a custom chair for La Source/The Well on Somerset ... the Anglican day centre for women ... to accompany the two wonky women they have already purchased ... one that incorporates their name and logo ... I am really looking forward to working with them ... after Christmas!

Too Too Busy ... but Wired

Two days ago the straw that breaks backs fluttered into view and settled on our lake. Rowboat Flo's daughter's Honda CRV with a For Sale sign on it is parked at Flo's cottage. I need a 4WD vehicle. The make of choice is the Honda CRV. She is asking a reasonable price for a vehicle in very good shape. I liked test driving it, even though I had to dust off my hot rodding standard shift skills as I took it over rough roads with steep hills and sharp corners. Unfortunately my old Toyota is still running fine. It is now ugly and dusty and filled with dog hair and sand, and it has a few bumps and bruises caused by my ineptitude when I park, one skid on ice, and the suicidal tendencies of a local doe, but generally speaking it works well. However; my road demands far more of a vehicle in the bad seasons than this low slung Toyota sedan can muster. I still have not decided.

On Wednesday evening the language school called ... I have some teaching gigs ... the first happened yesterday. My task was to entertain Yoshika, an 84 year old Japanese woman who puts most of us to shame physically (she still skiis, hikes, and dives ... and is a tireless traveler). She proved to be a really interesting companion. She is an artist and calligrapher whose work hangs in Japan's national galleries as well as in European museums and galleries. We visited artists and potters and then settled in at Le Hibou for coffee where we enjoyed wonderful service, food and ambiance. Our coffee table which was an old door painted with flowers on the panels sat between two comfortable old couches. We hope to see one another once more this weekend when I bring her up to the lake for tea.

While we were gadding about in the rain we went to Art de la Paix where Kelly informed me that she has been asked to donate something for a silent auction in Chelsea. She wants to donate one of my chairs, but she wants to keep a constant supply in the shop. I promised to paint a little faster ... stupid promise, I know.

I am feeling overwhelmed by the car decisions, by Kelly's insistence on MORE and still MORE, by the money-gobbling habits of this house and the ever-presence of Peter (can't even use my upstairs bathroom while he is around because the scaffolding climbs the front wall of the house), by the new demands of River Echo (isn't that a lovely name?), and by my reckless decision to accept the Nanowrimo challenge of producing a 50,000 word first draft of a novel in the month of November ... the same month I begin my sketchbooking course. I awaken from nightmares about having accidents with cars I am test driving to musings about chair designs. Last night I was up at 2 drinking cocoa with French stick pieces dunked in it in the vain hope that I would be able to return to bed to sleep till morning.

Kenya accompanied me downstairs, accepted a bit of turkey as a middle-of-the-night snack, and then sleepily followed me back upstairs. She was sound asleep while I pecked away here at the keyboard, absolutely wired.

In spite of all my protestations about feeling overwhelmed by life, it is also exhiliarating to be meeting artists and travelers, to be attending storytelling performances by the best in the business (I did tell you about Ivan Coyote's performance on Monday evening, didn't I?) and to eat in a restaurant that combines the best of everything a restaurant should offer. I feel very alive ... if exhausted.

And it is gratifying to be in demand ... and appreciated. Imagine! Kelly has a whole store filled with beautiful things by real artists ... and she wants to showcase one of my pieces. But I have to be careful ... I don't have skill ... just a beginner's enthusiasm ... and that could be destroyed by being pressured to become an assembly line producer, especially now that I cannot work outdoors so cannot use alkyd primer as a base on the difficult chairs.

In the midst of all this turmoil, my first great grand daughter arrived. She is Lindsay and Johnnie's first child, Deb's first grandchild, and the first great niece for Zoom, Mud Mama and Techwood (and that's just a fraction of the family this baby has joined) ~TA DA~ a big welcome to little Chelsea Katherine ~TA DA~ who was born two nights ago. There is a wonderful welcome on Zoom's blog (knitnut.net) for this tiny little soul (5 pounds 9 ounces) with the long legs and arms and red hair. I can only add my genuine delight and echo Zoom's feelings ... and vow, as she has, to get my own baby sweater pieces sewn together.

Madness ...

I think I may be mad ... November is looking like the busiest month of my life ... and I have just signed up for NaNoWriMo (http://www.nanowrimo.org) ... the crazy marathon writing spree in which one contracts to write 50,000 words in a month. I don't even have any idea what I will write ... I don't want to cheat and use something I've already worked on ... but this is completely insane ... I don't have a single idea about characters, plot, setting or plot!

I think I will likely write in a variety of places ... here at my regular computer ... on my laptop at different cafes like Le Hibou ... in my writing journal ... dunno where else.

I am pike-lake-oma if you are looking for a writing buddy ...

Today I had a pleasant lunch with a former student ... from way back in the seventies ... and then I bought a case of wine and picked up furniture Carlos and Tamarak have been collecting for me, and groceries. By the time I got home, unloaded the car, loaded the wheelbarrow and got everything put away I had had it for the day.

Tomorow I will make a cake and a special dinner for Zoom's birthday ... it will be fun to see Zoom, GC and James ... it has been a while since they have been here at the lake and they will have a chance to see the cedar board and batten as far as it has progressed.

Lita Belle's Hope Chest

Lita Belle has a hope chest ... not one filled with linens and silver for her eventual marriage ... more like a safe place her mother will store mementoes as she grows from babyhood through childhood until she reaches an age when her mother will pass these precious memories onto her. The letter I wrote to accompany her chair is in there. I was touched ... and it gave me an idea.

All the pieces I make come with a short description ... a history. I looked at the little cradle that is still a work in progress and decided to take a break from painting to write the history. It turned into a story ... one that I hope some parent or grandparent will treasure and save for another little Lita Belle. Here it is.

The Story of the Sleepytime Cradle

This cradle came via friends from a garage sale in Old Hull ... one of those places that have sales every weekend. It is made of plywood and I imagine that some father or grandfather made this for a treasured child for her birthday or Christmas many years ago. It was stained dark and was quite rough around the edges. I decided that it needed to be lightened up. It needed a story.

I prepared the surfaces and painted on two coats of periwinkle blue. Then I began to think about the images. I wanted it to be a story for a little girl who resisted sleep, one that would encourage her to welcome bedtime.

Here is my story, but of course images create many stories, not just one. I imagined a little girl tucking her doll babies in before slipping into her own bed for the night. I hoped that this would become part of her own bedtime ritual, and that she would delve into the stories she heard and into her own imagination to create her own stories, ones that would help her to have sweet dreams.

The Bedtime Story

Once, not so long ago, there lived three little sisters who hated to end their play when night fell. Daisy was six, Mandy was five, and Sam was four. Every night they talked and played (and sometime fought) long after their mother turned out the light. Their parents wondered how they could get them to go to sleep earlier.

They tried putting a night light in the room, but Sam said the light kept her awake.

They told the girls to count sheep till they fell asleep, but Sam was not very good at counting so that didn't work.

They tried giving the girls Hobbit tea with creamy dandelion honey in it before bed, but Sam didn't like the taste.

They tried putting them in separate rooms, but Mandy and Sam always found their way back to Daisy because they missed her. Even though they sometimes fought because they were so tired, they still wanted to snuggle up together at bedtime.

Then things changed. Daisy learned to read. She began to bring home wonderful books from the library, and every night, at bedtime, she read a story to Mandy and Sam. Sometimes, if their parents were tired too, everyone climbed into the big bed to read their bedtime stories.

Once in a while they still needed to count sheep, but not very often.

Now that they were hearing bedtime stories every evening, the girls were anxious to get to sleep so that the next adventure could begin, and it almost always did.

As soon as their eyes closed and their breathing slowed, the three little sisters would climb on the back of a beautiful white horse that visited almost every night. He would spread his wings and carry them as softly as a cloud out, out, off into the night sky. They saw wondrous sights as they skimmed the rooftops and floated over the church steeples of the towns on their way to the magic of Dreamland.

Sometimes the white horse would fly low enough for them to peek into the lighted windows of houses. Once they flew over the forest where Goldilocks and the Three Bears lived, and the horse swooped down low enough for them to see inside a little cottage.

Sam said, "Look! There's Papa Bear in his night cap."

Daisy said, "He must have fallen asleep reading."

And Mandy said, "I think his Hobbit tea put him to sleep."

Another time they flew up through dense clouds and discovered a whole other world they had not known existed ... and what do you think they saw there?

*****************

I hope that your little girl will enjoy playing with this doll cradle as much as I enjoyed creating it.

Oma at the Happy Hermitage, Pike Lake, Wakefield, Quebec.

Foghorn on Halifax Common

I have posted a new-old piece on my site, A Writer Blogs, called Foghorn on Halifax Common.

A friend shared some youthful memories of Montreal and I looked back over my memories to share this with him ... and now with you.

Quick Updates

I have turned the heel of the first fine sock!!!

I have spent the morning doing some exciting research for the novel which will enrich it I think! Also provided a title.

And now I am going to make an errand run into the village.

Not too lazy Sunday

I have not accomplished a great deal today but I did do some work on the novel and took Kenya to the village with me. My intention was to buy milk and then go for a walk some place where the roads were less icy than here ... more amenable to walking. Kenya got all dressed up in her new scarf and looked pretty spiffy.

We bought the milk and found a great spot between two sunny fields but as soon as I got out the car the wind caught me and practically tore my jacket off. The windbreaker broke no wind! I drove home.

Enroute we saw a flock of shaggy sheep and a pack of Alsatians lying peacefully on their dog house roofs. Then we saw a road sign showing a husky crossing. Just as I was thinking how cute that was, two deer bounded across the road.

When we got back to our parking space I unloaded the groceries and let Kenya loose, and then we visited Tanya (my nice neighbour) and I drank tea and ate some home made pumpkin and chocolate chip squares and Kenya got a bunch of loves.

When we came to the house ... my gawd it is treacherous up here today especially wearing rubber boots ... I made three litres of yogurt which will be ready sometime late tonight ... and we curled up and watched Pan's Labyrinth. I worked on the second red sock and Kenya dozed.

I am up here preparing this post because the movie was at that terrible torture scene and I didn't think I could face it just then. I am not sure I can face it at all. I may just do something elsewhere till it is over.

I hope everyone has had as pleasant a Sunday as I have.

Almost Spring and the Writing Trudges on in Waterproof Boots

Yesterday I went through the first 20 chapters and made myself a kind of visual representation of it. I wish I had a white board wall in my den, but this worked okay ... 20 pieces of paper taped together and strung out in two rows on the wood of the kitchen counter back so that I could read it from the dining room.

I discovered some gaps and I realized what needs to be written ...

Generally, since I started work on it again, I have been guilty of wanting to move the story forward to its appropriate conclusion. That can lead to plot driven crap. Those parts need to be re-written ... which of course may end up changing the direction of the novel.

Some writers can plan their books. That would work for me with non-fiction maybe ... but maybe not even then. Writing tends to be something alive rather than static. It takes on a life of its own and determines its own path. At least that's what happens when it is going well.

When it is not, I find myself dictating to it and it dies and becomes just words that fit in boxes.

It is still hard slugging but I have decided which chapter to send in for critiquing and admission to the Great Blue Heron workshop June 30-July 5 in Antigonish. (A very early one ... Chapter 2 ... because the writing was leading me then, and maybe it will be good enough to gain me acceptance to this workshop.)

I make lists for myself and it is amazing how the same items appear daily because I hate making phone calls or dealing with my dial-up system for business.

This weekend I will go out and play in the puddles and I will write because I can't do the phone calls till Monday and the dial-up connection is even more crowded on the weekend.

Next week I will call to make a medical appointment, get reimbursed for an out of province medical fee incurred at Christmas, I will cancel a credit card I never use but pay an annual fee for, I will finish the registration for Great Blue Heron, and I will deal with the on-line registration for the desk light I bought.

Remind me! Embarrass me!

It is almost spring and I have no commitments this weekend so I can dig out the violent pink rubber boots and wear them over the colourful yellow socks. Maybe I will go over to one of my neighbours and learn how to finish my socks properly. I have a lovely vibrant red sock whose toe is ready to be woven. OH! Did I tell you? Yesterday a big bag of yarn arrived from Kitchener-Waterloo. Some of it is sock yarn that knits up in a fair isle pattern by itself ... and it has aloe vera in it to make it feel wonderful to knit.

Maybe the socks and boots will encourage more colourful writing.

But then ... maybe the new yarn will entice me away from writing ... again ...

I Hate Writing

I don't hate the novel. I just hate writing in patches. I wrote another conversation out of context this morning and again felt as if I were moving mountains of dry sand uphill. This is the third or fourth patch I've written and I feel as if I am doing heavy labour each time. I remember a time when the writing took me aloft and we flew together.

I am not sure whether it is because I've lost my wings or whether I have left it too long. I still have faith in the idea and the work I've done up till now ... I am just not sure I still have faith in my ability to finish it.

It doesn't help that my eyes feel all smeary and my glasses which kept falling off when I leaned forward now give me eyestrain. (I bent them all to hell)

Anyway I keep taking knitting breaks. I have completed the pair of crazy socks and I just finished a very sweet tea cozy. Yesterday I stopped in at my favourite store in Wakefield and discovered a whole new line of Polish teapots. I restrained myself (I own three teapots and use two regularly ... I really really don't need another teapot.) This cozy will be for Marta who is not feeling well and needs to take lots of tea breaks right now.

The cozy is at the top of the email in incomprehensible script. If it ever evolves into an image you will see that the wool is variegated pinks, purples and violets. It reminds me of sunrises and sunsets.

Not Such a Good Day for Writing ...

My heating system caused me grief last night ... well ... lack of sleep, anyway ... so it was after seven when I got up. It is nine and I have a wood fire lit and am just now finishing my tea and computer stuff ...

I should run into the village as soon as I get dressed to buy salad makings and more kindling wood ... a friend is coming for lunch and we will have salmon, rice and salad.

But after he leaves I have to run over to a neighbour's because I am looking after their place while they are away.

If I do all this entertaining and running I will have no time to write ... and I want to keep going ...

I think I will improvise a different kind of salad ... one that can use scraps of Romaine lettuce, onions, baby tomatoes and canned artichokes ... or I will serve cooked veggies with it. Problem is I am not sure whether I have any veggies that are not orange ... and I don't want the meal to look like a Hallowe'en joke. Ah well ... friends are the kind of people you can subject to such indignities with food. After all, it is the wine and conversation that really matters.

So ... on I go ... with yet another difficult conversation ... this one between Dan and Mary ... or maybe the inner dialogues that Robert and Emily must have after their last conversation ... the one in which she reveals what she found ... and what people know ... the one that puts Robert in a box with no safe exit. Will Robert act in character or will he make a decision that shows more concern for others than for himself? He really has no way out ... even if he tries to silence those who know ... there are too many now to silence ... and eventually he would end up in the same place he is now but with more harm done than before.

Okay ... time to stop running the maze. Time to write.

Finding my conclusion by writing ...

This morning I wrote for a couple of hours and discovered something about Robert that made him capable of killing. Self preservation is the strongest element in his make-up.

So ... I am just going to keep on writing ... even though it is hard. I love it when the writing carries me along . This is not happening right now. I feel as though I am writing with frozen fingers. The words feel wooden ... dead ... but at least I am writing ... and when I go back to it I can usually see where I can make things better.

Now that I am working on the novel every day, my blog posts are getting shorter. Sorry about that ... but I think writers are likely the least interesting people alive when they are writing. All their life energy goes into another world ... the world of the novel ... leaving little for the real world they inhabit.

Kenya has already complained that I am keeping her inside more because I want to write instead of walk with her; because I want to write without interruption and that is impossible when she is outdoors.

It seems to help to take the weekends off, and in early April I will have the ancient Old English Sheepdog and his new baby sister, the four month old Sheepdog puppy, for a few days. I am sure that their antics will keep me away from long uninterrupted sessions at my computer. I hope the weather is good for walks and outdoor play with them. I will treat it as a holiday from writing, and hope that I come back to the novel refreshed and renewed.

The End of the Story ...

I have decided ...

that Marta is right ... that I have to simply start writing the rest of the story and see what the characters do, say, and think ... and watch how they react to the other charactres ... let them tell the story ... and if I end up with a badly finished story ... well ... life is like that, isn't it? I know fiction is not supposed to be as messy as life ... but not all good stories have tidy endings ... and sometimes those that do have readers thinking the writer perhaps made a mistake by wanting a neat plot ending ...

That happened for me with The Story of Edgar Sawtelle . He killed off the protagonist and his nemesis and had the best dogs run off ... and I found myself wondering whatever happened to the protagonist's mother who was now left with absolutely nothing ... no husband, no lover, no business, no barn, no dogs, and no son ... and a writer who simply left her bereft and didn't seem to care ...

And this was an excellent novel up till then ... but it was as if he simply got tired of it and couldn't be bothered to deal with all those threads left hanging so he destroyed all of them.

I had intended to give my puzzle to the birthday party guests but we were all having too much fun eating, drinking, laughing and talking to bother with a party game. There were eleven of us here and Kenya got way more than her fair share of loves. She was delighted.

At the end of the maze ...

At the end of the maze I discovered a rat's nest made of chewed up tangled yarn. Now I have to figure out how to deal with what seems to be an unsolvable plot dilemma. There are of course simple solutions, but the facile ones don't satisfy.

My next few days may be spent, not writing, but trying to plot a plausible satisfying conclusion.

If you would like to become part of the solution, email me and I will send you the puzzle. You too can get tangled in the mess at the end of the maze.

bjscott at magma dot ca

Yummy Wool, Senior Citizens, Fascinating Novel, and me ...

I am waking up slowly despite Kenya's attempts to make it happen faster. She came up on the bed at 5:30 and groaned her way into a tummy rub as she stretched out full length, her spine leaning against me, all four legs outstretched. By six we were out of bed and our day had started.

I drank tea, ordered some wool from a place in Kitchener, answered some emails, read some blogs, and am now ready to get my day started in earnest.

I received my RRSP tax slip yesterday and discovered that the bank got the deductions wrong ... by $1600 ... so I have to deal with that.

I have to respond to a letter I received from a little Kenyan boy (who tells me he is no longer as little) for whom I found help several years ago. He tells me he is praying for me ... I can use all the prayers I can get.

I am going to continue working on Lost and Found Summer. I am re-reading before I write the last few chapters so that I can get the ending right ... or at least try to.

And I will complete the second pair of socks and start a new knitting project today. I hope to find out how to weave the stitches at the toe together properly this time. I am tired of lumpy toes.

Maybe I can ask someone when I go to the Legion for lunch. It is Senior Citizens' Day and they have invited a speaker ... someone who may be able to get a taxi service for us old folks started here in the Wakefield area.

And I hope I will find time before I go to bed to continue reading The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. The writing style is (I was going to say intoxicating but that might suggest that it puts me to sleep when it is quite the opposite.) ... wonderful ... but that doesn't say enough. He saturates the reader with the detail of the experience. I have to pull myself away to re-enter my own world. Oh, to write as well!

So a day of work punctuated by a walk with Kenya, lunch in the village, knitting and reading a good book. Doesn't get much better than that, does it?

Sick Plant

Can anyone help me solve the problem of an ailing plant? I don't know what kind it is because it was given to me simply as "the big one". It loved it here and was thriving till I put it outside early last summer. I wasn't home to take care of it and when I came home I found it on its death bed. I have re-potted it so that is is up where it should be in the pot but it grows new leaves that look healthy and then they sicken and die.

Any ideas about what plant it is so I can check on-line or about what is causing the leaves to die? Should I try to save it or pitch it and its soil?

I am busy writing and am taking a break. The new sock I am working on is (again) going better than Chapter 17 ... but at least I am writing, and the more I write the easier it flows ... at least that used to be true!

THAT conversation; THOSE socks

THAT conversation is coming along. I will leave it for now and move onto the other conversations and revelations that must occur between the conversation and the discovery. The benefit of writing it like a patchwork quilt is that each scene does not loom as a huge unwritable chore, and I am able to start fresh each time, which might make the writing fresher too. The downside is that I think I work best when I follow a forward moving flow in which one thing leads naturally to the next so that I am always building on what went before. Also this method leaves me with several ends to weave in seamlessly afterward.

Sort of like the THOSE socks I have almost completed ... which will have a few ends to weave in later. It won't be quite as much drudgery as weaving in the myriad of endlings that were left after Wild Thing's stripey pirate sweater pieces were completed, though.

As long as there aren't too many loose ends, I think it will be fine. At any rate I have no choice because there are these various bits and pieces of conversations, arguments and thoughts that need to happen between CC's confession and Emily's discovery. Then I can go on to writing the conclusion.

I write for a couple of hours and then I think about it, re-read it, and make notes, and then I reward myself by working on the sock. The socks will be finished long before the novel is ... but I still have two more beautiful batches of wool ... and then I can make a conglomerate piece from all those leftovers!

Last night Tamarak, Lois and Carlos came for dinner. That is Lois sitting beside Tamarak in the photo from the show. We had fun. So did the dogs. Kenya always looks a little depressed when she is once again alone. She really likes having a playmate. (Not that Teddy and Shea are the best playmates, you understand. They are a bit wimpy about the cold and would rather sleep on the warm floor than join her outside.)

Nevertheless they sure beat me these days.

I fell on my head on Monday night on my way to the show. No; I had not been drinking wine. No; it was not because I am getting long in the tooth and unsteady on my pins. Several people have fallen and hurt themselves on Ottawa streets recently ... I know of two others, both MUCH younger than me ... and also sober ... who fell. One cracked her skull; the other broke her ankle. Good thing I have a hard head.

When Mud Mama heard that I had driven home alone after the fall she said I was going to be the kind of old lady who has to have her car keys hidden; that they would have to keep the door locked to keep me safe from myself. She'd better bloody not even think of it!!! I'd rather die making mistakes than live my life wrapped in cotton wool, thank you.

Yes, I know Mud Mama exactly what you will say ... I would be a danger to other people not just myself ... well phooey!

Turning Points

I am dividing myself between the turning of the heel on the second sock and a crisis point in the novel I want to workshop this summer. Not sure which is harder ... but I think the scene in the novel is. It seems far more crucial to make the correct decisions here than in something I can either unravel or wear as is ... after all who is going to see my socks?

It is a scene in which Mary reveals what she knows to her friend Emily ... a truth that is impossible for Emily to accept. Mary's decision to tell Emily first comes from her loyalty to her friend, but the truth will sorely test both their friendship and Emily's loyalty to her family. The outcome of this conversation will change forever the lives of both families.

So I am tiptoeing around it, jotting down notes to myself ... setting the scene ... imagining their thoughts and fears ... and as terrified to start writing it as Mary is to broach the subject.

I understand why I abandoned the novel at this point the last time. It is a conversation, a scene, in which the writing must rise to the occasion. It is a test of sorts.

Sort of like a heel of a sock ...

Tamarak asked why I didn't just say the hell with knitting socks since I seemed to be spending all my time knitting, tearing out and then re-knitting. I told her that I wanted to knit socks and that the learning curve ... the challenge ... was part of it.

I hope I am also up to the challenge of writing this really tough scene.