Baby Sweater

Of course the more there is to do, the more important it is to have knitting projects on the go. The latest project that I've seen through to completion is a miniature version of Sally Melville's Einstein Coat. It's called the "Baby Albert" and it's too cute. It's a very simple pattern in garter stitch from Sally's The Knitting Experience, Volume One: The Knit Stitch. The slip stitches at the beginning of every row are essential if it's going to work properly but the part I didn't grasp until at least halfway through is that they need to be slipped purlwise. That changes everything. Anyway, I didn't botch it too badly but now I know for next time. The big achievement for me is that it's the first baby project I've managed to finish before the baby outgrows it! Here it is, all blocked out on my blocking board:

Here's a detail of the buttons:

I used a cotton-wool blend for this project (more cotton than wool). I would highly recommend it for anyone wanting an easy baby project. It's definitely something a beginning knitter could do.

Early On-Set February Blahs

There are those days when it feels like bedtime and it's only 7 p.m. And there are those weeks that feel like Friday when it's only Monday. But I'm having an outrageously exaggerated version of that phenomenon. I've got the February Blahs and winter hasn't even begun. It's not even (all that) cold. There aren't even enough leaves on the ground yet to start raking (we like to do it all at once). Not only that, we're still on daylight savings time.

Maybe I'm ready for spring already because I'm anticipating all that awaits me this winter and that is a recipe for overwhelm if there ever was one. Or maybe this is how bears feel just before they go into hibernation: if I just take a week and stuff myself with food, then tuck myself in all warm and snug and go to sleep, when I wake up the icicles will be melting from the eavestroughs and spring will be on its way.

But if I did that I wouldn't be able to get any knitting in. Or snowboarding. Or yoga. Or watch my hockey team. Or see my writerly soulmates at the January residency...

Submission Three: Done

Another MFA submission off the desk. Many of my co-MFA-ers appear to be hitting walls right along with me at the moment. I've come to the conclusion that it is both an upside and a downside of low-residency programs that you can continue with your regular life/career as you do them.

The upside is the obvious one: no need to drop a thriving career, relocate to another city, or anything like that. Life, as you knew it, does not need to end...or at least not quite.

This leads to the downside. Most of us already had full lives and, as a result, the low-residency MFA just takes the regular life and ADDS full-time graduate student responsibilities to it. They estimate that to get the most out of the program you need to put in about 25 hours a week. YOU try finding 25 hours in a week. It's not easy. But the thing is, even when it's not 25 hours, I do manage to find time in a week to write.

This leads to another upside. Life in a low-residency program is probably a lot like the writing life actually is for many writers. From what I can see, most writers have other commitments as well: teaching, speaking, day-jobs not directly connected to their work, partners and children...If you're going to write, you need to carve time out of an ordinary day in which to honor that need (it is, after all, a need. I can't see anyone sticking with it if it's anything less!).

This leads to another downside. Burn out. If the low-residency MFA is a sign of things to come, and if the level of burn out I am now experiencing after the third submission of the third semester is going to be a fact of life, I'm not sure I can make it. I came very close this month to hitting the "what's the point of it all?" wall.

I want to end on an upside. Support. Since most of the other students are in the same situation, the support in a low residency MFA is incredible. I've heard that MFA programs can be competitive and unsupportive. I haven't experienced anything but encouragement and support from the circle of writers I've met through this program. They're fantastic. And for the final upside, if we didn't have all that time in between the times we get to see one another, the residencies wouldn't be quite so magical. In a full time residential program, it would be impossible to sustain the magic of the residencies.

Upsides: 4
Downsides: 2

Happy Birch-Day and Birthday to Me

I said that I wanted to finish the birch shawl by my birthday. Well, today is my birthday and I finished the shawl on Thursday, blocked it on Saturday, wore it on Saturday night, and showed it off to all who would look at it from that moment on.

I am so proud of it, so amazed the I knit this with my own two hands. It is by far the most satisfying and most beautiful knitting project I've ever completed. And although it was a rough start, once I got rolling with it I had so much fun that I've actually purchased some yarn for another one. I don't know when I'll cast on -- there are a few un-finished items in the line-up and a sane response to the cue would be not to let anything jump ahead. Not to mention that my mother gave me yarn and a pattern for something quite astonishing:

In this yarn, this colour:
So I'll admire my birch while I think about other knits. One thing I can say for sure is that lace knitting is my favourite kind. It's got to be the counting -- nothing else can intrude and that's as calming as can be. I leave you with a couple of views of birch #1 in its various venues.

And a happy birthday to Tammy, The Daily Warrior, too.

The Journey

Of course, I cannot take credit for Mary Oliver's wonderful poem, "The Journey." I am posting it because I know a few writers, including myself, who could use some inspiration and encouragement today.

The Journey

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you
kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

~Mary Oliver

On the Air

Well, you may recall that I had a pitch for a radio documentary accepted almost a year ago. Then I worked on it through the winter. It finally aired last night. I am really pleased with it. So pleased that I am actually going to do what I never do: I'm going to post the link: don't tell anyone I work with ;).

Here it is. It's the one listed under the week of September 5: http://www.cbc.ca/outfront/podcast.html

I had a great time working with the producer and he has encouraged me to send in another pitch so we can work together again. It's certainly the most fun I've had on a creative project. And did I mention that it's the very first creative work for which I have been paid. A milestone, to be sure.

Even though I'd heard it a number of times before, it was really exhilerating to know that it was being broadcast across the country and on the internet. And the positive feedback has been pretty encouraging. I know that these feelings of enthusiasm for the creative life come in waves, and I'm going to ride this one for as long as possible...

Lakeside Retreat: the Photos

The road in:

The garden:







The lake:

Just that much more north to see hints of autumn:




Hope you can come!

Discovering What Everyone Probably Already Knows

Dave Sedaris is hilarious! Among the cds I got from the library before my drive on Friday was "Dave Sedaris: Live at Carnegie Hall." It's a taped "show" and get this, his show consists of reading his essays about his family aloud. And they're good. And funny. Like, I've been driving around today and wanting the light to turn red so I can be in the car longer because I was laughing so hard. Laughing out loud. In the car. Alone. I don't do that much. I brought it in the house and listened to it while I ate dinner (R is out of town, so I was eating alone).

So don't tell me: you know all about Dave Sedaris. You already knew how funny he is. You've been reading him for ages. Only someone who has been living in cave could not have read him before.

Yes, but have you heard the cd?

Turning Ideas into a Story: Help!

I've got pages and pages and pages of scenes and ideas and little jottings for my next piece and I am now at the part where I need to give it some structure. It's a piece of first person non-fiction in which I am supposed to be presenting a character profile of someone else, with myself as a subsidiary character.

I'm calling on your writerly wisdom to share with me your techniques for turning an unshaped mass of little bursts of this and that (some inspired, some not so much) into .... something ... anything ... that you might feel good enough about to turn in a submission.

TIA!

Recommendation: Mary Oliver Reading Mary Oliver

I am actually here, at the lake, and it's just as I described (but where are you guys?). It's a long drive and I was alone in the car. So last night I went to the library to pick up some audio books and some traditional gospel music (I love that stuff, but never know what to buy, so I borrow). When I have a long drive ahead of me and more cds than I can listen to and no one in the car to say "let's listen to something else," I am almost as content as when I have nothing to do for a few hours besides knitting (as rare an occasion, to be sure).

I began with Ekhart Tolle giving a lecture on "now" (my favourite time of day) on the cd "In the Presence of a Great Mystery." When I hit Toronto traffic and started thinking of alternative routes, he was at the part where he was saying that we need to "make friends with the present moment." We're always wanting it to be over, to be somewhere else, and so rarely satisfied with what's happening now, whatever that may be." So I stuck it out in the traffic without changing my route. At one point he said, if you can explain what I said you probably didn't get it. Well, I'm not sure I got it, but I can't explain what he said. His voice is as soothing as velvet and it's a wonder I didn't zone out into a meditative state right behind the wheel. If you like non-religious spirituality, I recommend this one. It's about 2 and half hours.

The old gospel music was a bit too much for me right after this, so I quickly switched to "At Blackwater Pond: Mary Oliver Reads Mary Oliver." Can I be as inarticulate as to say, "WOW!" The woman writes the most lovely, inspiring poetry, perfect for the drive, which takes me further into nature with each kilometre. And more than that, she's a fabulous reader. I didn't realize how wonderful the poem "Beans" is! And also, I forgot that she can be funny, like in the poem about finding the bear footprint. And if there was a perfect choice for following up a lecture about the present moment, it's Mary Oliver. Her poems dive into the present and open it up to all of its detail, as if each slice of time and space contains an infinity of possibility. I mean, the first line of "Peonies" is one of those lines that make you think, how did she think of that? How does a poet think to start with:

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,

Okay. I'm still in training!

Lakeside Writers' Retreat

The house sits amidst the trees and looks southwest over the calm lake. Ample windows on both levels give a sense of space and contact with the wildness of the landscape. The wildness is cultivated, like an English cottage garden, strewn with huge boulders broken off from the granite slabs of the Canadian Shield, decorated with folk art, and covered underfoot with a soft, cool floor of creeping thyme growing over the stepping stones fashioned out of cut logs from the felled birch tree.

Each writer has her own bedroom and license to wander freely throughout the house and the property. She can find a quiet corner in the little nook off the dining room or recline in the la-z-boy with her laptop. Maybe there is some soft jazz grooving in the background. Or silence. She might meander along the road, seekng inspiration in the wild raspberries eaten straight from the bush. Or float along on her back in the lake, staring up at the cloud animals drifting by across the brilliant blue sky. And they write when they want to write, read when they want to read, do nothing when they want to do nothing, all day long. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.

In the evening, they come together for a sundowner -- cosmopolitan's perhaps? And then they all chip in to prepare a simple meal (why am I imagining baguettes and cheese, olives and fresh field tomatoes?). It's time for wine, each has brought her favourite bottle. And for readings -- they take turns reading -- from the day's production or from something special that they chose just for this occasion, to share with the women who understand what they are trying to do and why they want this so much.

And then maybe they play Scattergories.

And in the night sky the stars twinkle more brightly than they ever have and the moon hangs large and smiling over the lake.

Reverse Schedule

Following Bug, I am posting a reverse schedule for the next submission. D-day for the submission is September 10, so the schedule, as recommended in The Now Habit, moves backwards from the 10th.

September 10 -- Final touches on cover letter; e-mail package to my mentor.
September 7-9 -- Final touches on new writing for submission; draft cover letter.
September 3-6 -- Craft essay: draft of section 1 (of three sections)
September 1-2 -- Labour Day weekend -- have low expectations but set aside 1 hour per day for polishing writing and 1 hour per day to work on craft essay.
August 25-31 -- Deepening new writing; mapping out section 1 of craft essay.
August 22-24 -- Complete draft of new writing; finish Jade Peony if not done yet.
August 17-20 (travelling) -- Read Jade Peony by Wayson Choy (a fictional work written as a memoir, for craft essay). Start each morning with one hour on new writing.
August 13-17 -- Start each morning at 6 a.m. with one hour on the new writing; find another hour (at least) later in the day to work on it again.
August 11-12 -- Knit. The well is empty. This is my restorative weekend.

I have another major project going at work, but I don't like to post about the day job.

Next post: my fantasy idea for a writing retreat at the lake.

Revising...Again!

I feel as if I have done nothing since the residency, which is, of course, not true but for some reason this revision is crawling along. You know what they say about 10% inspiration, 90% perspiration. Well, I'm sweating, that's for sure.

So I'm back to empathetic questioning. I've written about this before and it really helps me when I go to revise. Personally, I think that the main revision goal for me is deepening, which is why I like Carol Bly's chapter about empathetic questioning so much (see her Beyond the Writers' Workshop). So this is not for the time when you want to polish up the craft aspect of your piece. This is for moving further into the emotional heart of the piece. As Bly puts it, it is "a kind, cool-handed tool, not just to encourage our imagination, but to fend off all enemies of our deeper selves, enemies that include our shallow selves" (BWW, 51).

Here are the five steps for engaging in this form of deepening, according to Carol Bly:
1. Decide to hear your own or others' (perhaps your characters') thoughts without challenging them.
2. Empty yourself of your own point of view or any association of yours that comes to mind as the speaker speaks (even if the speaker is you -- this process is non-judgmental).
3. Ask the person who just spoke (or yourself, if it’s you) some open-ended questions (not yes-or-no questions) about what he or she just said. The goal here is to bring the speaker closer to herself or himself, not to slide them into agreement with you or anyone else.
4. In your own words, paraphrase what the person has just said, as you understand it.
5. Help the person look forward and plan ahead free-spiritedly. “Okay. Given those data, feelings, and meanings you’ve just reported, what do you see as a good direction to take from here? What might some of your goals be for now and for the future?”

That's how it would look if it were an interaction. So to use this as a revision tool, you approach the work as if you are interacting. "In writing creative nonfiction, we ask these questions of our various selves," says Bly. For fiction writers, "we would ask these questions of our characters" (50).

The questions are meant to move us not only deeper, but more to the particular. As AJ also suggested (see Bug's account of the revision workshop), we need to get more concrete, less abstract. Bly suggests changing plurals and generics to singulars and specifics.

And finally, a question for memoir writers to ask themselves: "Here I have written this bit of memoir. Which value of mine does it come from?" (BWW, 58).

Thanks, Carol Bly.

Vacation Time

Why is it so hard to leave for a vacation? I'm trying to pack up the motorcycle for our two week road trip, and although I could really use a vacation, I'm feeling like I shouldn't be going anywhere. For one thing, I haven't made a great deal of progress on the first submission, which is due a scant week after I return (I can just see the late nights and early mornings the first week of August has in store for me!). The laptop is coming with me, as it did last year. At least I shold be able to fit in an hour or so of writing a day.

Anyway, here is the route: tomorrow we'll end up somewhere in New York state, on our way to Lake Placid, where we arrive on Wednesday. Thursday we do a larger group ride on Thursday through the mountains in New Hampshire, ending up in Mount Washington. Friday we'll make our way back across the border and spend two nights in Quebec City. Sunday it's Canada's capital, Ottawa for a couple of days (dinner with Khendron, I hope), then along the Trans-Canada Highway to Iron Bridge to visit relatives on R's side. Back down through Manitoulin Island--taking the Chicheemaun across to the mainland, landing in Tobermory. Spending the weekend with some friends at their cottage on an island in Lake Huron, and then home by the end of the month. It should be a good unwind with some time to read, write, and relax. Not sure about knitting projects. I guess I should take one along but I can never decide which one. Birch is probably a good choice, since I've been on a birch vacation, so it is only fitting that I vacation with birch. I'd like to have it by the fall - maybe in time for my birthday in late September.

Photo credit goes to Patrick LaFreniere, who took this photo at Mount Washington Observatory in August 2006. Source: http://www.mountwashington.org/photos/journal/index.php?month=08&year=2006 .

Using the Timer

Yesterday I mentioned that one of my tools is my timer. Today Bug asked me to write about it, so here goes. That there in the photo is my timer. I use it when I'm having difficulty getting focused, usually in conjunction with the Unschedule. Usually, I set it for 45 minutes. When I push the green start button, that marks the beginning of 45 minutes of uninterrupted work on whatever project I have chosen. That means: no phone calls, no e-mail messages, no switching to another task. If I allow myself to get interrupted, I have to start over at 45. When my 45 minutes is up I can either keep going or take a break. I also mark down the beginning of the 45 minute period on my unschedule, and then mark it as over when the timer goes off (if I choose to stop). That way I can record 45 minutes of quality work. At the end of the day, I can add up how much focused work I've managed to accomplish. If I decide to continue writing when the timer goes off, which I often do, since getting started appears to be the main hurdle, then I might re-set the timer for another 45 minutes or less. Just as frequently, I take a break to get a cup of tea, do a row or two of knitting, check e-mail, or make a phone call or two, and then get back to work -- of course, I set the timer again and make a note on the unschedule.

Sometimes, if 45 minutes seems too long, I'll go for 30. I began using a timer years ago. It helped me to realize that I don't need hours and hours of time in order to get something done. Two or three 30-45 minute periods of uninterrupted work in a day can be amazingly productive. When I was writing my philosophy book, I was completely committed to the timer. For a year, I put in about 3-4 timed periods of writing a day, varying in length from 30 minutes to an hour. As a rule, I made a point of not working any longer than 5 hours (of uninterrupted time) in any given day, and never went more than 20 hours a week (usually less). It took me about 8 months to write a book using that method. I've used it to keep me working through each submission period for the MFA.

I've gone through several different timers -- I used a countdown sports watch for many years. Right now, I'm using a simple digital kitchen timer with an "hour" button and a "minutes" button. If you want 45 minutes, you just hit the "minutes" button 45 times. It also gives you a single beep warning at 10 minutes to go, and again at 5 minutes to go. I use the same thing to time my meditations and my yoga sessions. When we're sailing and I'm cooking on board, I use it to time that. We've also used it to keep track of when to change the person on "watch" during night sailing. When it's not operating as a timer, it's a clock. It runs on a single AA battery. I take it with me when I travel. I can't speak highly enough of my timer. I love it.

My Writer's Toolbox

I have made a quasi-commitment not to complain, in the hopes that pretending to go with the flow might result in actually learning to go with the flow.

The weekend was rough (that is an observation, not a complaint). I had to go through the requisite meltdown that appears to have to precede the possibility of getting started on MFA writing. It's all part of the ritual - the knot in the stomach, the random and unpredictable spells of weeping, the low-level sense of dread, the strong desire to hide under the covers when morning comes. Thankfully, I am through it now. I have reclaimed all of the wonderful tools that I used to keep me on track last time:

1. the unschedule
2. the reverse calendar
3. yoga
4. using my timer (I don't think I've talked about that one)
5. early mornings
6. morning pages
7. tea
8. meditation
9. knitting (for breaks)
10. regular reminders to myself that all is well
11. Other writer bloggers (e.g. Bug, My Basement Years)
12. R when he's not in fix-it mode

Tonight I've actually made some progress on the writing portion of my next submission. And that feels really good. And I'm making a bit of headway with the craft essay outline, or at least I've got some ideas for it and I've been bouncing them off my mentor, who is open to correspondence between submissions and is full of wonderful writerly wisdom that he disperses with generosity.

Radio Doc: It's a Wrap

I just did the last takes of the conclusion of the radio documentary at the local bureau of the CBC this morning. Insetad of going all the way to Toronto, we called in and talked to each other over the airwaves. We had a really good draft, but the ending was all wrong. So during the residency, I put it on the back burner to simmer away. And sure enough, when I went back to it with fresh ears, and ending presented itself to me. This morning, we did about seven or eight takes, which are sure to give the producer enough with which to piece together a solid ending.

The documentary will air in the fall when the new season of Outfront starts. It's loads of fun to make a radio documentary. If you've got an idea, make a pitch.

Proud Sister

One night in Cambridge, as we were attempting to choose the right bottle of wine to celebrate Bug's birthday, I mentioned that my younger brother is not only a wine expert, but also has an entertaining and informative wine blog. He blogs but intermittently, but whenever he does, I am always completely charmed. So go check him out. You will learn a bit about wine and other things. And he's a lot funnier than I am, as his latest entry, "Commuting in an Introvert's Paradise," will attest. Good one, little bro'!

Fiction and Memoir: What's the Diff?

Bug posted earlier about her class on first person narrative. It was for the fiction students, so I was at the non-fiction genre seminar at the same time. I wonder, however, whether the same lesson would apply to memoir and personal essay writing, or whether the fiction writer who is using a first person narrator would need to do anything different from the non-fiction writer? Is the difference internal to the craft/narrative or is it solely in the relationship between the narrative and the "real world"?

This semester, we have to write one craft essay instead of eight craft annotations. My topic is on the merging of fiction and memoir. The spanner in the works with respect to the non-fiction aspect of memoir, as far as I can see it, is that it is based on memory as opposed to research about the facts. So there is a lot more room for disconnect between how it really happened and how it is remembered.

My first objective is to see if there is a difference from a craft perspective. Does a work of fiction posing as a memoir read just like a memoir (or need to, if it is a good one?)? Do memoirs employ significantly different narrative techniques from fictional narratives? Is there a relevant distinction to be made between the truth and the facts?

If you have anything to say about these questions, chime in, chime in!

Residency Reminiscences

Okay, my title has two words over eight letters. But don't let that fool you into thinking that I plan to disregard all that I learned at the MFA residency. As a memoirist, I cannot strike the word "reminiscence" from my vocabulary (there I go again) as easily as all that. I think it earns its weight.

The residency was amazing and inspiring. The women in my group (you know who you wonderful women are!) are so fantastic that just being around them all day for eight days is inspiring. They're the ideal community. If for nothing else, I appreciate the residencies for the time I get to spend with these truly special people (including blog buddies Bug, FC, and Repeater).

The seminars were on the whole helpful. Between an excellent non-fiction genre seminar and great advice on mine and others' manuscripts in workshops, I have finally absorbed the importance of separating the narrator of a first person narrative from the character she is narrating about, even when that character is herself. As Vivian Gornick says in The Situation and the Story, the narrator has to be wiser, stronger, and more in command than the character at the time of the action. I can't wait to take that into my writing. I think that each residency serves up one transformative idea that I can take into my writing. Last time, it was the idea of thinking in terms of personal essays instead of a sustained, book-length memoir. How liberating. And this time, it is the difference between myself as a character and my narrative persona. They don't need to be one and the same. In fact, the narrative will be stronger if they are not the same.

The other big lesson for me was the whole idea of "writing up to your reader." Again, I've heard this before, but this time, it stuck. Assume your reader is a little bit smarter than you are (not so much smarter that they can't be bothered to read you, but smart enough to "get it"). Let them figure it out. This is a tough one for me because, as an academic, I have a tendency to spell out everything and repeat my main points often. Can I merge these two writing styles into one? We shall see.

My new mentor is serious about writing. One of the best aspects of this low residency program is the opportunity to change mentors every six months. This gives us a chance to develop different sets of skills as each mentor has a particular sensibility and approach. This one is no nonsense, smart, and detail-oriented (like, "take that comma out" and "there should be a colon here" -- that level of detail).

The open mike readings get stronger and stronger each time. I love that -- watching everyone's writing flourish and improve.

What else? The weather. Stupendous. My accommodation. Outstanding.

Let the writing begin.

Countdown to Residency

Two more sleeps! I am so excited to be going back for the third MFA residency. I can hardly believe that we are all at the halfway point. I'm looking forward to seeing Writerbug, Fat Charlatan, and Repeater again, as well as My Basement Years and 200 Pairs of Shoes. We all had our struggles over the second semester and I do not believe that third can be as difficult. But we'll see. All I know is that the residency is like summer camp for writers, and I love it!

Today: read the last seminar story, read four large group workshop manuscripts, knit 8 rows of birch, attend women in academe workshop, work up a sweat on the elliptical machine for at least 20 minutes.

On Hiatus

Perhaps after the residency I'll feel motivated to get back to the blog. Until then, here's something from the safari in December. I didn't realize that leopards spent so much time up in trees. They even take their kills up there to keep them away from other predators.

Happy Mother's Day

Adulthood has many perks, but none so precious as the great relationship I am now able to have with my mother. It's just something that you can't have when you're a kid, a teenager, or even in your twenties. But once you're beyond that, it get easier and easier. For me, ever since I let go of the idea of my mother as an authority figure and embraced the idea of her as someone to have in my life because she's an adventurer, a great cook, fun to shop with, easy to relax with, always good for a lengthy and meandering phone call, sure to make good book and film recommendations, easy going, humane, loves jazz, has a lot to teach me about gardening, and knows how to laugh, I've just come to appreciate her in new and different way. Just look at those happy, dancing feet in the socks that I knit for her seventieth birthday! And guess who taught me to knit?

In my twenties, I used to still kind of cringe when people said they could see my mother in me and me in my mother. How, I thought, could I possibly be so like someone that old for one thing, and that mean, for another? Now, I like it. Twenty years later, she is no longer old and I can't even remember her being especially mean. People say I do that same little thing with my eyes, and that just warms me through and through.

Among my mother's many admirable qualities is her great big, forgiving heart. She is so forgiving that I am sure she will accept my deepest apologies for (a) not sending an anniversary card last week and (b) not sending a mother's day card either.

I love you, Mum!

Withdrawal: It Isn't Pretty

I was just a basket case yesterday. Absolutely and positively out of my mind. By the end of the day, I figured it out. We were having our internet connection changed to a different company and a different kind of system (cable delivery instead of whatever it was before). All week I was worried that it wouldn't work properly and that we'd be stuck without a connection. Our house has "smart wiring" with a router, and the tech support people at the new company weren't sure it would work. And as the installation was under way, I was getting more and more agitated, as was my spouse. And the installer had to leave and it still wasn't working. We had a connection. It went right up to the router just as it was supposed to. But then it stopped. Oh no. We'd have to wait until our computer technician arrived (he was scheduled to come in the morning-is here as I write this). Meanwhile, I am always able to tap into several people's wireless connection from my laptop, but this is not an adequate longterm solution for a three computer household. I was offering my husband "fixes" as required. I had a menacing headache all day long that was not helping my mood. People were getting on my nerves. I missed an appointment. I cried during a panel discussion that I attended later that day.

By the end of the day I nailed the problem: My name is TI, and I am an internet/e-mail addict.

It's not how much I use, it's that I need to be able to connect. If I cannot connect, I feel agitated, I cannot think straight. I can sometimes go a few days without, for instance, when I am on vacation. But the craving sets in, viceral and fierce, as soon as I approach a computer with access.

Writing Personal Narrative

Vivian Gornick says that the writer of personal narrative needs to discover: "who is speaking, what is being said, and what is the relation between the two?" These questions, if asked persistently, will take you deeper into the work. I have been using this approach with the new essay for this submission, and it is helping me to focus. I am over the hump, that agonizing stage where I feel as if I am groping in the dark, going on faith in the process, struggling to discover what I am trying to say. And besides just logging the hours, which is really the only way to get anywhere, Gornick's questions have guided me. But they are scary questions, questions that demand self-disclosure.

As a writer of personal narrative, one of the things that I am fighting these days is the "who cares?" question. I mean, who cares about the experiences of my life? Why should I think that I have anything of significance to say? When I read some of the great essayists I've been reading lately--Loren Eiseley, C.S. Lewis, Patricia Hampl, James McConkey, Vivian Gornick, John Haines--I am in awe of the way that they manage to build a discussion with universal significance out of the details of their lives. Their lives weren't special, weren't significantly different from anyone else's (well, okay, Haines lived a homesteader's life in the Alaskan wilderness for 25 years, and not many people have done that). So how do they do it? How do they write something that people want to read? If Gornick is correct, it is by nailing the answers to those three questions. There is a clear narrative voice (a narrative persona, she calls it), the speaker has something unique to say, and this speaker is the only one who could have said it. I'm so used to impersonal, scholarly writing, where the main point is to present your work in a way that is as detached from the author as possible. Who I am, what I do, what life I have lived, where I stand in relation to the material...these are all considered to be irrelevant in the academic tradition. What I have been taught to consider irrelevant is suddenly the key to meaningful work.

Who am I? What do I have to say? And what is the relationship between who I am and what I have to say? These are my new questions.

LIke Clockwork

It's like clockwork -- the MFA brainfreeze. The deadline is upon me and that is the cue to come to a complete creative halt. The new writing is coming one slow and painful page at a time, and it feels completely flat and uninspired.

I am falling behind on the reading, not even done one of the books and without a single idea for the first annotation, let alone the second. And all the while, I have put everything else on hold because I feel as if every minute of every day should be spent writing. I know this to be a bad strategy. Tomorrow, I better factor in a few breaks. I'm putting the writing down for the evening and going to do a reading blast so that I can at least break free of one task -- an annotation.

There is something comforting in knowing that this is just the way it happens each month, and it is no indication of anything. It's just a little hump that I need to get over. So, so predictable. You could set your watch by it!

In the end, the reading gets done, the annotations get written, the new work gets completed, and usually I manage to knit a few rows in between. In a few days, I'll be ready to move on to the empathetic questioning to deepen the draft, and suddenly, ahhhhh!

One day I would love to edit a volume, filled with the work of all the writers I know, about why, oh why, we write.

Random Attack

I wasn't going to blog about this, but it has been eating away at me ever since it happened so I thought I'd unload it here. Recently, I was walking home through a busy area after a pleasant evening out, when I was attacked by a stranger. It wasn't a vicious attack, but it was definitely a violation. This enormous, drunk guy ran at me, grabbed me around the legs, and hauled me up in the air. His friends implored him to put me down, and kept telling me not to worry, he's just drunk. I, meanwhile, was pounding on his back, swearing, and demanding to be put down RIGHT NOW. I'm relieved to know that I have an angry and assertive reaction in these situations.

If that wasn't disturbing enough, the group of them (there were four) then staggered off, leaving me, in shock (but pretty much unhurt), standing on the street. On this busy street, not a single person came up to ask me if I was okay, if they could call someone for me, or if I needed anything. I myself completely forgot that I had a cell phone with me, and just walked the rest of the way home alone in a daze. By the time I got home, and even now, I could not remember exactly where on the block this had even happened.

Now, I'm fine. But it did make me aware of how randomly and suddenly a person who is minding her own business can be picked out of a crowd by a complete stranger. I am so fortunate that this guy had no knife, wasn't in the mood for a fight, and had friends who just wanted to get him out of there instead of joining in the "fun". Walking home alone at night has taken on a whole new frame for me, now that I have been the target of a random attack.

It has also made me want to take some kind of martial arts training.

Facebook

It was only a matter of time. Everyone at my university is doing the Facebook thing. You know, you think you're on top of technology with the blog, with e-mail, with the mp3... It began back in January when my students started talking about Facebook. It came up from time to time but I thought, well, that's what the kids are doing now (like text messaging and msn and all that stuff that I know I'll never make time for). But then we had a big "issue" on campus, and suddenly the Facebook groups were where the activism was happening (in large part). Anyway, I have set myself up on Facebook. But since my blog is private from my workplace, I can't post my Facebook information here.

Personally, I think that Facebook would be a fun thing for the MFA-ers to go to. We could even set up a group. You can write on people's wall (like blog commenting), send them gifts, and "poke" them (I haven't done this yet because I don't know what it is and I don't want to do anything rude by mistake). I have hesitated to send out an invitation to join because I know that we are all way too busy (myself included, but I appear to have discovered yet another trigger for me addictive personality). The reason I think it would be good is that it is even more oriented to community building than blogging.

If you think you might be interested, let me know and I'll send you an invitation to sign up and be my "friend". Or you can just go here: http://www.facebook.com/. If you're already registered, so much the better. Seek me out! I don't have very many friends at the moment. :(

First Flowers

The first flowers in the garden have started to bloom just this week. It's so amazing how they just sneak up on us. One day, it's miserable and cold and no end seems to be in sight. Then, suddenly, when you're not even watching, new shoots start to spurt and then...purple flowers.

Wouldn't it be great if writing were like that, where you could just leave it for a few days and then, when you came back to it, it would be fuller and more colourful and textured than it was when you last checked?

My fourth submission is challenging because it is not behaving as cooperatively as my untended garden. I have neglected it and now I want to start nurturing it again, early in the mornings, quietly, before the demands of the day try to divert me away from what really matters. A different kind of patience is required.

Stop!

My head was spinning a lot this week and one of the times that was happening was this afternoon, and in the midst of it I walked past a stop sign. And that took me back to an exercise that I was taught when I was learning how to quit smoking (a long, long time ago). What you do is, if your mind is going all squirrelly and you can't shut it off (back then it was the single-minded craving for a cigarette; today, it's much more diverse and far-reaching!), you picture a big red stop sign and you say "stop!".

So I was walking past this stop sign, and my mind was running hither and yon about this, that and the other, and I remembered that exercise, and I looked right at the sign and yelled "stop!" (okay, I kind of looked around a bit to see if anyone was watching, and I didn't yell it so much as say it very loudly in my mind, silently to myself). And the next thing I knew, everything but the stop sign was gone, and a kind of silence descended, and suddenly I noticed what a beautiful day it was, and I could smell spring, and the light was just perfect, and I realized that today had been quite a productive day in its own little way, and it was Friday, and I had plans to take the evening off, and, well, life can be pretty good when my head and my body are in the same place!

Light as a Feather

Ah, that feeling of clearing a major task off the desk! Add to that the sudden lightening of my workload at the day-job for the next few months, and well, I feel as if the lightness of my present being could just carry me away like a feather on a soft breeze.

I don't even know what to do. I feel as if nothing is a good choice right now, even though technically there is not nothing to do. I had some space open up for me this week in a wonderfully welcome way, so I am taking a little overnight trip to Toronto tomorrow just for fun. The documentary work, for which I had set aside Tuesday and Wednesday, got postponed. I almost cancelled the trip, almost starting filling in the days with other commitments, and then I said "STOP!" I changed my ticket so that I could make it to yoga at 6:30 tomorrow morning and have a nap afterwards if I should choose to do so. I am getting on the train with nothing but a book and my birch shawl (which is coming along quite nicely now that I understand the pattern; it is also light as a feather).

I need to give a special shout out to my sister MFA-ers, congratulations on mailing Sub. Three! Only one more to go this semester. I am so grateful to have you women to lean on.

If anyone knows how to carry this lightness into the daily grind, rather than have it reserved only for those fleeting moments immediately after meeting a deadline, please share your insights!

Maybe It's Something about the Second Semester

Is the second semester a time for a collective crash or something? Did anyone tell us that it is the hardest (God help us if the third is harder)? Or is it the full moon? Or the alignment of the planets? Or global warming?

Yes, I was running with an idea yesterday, yes, it has given me something to go on, yes, there is more there than there was yesterday or the day before. And yes, it is deepening, kind of. But it is also spread out all over the place, with little spikes of promise here and there. Can this really be what I think I want to do for a living?

I've had to make a decision. The decision is that I am willing to send whatever I have to my advisor, in the hopes that she can give me some direction. We're supposed to know that it all starts off badly (the whole shitty first draft idea). We're supposed to know that there is usually a kernel of something that can be nurtured into full bloom with some love and attention (remember all those drafts of Elizabeth Bishop's "One Art"?). We're supposed to know that fear, insecurity, self-doubt, loss of faith are as much a part of the process as that eureka feeling, moments of triumph, surges of confidence, times where we think "hey, I can do this," and the conviction that the Universe is good.

But on those days where I feel like I just want to crawl out of my skin and slither away from the keyboard, to do something practical or nothing at all, well, those are the days that it is hard to remember the rewards of sticking with it. Maybe one row of birch will get me back on track, knowing the promise that it holds.

Running with an Idea

Have you allowed yourself to run with an idea lately? I mean, truly run with it with no expectations or goals or anything attached to it? After a few days of hitting a wall, today I decided not to have any expectations at all, to allow myself to run with an idea. I picked up some little jots and notes from Saturday, when I did a bit of "empathetic questioning" following Carol Bly's technique in Beyond the Writer's Workshop. This morning I grabbed onto the core idea that came up while I was doing that and decided to run with it. La, la, la...it has born some fruit (not in abundance, but there is some new growth and it is worth chewing on).

The great thing about empathetic questioning is that its only objective is to get deeper into the heart of the piece. Carol Bly really makes me feel better because she says that a first draft inevitably feels flat (oh yes, how I know this to be true!). But that is not where it needs to stay. By asking yourself some questions about whether you are managing to say what you really want to say, trying to get to the "truth," you can push the piece deeper. Since right now I have a very shallow draft the various bits and pieces of which are connected together with a thread that is hardly visible even to myself and would certainly be invisible to anyone else, including my most attentive advisor, empathetic questioning and running with its findings was all that it took to break free from the disjointed surface of this story. It has allowed me to "look forward and plan ahead free-spiritedly." How liberating. Instead of feeling stuck, I feel released.

Sunday Scribblings: Deepest, Darkest

This week's prompt, deepest, darkness, somehow brought out the poet in me. She doesn't come out very often, so be kind! I don't even know how to punctuate poetry.

The Grave

The grave I dug was deep and dark,
It bordered on the woods,
I tossed within bits of the past,
The evils and the goods;
Broken bits of shrubs untended,
Sweet herbs now gone to seed,
A diamond and some precious coins
To show I’d lost my greed.
I knew that there was room for more,
Something not yet revealed,
I searched the dark depths of my mind,
But it remained concealed.

The dew of dusk clung to the leaves,
The sun began to set,
I grabbed the spade to fill the grave
But the task was not done yet.
The wind picked up, the clouds went dark,
And soon I could not see,
The darkness spoke in a deep sure voice,
The forgotten thing was me.

For more deepest, darkest, check out Sunday Scribblings.

Permission to Take a Vacation Granted

I took yesterday's and today's photos a couple of years ago, in May, when I gave myself permission to take a vacation in Europe. The flowers were outside a Parisian florist, this magical place is the Alhambra in Granada, Spain.

A number of my fellow-MFAers have been experiencing burnout lately, and I sure know that feeling. I am feeling it now too. I'm unmotivated, feeling burdened and put upon. A friend has asked me if I want to get together for an hour (one little hour) this weekend and my knee-jerk reaction is that I can't afford the time off. I have work to do!

I remember when I first started working, I thought that I could not afford the time that a vacation would take. So I started to avoid vacations or always take work with me. About ten years ago, I realized that I had not gone anywhere without at least some work-related reading in more than a decade. And often the work that I took never got done, but cast a dark shadow over the whole vacation. I was plagued with the sense that I should be working. My conclusion: A vacation is time off work without any work to do. It occured to me that no one is going to give me permission to take that kind of vacation, but I am a grown-up. I can take one if I want. Yes, sometimes I need to scale the expectations back to fit with my finances, but there is always some destination that is within my reach. Sometimes, even staying in town and doing something I would not ordinarily do can be a vacation. I find that when I give myself permission, I feel better about my work and I can remember what I like about it, even convince or remind myself that I have chosen this work (for now). It does not rule me.

You know how they say that if you don't sleep, you go insane and then you die. Well, I think the same is true of not taking real vacations. It may take longer, but it will kill us, and along the way, it will suck the joy out of our lives and make us crazy.

So please, please, plan a vacation. The more you think that you have no time, the more you need one! Me: I'm going to Chicago in May, and before that I am taking some time off right here.

Tulips ... Soon

The garden is starting to offer some promise. Tulips are pushing their way up through the soil, and the hundred crocuses that I planted back in November are stretching their little green stems up to the sun. Nothing in this world compares to the hope that the slow steady rousing of spring life spurs.

Like the flowers in the garden, the new essay changes daily, almost imperceptibly. Measured development, but visible at the end of the week.

I Want Some New Yarn

I am just itching to buy some summer yarn (the picture on the left), but I have some stash from last summer that I haven't even touched, as well as an in-progress denim project (the Rowan jacket pictured on the right) that I need to pick up again soon. Birch is languishing in a state that has not moved beyond intial cast-on. The only project that I have spent any time at all on is a sweater, that might turn out to be really ugly, but it's easy enough to knit when I watch 24. It's the only thing I watch these days, and then only sometimes, and definitely only on DVD. I can't tune in regularly to anything, and in any case I'm well behind on seasons, currently in the early hours of Day Four (so far, not in the same league as Day Three, IMHO). The rule around here though is that you are not allowed to forge ahead alone with the episodes. Lest you think that I watch it uncritically, I do not. But I don't have the energy to get into it right now.

The bottom line is, there is no need to buy new yarn right now because there is no time to knit it. Not that the intention to knit is a prerequisite for a new yarn purchase, of course. There is sometimes just the luxury of a box of new yarn delivered to the house, and then the subsequent unconscious seeking that ensues as the right brain (or is it the left brain? I can never keep them straight) tries to find the perfect project for it. Truly, the process can take years.

Sunday Scribblings: In the Kitchen

I grew up in the kitchen, sitting at the table, drinking tea and watching my mother work her magic at the avocado green stove. As a feminist, I sometimes worry about the whole “woman in the kitchen” thing, but I realize that in many homes, certainly the one I grew up in, the kitchen was a real locus of power. It really was the heart of the home, the most regular gathering place, the warmest, most comforting place to be. You could take the pulse of the family in the kitchen. We ate all of our meals, many together, in the kitchen. We sat at the table and played cards in the kitchen. I learned how to do macramé at the kitchen table when I was a child in the seventies, turning brown twine into plant hangers (remember those), making my own beads and painting them—all in the kitchen. I baked my own horrible easy-bake oven cakes on the kitchen table while my mother made mouth-watering real ones at the counter. Or I stood on a chair beside her, full of admiration and longing to know the same secrets. In the late afternoons, you could hear the pressure cooker (which was to approached with the utmost caution, if at all) hissing away on the stovetop. And the aroma of sweet baking filled the house every Sunday afternoon. When I was a little older, I sat at that table in the kitchen, leafing through cookbooks, experimenting with recipes, absorbing my mother’s skills and making them my own.

When I was shopping for my first home, I surprised myself by realizing what a huge priority the kitchen was (right up there with closet space) and how definite my ideas about it were. I wanted a spacious kitchen that I could move in easily and with a vast counter that would allow me to say “yes” whenever guests asked if I needed any help in the kitchen. I wanted a dedicated bookcase for my own growing collection of cookbooks, none of which I can think of discarding. And a little desk. And most of all, I wanted a kitchen that was continuous with the rest of the house, not shut off from but open to the social space. And now I have it. No other room lives in a house the way a kitchen does.

See what's going on in other kitchens.

Note to Self: It's a Process

Bug was writing about beginning again today, and what she said really resonated with me. I had the luxury last month of working on revisions. This month, I am trying to start something new and it is in that shapeless, aimless early stage where the only thing that keep me moving forward is faith in the process. I have 10 pages and fear that they all need to scrapped. Nevertheless, I am going to keep moving forward with it, adding daily until I have 10 more pages. Then I'll go back to the beginning and start looking for its shape and its point.

I love Julia Cameron's suggestion to put this sign in my creative space: Great Creator, I will take care of the quantity; you take care of the quality. I know from past experience that I cannot sit down and plan to write something brilliant. I can only do my part by showing up and leave the rest to the process. If I am going to get to the other side of this transition as a writer, I need to accept that there will be many, many beginnings. I have given myself two touchstones this month. (1) Ralph Keyes' The Courage to Write sits on my desk. I don't even need to read it anymore; I just let it be there. (2) I am re-reading the freewriting after the "finding true north" meditations that we did in the very first MFA seminar. In January, it helped me get centred and find the vein of the essay I was writing. Perhaps it can work its magic again this month.

Sunday Scribblings #51 Inspiration

This week, as its first anniversary approaches, Sunday Scribblings has prompted us to write about inspiration.

One of my very first blog posts was on the topic of inspiration. As far as my writing life goes, not much has changed since then. I still cannot afford to wait for inspiration. But I have discovered something else: the more I write, the more the inspiration seems to come. Regular time with the page, a gift which I have been giving myself in generous doses over the past few months, trains my creative spirit to be awake even when I am not at the page. I'm not sure if I'd call it inspiration, but lately I've been overflowing with ideas to such an extent that I just have to get them down or I'm going to explode. And I think the main reason for this abundance is that I am prepared to sit down and write no matter what my mood. I don't look for the inspired moment anymore.

There is another kind of inspiration that the prompt called to mind for me, and that is the inspiration I get from the world around me. Energetic young feminists inspire me. My friends' achievements inspire me. Stories of writers who persisted, believed in themselves and finally broke into the market inspire me. Sunsets, rainstorms, lush forests of ferns, silent snowfalls, summer breezes, and the night sky inspire me. Yoga, meditation, and that sense that nothing needs to be different inspire me. I could go on. But you get the picture. Some days, I am in awe of the universe and everything in it.

Find more inspired writing here.

Radio Days

Radio documentaries are fun to make. Pitch, pitch, pitch until you get to do one. I'm having the best time right now putting together a draft of my story with the producer. I can't say it's not a lot of work and I can't say I'd have been able to do it without help, but I am learning a lot. The thing about doing this is that I'm not just learning about radio, I'm learning about story-telling. So a lot of what we're doing I can carry into my writing.

Yesterday, the main task was to sort through the tape that I flagged when I was organizing the rough draft of the structure, decide on the order of the various bits, and then cut, cut, cut until we ended up with about 20 minutes of tape (the final product will be 13). Watching it take shape through the day was so exciting, just like watching your story emerge when you're writing. Considering I started off last month with over 500 minutes of tape, and even in the initial narrowing down still had over 90 minutes, getting down to 20 streamlined the possibilities and nailed the one thread that the story will follow. I'm listening to it right now and, just as with a written story, I can see what is needed, what is working, and what needs to be edited down or edited out. You just have to love the creative process!

At the end of the day, I thought I had time to go yarn shopping before meeting a friend for dinner. But Romni Wools has such a terrible website that I got the times completely wrong and thought it was open until 8. As it turns out, it is only open until 8 on Thursdays. So arriving at 5:55, just as they were about to close up, was kind of disappointing but saved me a fair chunk of change since I could feel that adrenaline rush starting as I began to do that thing where you run the different strands of yarn between your fingers, squeeze the different balls, do the mental calculations of how much you need and how much it will cost...

I had a great dinner with a friend who is a professional writer, the first one who ever encouraged me to pursue writing as a career. Now this morning, since her husband works in the newsroom at the CBC, I'm getting a tour of the newsroom before I start work on the documentary.

The building on the corner with the red trim is the CBC, and the tower in the background is the CN Tower. I took that pic on my way to the yarn store yesterday. The weather was just stupendous. People were even sitting in outdoor cafes on Queen Street yesterday (it's kind of relative; in September or October it would have seemed way too cold for that, but in March, it's like wow, what a balmy day).

Sunday Scribblings #50 Dream Journey

My dream journey takes me through a magical door that catapults me straight out of my dayjob into the new life as a full-time writer who doesn't have to pretend not to be an artist anymore.

Now, please.

Travel here for more (and more inspired!) dream journeys.

Happy International Women's Day!

The International Women's Day website describes IWD as a "global day of celebration," and so it is! Any opportunity to think about women across world, about ways of continuing to improve the conditions of their lives, about strategies for developing an inclusive global feminist community is worth taking. Women are participating more fully in public life than ever before, and there are many more opportunities for them than there were. But pay equity, representation in politics and government and business, opportunities for education, the unrecognized value of their unpaid domestic labour, exploitation of women workers in the global economy, poverty and stigma facing single mothers, inequitable access to healthcare resources, and violence against women are still issues for women in developed and in developing nations.

There are IWD events going on all over the world today. Check for those in your area. Be a role model. Make a difference today.

The beautiful logo you see here is from the Status of Women of Canada website.

Close, So Close

How is everyone doing on the next submission? I'm in that period of the last minute where time suddenly opens up and feels more expansive than usual. I think it's because it forces a certain kind of focus. I still strive, one day, to find that focus more often without having it be pressure-induced. There is probably no spiritual tradition that does not encourage living in the moment, so why fight the time-honoured truth?

Anyway, the essay is coming together. I can see where it still needs work, but I have done a respectable enough revision, expansion, and restructuring that anything I do after tomorrow morning will be bonus. I'm behind on the reading for one of the annotations. I have never left the reading so to the last minute. It's not that I'm not enjoying it, but with this cold, reading makes my eyes close pretty quickly. I've probably read enough to write something, but I feel as if I'm cheating. Okay, maybe I'll be willing to lower my standards if the reading isn't done by tomorrow. I have some work-related reading that needs to take priority tomorrow. Boo.

An interesting thing happened with my new writing this month. I thought I was working on a new essay, and it turned out to be an extension of the previous one. So a little experiment in combining them paid off big time, and I am quite happy with what is in the making. At least I see its potential.

Tomorrow is International Women's Day so remember to take a moment to think about our sisters locally and globally.

Want to Come Ice Fishing?

This morning it was back to work. I was up at 5:30 working on my essay for the next submission (still aiming for Friday). It was a productive hour; I like how the piece is shaping up. I gave myself plenty of time for my meditation and my morning pages (no yoga today). I had a few things to do to get ready for my 9:30 commitment, and with just a 10 minute commute, leaving at 8:30 was just fine.

Except that the driveway looked kind of like this (well, it didn't look blue, but for some reason that's how it looks now):


Last week it was just a lake. Now, well, I'd have invited you over to go ice fishing, but I really did need to get to work. Then my wheels started spinning -- the Rabbit is cute but front wheel drive? Not so cute. I looked at my watch and tried again. Nothing. I went for help. The car did move some with the pushing (I did a lot of the pushing), but it kept ending up stuck in a worse position. As you can see, it went through the ice. Just when I was ready to give it up and accept defeat, a lovely neighbour came out to offer her help. Between the two of us pushing as hard as we could, R (yes, funny how he ended up in the driver's seat!) managed to control the vehicle as it catapulted free, onto higher and drier ground.

Here is the forecast for this evening. There are two warnings in effect: a snowsquall warning and a windchill warning. We're expecting about 5 cm (2.5 inches of snow), winds northwest (the real cold kind) 40 km per hour, gusting to 60 km per hour at times, temperature plummeting to minus 24 C, minus 32 with the windchill factor. Tomorrow morning is supposed to be sunny, but not when I walk to yoga at 6:30, in the dark, with the wind chill temperature of minus 36 degrees C. Then it's going to snow again. And then again on Wednesday.

Somehow it doesn't seem quite the right time of year for daylight savings time to be starting.

Ira Glass on Story-Telling

I don't usually crib so directly from other blogs, but a friend sent me this great page from "Your Daily Awesome" with four completely engaging and charming clips of Ira Glass talking about story-telling. They've been a great help as I try to put something together in rough for my radio documentary. Thanks for the tip, CA.

Four Hours!

I had a miraculously productive morning working on revisions. My packet finally arrived from my advisor yesterday. It took nearly two weeks for it to get here -- you'd think it was going halfway around the world. Thankfully, she had sent the letter by e-mail last week, which contained 8 generous pages of the most helpful comments. But getting the packet with the comments in the margins really helped. So I went at it this morning. I began a bit later than usual (I am sick with a cold, after all), about 8:30. And I'm not kidding, before I knew it it was 12:30! And I'd only checked e-mail about 3 times. I feel great about that. The writing is changing for the better, and though I am not going to have much to show in terms of the new work unless I get cracking on that tomorrow, the revision is likely to be substantial enough that I can get away with it as long as I promise new work for April.

The first annotation is done. Reading for the second one is on track, though the reverse schedule has been revised. I'm okay with shifting schedules.

I spent last night on the IS project. I have a Monday deadline for a rough structure for the radio documentary. And then on the 13th and 14th I am going to the CBC in Toronto for a couple of days to work on it. That will be thrilling. I signed and mailed the contract today. I still can't believe they're paying me. Of course, trying to come up with the narrative structure has brought out the usual, mean inner critic telling me my tape is all wrong, there is no story, I don't have enough scenes etc. I need to re-read FC's inspiring post from the other day.

R brought me a cup of tea this afternoon in response to my complaints about not being looked after the way someone with a cold should be.

I don't have time for this

I do not have time to nurse a cold right now, but really, when it hits, it hits hard. So I had to spend the morning, for which I had high hopes of making progress on my essay, sleeping. The drugs that I am taking to enable me to breath leave me a little foggy. And I'm in a grumpy mood. Why is it that when we women are sick, we end up having to take care of ourselves, but when the men in our lives (if there is one) are sick we love to take care of them. Why can they not reciprocate?

I have three plans for today other than sleeping: 1. Spend two hours (Bug, I can't do three. Just. Can. Not) on my essay and 2. Work on the structure for my radio documentary (my IS project) and 3. Read the book for my second annotation -- I am behind on the reverse calendar but that's okay.

Meanwhile, while I was gone it seems that FC and The Repeater have taken to blogging daily! I love it!

Snow Days!

The snow conditions this week have been perfect. Yesterday there was plenty of fresh, fluffy stuff to float through (paradise) and today the snow is more groomed, faster, and perfect of cruising. The temperature has been comfortable, hovering around -3 degrees C or so, and no wind.

My schedule was somewhat disrupted by the fresh snow yesterday morning. We drove here on a blizzard on Sunday evening, thus missing a good portion of the Oscars, which was fine because no doubt what I missed was even more tedious than what I, loyal Academy Awards watcher that I am, sat through (good knitting fare). Of course, the upside of the harrowing drive was that we knew the slopes would be fabulous the next day. I did manage to get up at 5:30 to work on my essay for about 90 minutes before heading out for the morning. In response to my advisor's good suggestions, I am completely restructuring my essay from last month. The difference in flow is opening up new, richer possibilities, but I haven't quite got a sense of particulars yet. I am simultaneously working on a second essay. This could be a mistake but we'll see. I am also, for the first time, struggling with an annotation. I usually have no problem dashing these off, but this reading was so rich (False Papers, Andre Aciman) and I loved it so much that I don't even know what to focus on. Anyway, doing the powder yesterday really wore me out so the afternoon wasn't all that productive and then the hill was calling me again. Night riding is really a lot of fun because the atmosphere is completely different. Later that evening, after a scrumptious dinner at one of my favourite restaurants, we came back to watch 6 a.m. to 7 a.m. of 24 Season Three. It had the most disturbing final scene, certainly the most shocking 24 turn of events I've ever seen (I'm way behind, which is fine with me because I simply cannot show up for anything on TV at the same time, weekly, for that many weeks in a row).

Today I woke up with a cold -- my throat was on fire -- but since it was snowing like crazy when I fell asleep last night I couldn't resist. After all, that is why we're here. Another morning of great riding. Like anything, some days you just hit that rhythm and it's magical. It's now just after lunch and I have to say, I'm worn right out. Calling it a day. Nap. Annotation. Essay. Knitting. Dinner. 24. Sleep.

Me? Break-Phobic?

For all my advice about the Unschedule and the Reverse Calendar, I now have a week off from teaching and I am afraid to kick back at all. I can only think that with this one precious week, I better get focused and produce some writing: NOW. This morning I made a to-do list of things I really want to do, most writing- and MFA-related but it is so overwhelmingly long that I am feeling oppressed by it already. Blogging didn't even make the list. I must be doing that thing that John Perry writes about, structured procrastination. I talked about it in my very first post ever. Since the work I'm paid to do has been set aside for a few days, writing has risen to the top of the list. And that is why it is so difficult to do today.

Another reason I am having difficulty taking a break is just plain fear. I want to relax but am afraid that if I do I"ll never get to work again. I have a work schedule (not very unschedule-y of me, I know) all set out for when we are on our snowboarding holiday from Sunday to Wednesday. Get up at 5:30, work on essay until 7:30, meditate, have breakfast with R, R goes out for fresh tracks, I do morning pages, then read for second annotation, then do another half hour on essay, R comes in for mid-morning break. Out on the slopes by 11, snowboard through lunch (good time because everyone else is inside), come back to the room for lunch about 1 or 1:30, rest, back out for night-riding until 7:30, back to room to change, out for dinner. Of course, this will all have to change if it snows overnight. In that case, I need to make fresh tracks too.

All work and no play make TI a dull, dull girl.