Thursday, November 22, 2007

ONCE MORE INTO THE BRINK....



Here I go again... I have started my second unpublished novel in a series. I have written one hundred and eight pages into it.

No one ever said writing is a rational occupation. It is a profession that lives on hope, little sleep, and less praise. One has to be a master of dreams to push on through the most dreary of situations. The bills, sick kids, ill self, lonely nights typing at the computer, the blank screen that does not cheer with its stare uncomprehending as a government form that asks "Well, what is your work?"

Let me think... I am the tender of imagination, the midwife of new beings in print, a guardian of a world.

Doesn't get one very far in the "real world". I usually scrawl "homemaker" on a form. "Writer" means, at least to the bureaucratic people that I know, 'unemployed person with an English degree'. Not very prestigious.

So what keeps me going and persisting and hoping to be published? Because my characters, those mischievous struggling (almost) human creatures I've known for all these years, make my life reflective and intellectually alive. If they died unwept, so would the part of my life that budges the humane in me. This keeps me going as a writer.
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Tuesday, November 13, 2007

WHAT'S THE POINT?

Borders bookstore chain is installing televisions. The bookstore chain has partnered with Ripple, a national provider of in-store content to deliver information to "upper class" customers. Ripple also delivers content to such chic businesses as Jiffy-Lube and Jack-in-The-Box.

I don't know about the majority of the readers of this blog, but I'm old-fashioned. When I go to a bookstore, I expect to find books and periodicals. I like bookstores because I can escape the yak-yak of television. Bookstores are supposed to help people think not leave them hanging with their mouths wide open and drooling like eejits on the carpet. Or have I missed some crucial lesson in modern publishing?

Once upon a time, books were actually conveyors of knowledge not units to move out the door. When I was a child, too many years ago, I fell absolutely in love with the warm pencil colours of D'Aulaires' Book of Greek Myths. The sweet face of Aphrodite arising from the sea or the poignant reunion of Demeter and Persephone in the grain fields kicked a hole in my tidy go-to-churchy view of life. My world was suddenly aflame with ideas. Books aren't meant to be a marketing tool alongside television. Books are intended to open up new venues for the mind to explore.

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Sunday, October 28, 2007

UPDATE: FOOD STUFF

The regular cook was sick so my sous chef (represented here) graciously pitched in to cook for someone (me) who was sick onto death. Well, at least in no shape to cook. Unfortunately, we have different ideas on what constitute condiments for the food. Seasoning salt, in my opinion, is not a fit taste to use liberally in food preparation. We since have had IM conversations about the (in my opinion) proper way to cook Egg Mess.

All this makes me wonder about ghostwriters and their clients. Yes, there is a writing angle! Are the clients satisfied or do they complain about the seasoning? Is it the client's true story or the hired writer's tale? I wonder this as I am thankful for my sous chef pitching in at the last minute when I was not cogent enough to deliver one of my favourite dishes. It is something to ponder on those windy Canadian days when I'm imbibing a hot cup of Oolong tea and perusing my recipe books. Hmmm... Hobbit Shire Soup doesn't look that bad.

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Friday, October 26, 2007

UPDATE: FOOD RHAPSODY

The Vegetable Stirfry with Tofu Croquettes was delicious. My sous chef says that I put in too much corn and carrots but what does he know? I'm a better cook than him.

Tomorrow: Egg Mess and Toast! Yum.... My food critics adore this hardy staple of very few ingredients and non-meat protein. For the vegans out there who think of eggs as meat, pffft. You aren't getting enough B12 for your brains so you can't appreciate the value of eggs.

All this cooking has me jazzed. I'm currently revising a children's picture book about Canadian animal life. I figure if deer can eat eggs (and sometimes birds), then nothing should prevent me from eating chicken eggs. Will post how the cooking (and writing) progresses.

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Monday, October 22, 2007

MORE FOOD RHAPSODY

I have been taking a hiatus from the blog to work on culinary skills. I find that if I can't work with writer's block, then a little innovation in other areas helps.

Canadian Thanksgiving was superb. I made vegan gluten free dressing with brown rice bread with almond and cashew nut butter gravy. My sous chef made homemade chips. There was a bowl of canned cranberry jelly, and pears for the sides.

Tonight I made Bean without Bacon soup, a vegan spin on a classic fall comfort food. Served again with more cranberry jelly, and potatoes, it was a comforting rustic meal.


Tomorrow, I make my standby Vegie Stirfry with Tofu Croquettes.

All this has inspired me to send out an article on Plains Native American tribes to a history magazine geared toward middle school grades. Will let my readers know if my conquests as a culinarian translate to the published page.

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Thursday, October 4, 2007

ça m'amuse


A struggling author, David Lassman, recently proved how difficult it was get published as a first time author. He submitted chapters of Jane Austen novels to various literary agents and publishers (including some very big names) and all but one rejected the manuscripts.

Well, who wouldn't reject a manuscript from Jane Austen? Despite the Beeb's television series, the various and sundry movies of her novels and about her, Jane Austen is dull. She is overly mannerly and correct. There are no surprises or major conflicts in Austen novels, just irritating lapses in etiquette. Charlotte Brontë described Austen's petit point screeds in accurate terms.

Letter of April 12th 1850 to W.S. Williams:

"I have likewise read one of Miss Austen's works,Emma -- read it with interest and with just the degree of admiration which Miss Austen herself would have thought sensible and suitable -- anything like warmth or enthusiasm, anything energetic, poignant, or heartfelt, is utterly out of place in commending these works: all such demonstrations the authoress would have met with a well bred sneer, would have calmly scorned as outré and extravagant. She does her business of delineating the surface of the lives of genteel English people curiously well; there is a Chinese fidelity, a miniature delicacy in the painting: she ruffles her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound: the Passions are perfectly unknown to her; she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with that stormy Sisterhood; even to the Feelings she vouchsafes no more than an occasional graceful but distant recognition; too frequent converse with them would ruffle the smooth elegance of her progress."


Charlotte, be it noted, grew up with a kickass younger sister. Emily could shoot a pistol. The more youthful Brontë also made a tidy livelihood from railroad stocks. None of your mincing, faint-of-heart Austen mollycoddles for the Brontë clan when they wrote of their heroines. The sisters gave literature Catherine Earnshaw and Jane Eyre. Both characters had more spirit than, well, I can't recall any of Austen's lead women. They are not memorable as the plain Jane with her mysterious Rochester or Catherine with the brooding Heathcliff. Perhaps, someone ought to try the same experiment with a Brontë novel and see if publishers recognize such.


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POEM OF THE WEEK



If my words, like leaves,
should scatter through the world,
would that I might leave behind
the name that was mine
in the unforgettable days of old.



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