Learning What’s Important

I’ve been ridiculously busy the last little while. Despite trying to write, to finish little projects that are almost there, I have been working…because let’s face it, more money is always good. But I found something that is more than just work. Something that touches me in a way I never could have imagined. Sure, I went into it hoping to find something that would change or maybe even define me as a person. But I didn’t know how much of a difference I could make in a person’s life, or just how much I would learn.

I’ve started doing home care for seniors. This would consist of anything from companionship to personal care. Most of the clients I can expect to get have some form of dementia or maybe even alzhiemers. My first client is a lady, she’s 92 years old and for the past few years started to develop dementia. She has these moments when she slips, not really forgetting who I am, but thinking she doesn’t need me. She’s tried to kick me out a couple of times. But then there are the days she is so lonely she doesn’t want me to leave. The three hours I spend with her, is just not enough. Yet she strives to hold on to her independence, like the moment it’s gone, she is done. My job is to help not feel so lonely, to find her things to do.

Problem is, in her constant complaints of boredom, she doesn’t want to do anything except watch TV. She doesn’t want to walk, she doesn’t want to leave her suite, doesn’t want to read or be read to, she just wants to sit and doze in her chair and complain about the lack of quality television. And, much to my surprise, she doesn’t want to talk about herself either. I was under the impression that most seniors loved to talk about themselves and their pasts, but not this one. Ask her a direct question about her past, no matter how trivial the question or the intention of the question, and she thinks I’m prying.

Which makes me wonder, is she hiding something? Something she doesn’t want anyone to know. A secret? That’s the writer in me, speculating.

By the way, it’s really hard to have a conversation when you can’t ask a few questions. I know sometimes I have a habit of asking inappropriate or personal questions, but of course I don’t do that with her.

It makes me sad to see her hunched over, lonely. Nothing to do but bide her time until it’s time to go. But like I said, it’s not like she has nothing to do, it’s that she chooses to do nothing. Like there is nothing left to live for, and my challenge, to help her find that thing.

She can be the sweetest lady. She can be the most ornery lady. She laughs and smiles, gets sour and agitated. But one thing remains the same, she is so polite.

We painted her fingernails the other day. Something so simple, yet seemed to bring her some great joy. It actually gave me a little insight to her. There are few pictures of her family, those that do exist, kept in her bedroom on her dresser. In those pictures, I see a different woman. Straight-faced, matter of fact…very proper. But pictures only capture a moment in time.

So who is this woman?

I am determined to find out.

A Great Piece of Information

I was reading something today, advice for writers on getting published and as a fiction writer how best to use a blog to my advantage. This guide suggested things like writing blog posts from the point of view of a main or secondary character in a novel or short story to garner interest in the writer. Another section suggested using a blog as a means of sharing the writer's journey: from story ideas to writing routines, because there are a huge number of people out there who will never write a book but are interested in the process.

All good suggestions. And there are a multitude of blogs out there offering writing advice to new writers. Some good advice, some not so good. Or maybe it's not that the advice is not so good, but maybe it's that I don't agree and that's all fine and dandy. Write about what works for me. My process, because no two processes are the same. For example, I tend to write at night when the house is quiet. I don't have a specific place to write because I don't have the room in my small apartment for special space. But other writers find it better to write first thing in the morning, which I rarely can do. Because of who I am and because I have a toddler who is very demanding first thing in the morning. Besides I don't think clearly at that time of the day. I used to. And sometimes it does work, but most of the time not. And there are other writers who have a special place to write. I wish I could be so lucky. Maybe one day. But for now I write where I can, when I can.

I mostly write at the computer, but there are days when I am stuck on a particular scene that I have to free fall write it out on paper to figure out where the scene is going. And there are writers out there who only write on paper and don't make it electronic until a first draft is figured out. I sometimes start my stories that way. When it's just a tiny idea that needs to be expanded, but about half way through I say to myself, I better get this on the computer and I do. Once that happens there is little going back to the paper version.

But that's just me. Everyone is different. Everyone has a way that works for them. And so be it.

More later...maybe a letter from a dead guy is in the works.

And I don't mean Jack Layton, though, may he rest in peace. It's a sad day in Canada, but one still full of optimism.

Wall Art?

I don't think so. A f*%king mess is what I call it. One that is going to require large amounts of nail polish remover to get the marks off the wall and will probably strip the paint at the same time.

I don't get the fascination. Permanent marker, zinc oxide diaper cream, Vaseline, nail polish. Is it a need to express herself in whatever means possible? Seriously, she is already fully capable of expressing herself. Usually in the form of tantrums and throwing things, but it's expression nonetheless. Am I not giving her enough creative outlet? She has colouring books, she has Play Doh, she has paints. But it's not good enough. I must be missing something. 

As annoying as it is, I do understand she is not doing this to drive us crazy. Or maybe she is. Is it a test? Or just creativity.

Whatever it is, one thing is for sure...I want to stick my head in the toilet and flush.

Down By the Bay

Our minds work in weird ways sometimes. You remember the song "Down By the Bay" by Raffi. It was a regular kids tune back in the 70's and 80's. I vaguely remember the song from kindergarten and maybe grade 1. That was over 30 years ago.

"Down by the bay/Where the watermelons grow/ Back to my home/ I dare not go/ For if I do/ My mama will say/ Did you ever see a goose kissing a moose/ Down by the bay..." And so on...

Chicken and Eggs

Over breakfast this morning I came to a startling realization. Eating chicken and eggs together are inherently wrong. I don't why today of all days this occurred to me. I've eaten the pair together in the past, but suddenly today I realized that one comes from the other, granted it was probably a boy chicken I was eating, but something seemed so bad about it. And it spoiled my appetite.

A Spirit of Encouragement: The Alexandra Writers' Centre Society
New article on Suite 101 in preparation for the 30th anniversary celebrations.

First Came Zinc...

And this evening came the Vaseline.

What is wrong with children? Why are they so obsessed with slimy, goopy gunk that makes such a damned mess and gets into the hair and clothes without much of a chance of it coming out? Not to mention they both are to protect from water...so do you think it's easy to just wash away? No...water

Some Things I Hate

1. People that think they know everything. Take my husband for example. Now don't get me wrong, I don't hate him, I just hate some of the things he does sometimes. Like when he's had just a touch too much to drink and I try to have a conversation with him. He suddenly thinks he's goddamned Einstein and no one else can have an opinion or he just has all the answers to all the problems in the world. If only Canada did things like the Europeans we would be much better off. Aargh. And then, rather than

Brilliant and Noteworthy

Some of the greatest writers say, write everyday. It's great advice but so hard to follow most of the time. Right now I find myself staring at a blank page and wondering what the hell is supposed to happen next. And then slowly, one word at a time starts to fill the page. Sometimes there is no path, no final goal. A word turns into a sentence, a sentence into a paragraph, a paragraph into a page and

Freshwater Pearls Anthology

I have a story coming out in an anthology this fall.

The story, Wednesday, will be my first real fiction publication.

Lots of other great writers inside, too.

Click the link to go to the Freshwater Pearls website to pre-order your copy today or you can pre-order copies through AWCS for only $20. Click on their secure web pages to be taken to the online store.

“Wednesday” by Robin van Eck

When I lived at home, Gertrude spent Wednesdays locked in her bedroom. Through the paper thin walls, I heard her moan and cry out as if in pain. Once when I was twelve I unlocked the door with the ink cartridge from a ballpoint pen and barely missed being struck in the head with an empty glass.

Buy the book to read more. Will be available September 2011.

2 o'clock in the morning...

Something freaky happened the other day.

Not the absurd or cool or coincidental kind of freaky, but the I-just-about-shit-my-pants kind of freaky.

I know I watch too much serial killer, sociopathic or just plain psychotic kind of TV and I have no

Worms Working Hard

Worms spend their days eating, pooping and procreating. Not a bad life if you ask me. And they have no brains.

But they are good for more than just fish bait.

New Website...

I finally have a new website...I know you're thinking...but THIS is your website, and you'd be mostly right...but this is the place I spill my guts and say stupid shit and talk about weird things and then amid it all, sometimes I talk about writing and say something brilliant.

But my website is not about that...who wants to be brilliant on their website...most websites are boring, with nothing new to add...the blog is where the good stuff's at.

Anyway...check it out...www.robinvaneck.com It's colourful and sort of artistic...in a finger paint kind of way.

Kind of like this blog...and you think I like pink, don't you?

Going to see a guy about some worms...

Tomorrow is the day...going to see the guy about the worms. Worm farming...should be an interesting field trip. Will post more on that tomorrow.

What's with doctors anyway? I've been having an ongoing female problem and finally managed to find a family doctor. I went in for the wonderful, annual check up, which I admit I hadn't had since October of 2008. Shame on me, I know. But it is what it is. So I went. And I dunno, call me weird but I find it completely unusual to go for more than a year and half with hardly a monthly visit to speak of. It's been there, just not much. And now in the last two months...spotting every bloody day. (no pun intended)

So I talk to the doctor about it and she her best "guess" is Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. I was sent for a whack of blood tests and then waited.

Okay that was a couple of weeks ago.

So today, I go to the doctor because I am also having a blood pressure problem. I think it has a name. Julianne. Anyway, since there is nothing I can about her...I have to do what I can to manage it. So I went in today, for what was only supposed to be a blood pressure check.

So she proceeds to tell me the results of my blood work and other tests. All clear. Whee...I don't have cancer, I don't have high cholesterol and my hormones are apparently normal. Everything...check, check, check.

But then...the results of the urine test. Here's how it went:

Doctor: Did you have any symptoms of a bladder infection?

Me: No.

Doctor: Period? Spotting?

Me: (seriously? can't you read the stupid screen in front of you. That's kind of why I came to you in the first place.) Hmm...spotting for almost 2 months now.

Doctor: Oh? (looks at the computer a little closer) Well I want you to go for another test but make sure you're not spotting.

What? Really? And if I could control that don't you think I would? Cause I have these wonderful powers of control over my body and hell, I am just here for shits and giggles.

And she still thinks it's POS but doesn't have any definitive proof to back it up. If the hormones are good and there are no cysts...then what? Is it still POS? Problem with doctors, we put too much fricking trust in their knowledge but just because they went to school for a hundred years and have a degree or two...doesn't mean they know everything.

Don't get me wrong...I get that doctors see hundreds of patients a week and it's virtually impossible to remember everybody. But...when the information is right in front of her...and she didn't even remember what I was there for in the first place. Blood pressure. Helloooo.

And I wonder, when a doctor gets back test results and something appears a little wonky, shouldn't they review the chart first to see if they can make any sense of the results before talking to the patient. Just a thought, so that they don't look like they don't really give a shit. Which for the most part, they probably don't.

Anyway, a few more tests to come...one related to the above problem, one unrelated.

And that is that.

Worms, Worms, Worms

It's been raining again. For more than a day. The worms are going to be forced from the ground once again and will be found slithering for cover, hoping they don't get trampled by angry feet.

The last time it rained like this, after the rain, I went out for a walk and found myself stopping to admire the slithery beasts, even took a picture. Will add it if I can get it off my Blackberry.

And I am going to see a man about some worms.

Back to the research. I've been kind of putting this off because honestly it involves three things I really don't like.

Worms. Dirt. Garbage.

But it has to be done for the sake of Caleb and Abel and Daddy. I need to know just what's been happening on that farm. To do that...I must start with the worms.

So I called the only worm farm I could find in Calgary. Worms @ Work If you're in need of really good compost, contact them. See, I promised I would do some promotion for them. More to come, I am sure.

And I am going to see them on Monday. Toddler and all. Wearing anything but out best-dressed. It's going to be a field trip. And I suspect, the toddler in tow will be as terrified of worms as she has recently been about mosquitoes and any other small flying insects.

I was reading a book last night. Actually a couple of books so I don't remember if it was bird by bird by Anne Lamott or Writing from Life by Heather Robertson, but one of these ladies said when she does research for one project, often more comes out of that research. For example, I am researching worm farming for a story I am working on, but at the same time, I have now created two blog posts on worms, and there is the potential for an article for Suite 101 on the subject and the Calgary-based company.

A little research can go a long way.

Ack! Worms...

I've been working on a story. As usual. But this one has taken on a life of its own and now I find myself having to research worms and worm farming.

Who would have thunk it?

I hate worms. As a small child going fishing with my dad on the weekend, I couldn't bear to touch those things. My dad had to always put the worm on the hook for me.

When I would walk in the rain and find worms on the side of the road having been forced from the quiet of their homes, I would take every precaution to avoid them. I did not want worm squish on the bottom of my shoe.

In high school when I would help my mom with the weeding of the garden (against my will) I was completely creeped out when a worm would be found coiled or slithering through the dirt.

I would not touch it. But I would not kill it either. Just leave it alone and let it do its thing.

And now for the story.

I won't go into details but through some thoughtful discussion with a dear friend, coupled with an absurd dream I had recently about an old friend becoming a worm farmer (quite successfully I might add) it was decided that it was too cliche to have the farmer in my story be a pig farmer so what the hell, dare to be different...he became a worm farmer. Which led me to the internet and researching anything and everything I could find out about worm farming.

But...there is always a but. The information I found was generic. Could be perceived any way I wanted it to. The only way I am going to fully understand the process is to get my hands dirty. Therefore, I made contact with a local worm farmer and will going on a field trip. Official date is not set, but I am hoping for next week. After the rain stops.

Speaking of rain. I went for a walk yesterday. The sidewalks and roads were littered with worms having been forced from their simple existence. A horrible disruption to their routine of aerating the gardens and whatever else it is they do. (To them, I imagine it's similar to those poor people in Slave Lake being forced from their homes. Or the recent tornado carnage in the US. Sadness.) And even now...more than 20 years later, I still avoid them.

No squish on these shoes.

Art of the Book Review

I'm not sure I would say there is an art to writing a book review. Although many people have been coming to me lately saying they wished they could write a book review and I why don't I teach a workshop on just how to do that. My response is usually that I don't know that I'm qualified because how do I know if the book reviews I write are really that good. I just write them and hope for the best. Hope I don't insult an author, especially if it's someone I know.

But I have been giving this a lot of thought. And I remember a book review I wrote a long time ago that, for lack of a better word, sucked. It was bland and boring and all it did was describe what the book was about. That's not a review. That's a synopsis. It's the same thing you would find on the back jacket cover.

So..a little over a year ago, when I was asked to write a review, I thought I would go into full respiratory failure. How on earth was I going to write a decent review that didn't just sum up a book. A review that had substance and showed I had actually put some thought into what I wrote.

To make matters worse, the first book I was given to review as a collection of short stories. And let me tell you, writing a review on a collection or anthology is a polka dotted zebra, compared to a review of a novel or book on one particular topic.

So here's a few things I did to prepare for that review.

Research
Go through a newspaper, online or in literary magazines and read other book reviews. Ask yourself, what makes this review interesting. What about it makes you want to read the book, or not? Is there something that stands out? Is the review a summation of the book and then an opinion by the reviewer or is there a substance to it?

Be The Reader
Well this is a given. You have to read the book before you can write the review. I always read the book once through without giving too much thought to the review. Sometimes I make tiny notes or mark really amazing passages, but for the most part I read it not as the reviewer but as the reader and along the way think about what makes this book really good, really intriguing, what's intriguing or not about it. Does it remind me of something else, like a time in my life or an experience that I could compare it to? Again, don't put too much thought into the first read through.

Sit on It (no this is not some kind of weird osmosis)
After I've read the book, I leave it for a day or two. After the story has had a chance to percolate and churn, I come back to it. Grab paper and pen and start jotting down the things that I remember - the things that still stand out. Whether it's things about the character, about the theme or about particular scenes, it may all be relevant. I look for commonalities between the things I've jotted down.

Be the Reviewer
Now I go back and often reread the book. Yes, cover to cover. But now I am looking at different things. Great dialogue, great character development, interesting relationships and even the structure of the book.
In collections I usually try to pick out at least one favourite story. This usually isn't hard to do. And you may have different reasons for it being the favourite.

Excerpts
I find using actual excerpts from the book are helpful in creating a structure or bringing out a particular theme or something about the character. Make sure you reference the page number and story and author next to the excerpt.

Excerpts are not necessary to a review but I think it adds something. Not only does it show the author (and the readers of the review) that you actually put time into searching out accurate excerpts, but it gives more body to the review. I have read several reviews that don't use excerpts and I've read lots that do. I prefer reading the ones with the samples. I like getting a little sampling of the writing, but I think it's the preference of the reviewer.

Structure/Good vs. Bad

Structure in a review is almost as important as structure in a book. I like to try and have a natural progression through the review, from beginning to end.

I open most of my reviews with a thought, a comparison to something in real life that mirrors the theme of the book. Maybe even a scene that I've made up myself.

Or I start with an excerpt from the book, or a news related piece. All that relate to the book, of course.

What if I don't like the book? What if it's someone I know and I don't like the book? What if there are some really good things about the book but also a lot of bad things?

I like to structure my reviews much the way I do a critique. Start with the good, mention the bad, and end with the good. Sandwich the negative in the middle and pad it with a lot of good on either side.

But that's me.

If you choose only to write good reviews then so be it, but I think you're selling yourself short. If you choose to write both, great.

I recommend not being too harsh even if you don't like the book. This probably comes from me being a writer. Writers put so much time and energy into their projects that a negative review can be demoralizing. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to sugar coat it either.

I prefer to be diplomatic.

A dear friend asked me not that long ago, if I read a book by someone that I knew and I didn't like it, would I still write the review? I had to think about it, but I came to the conclusion that I probably wouldn't. I also, won't write a good review if I didn't like the book. No matter who it's for.

But there in lays another problem.

Lately I have been asking people to send me books to review. Some of these people are colleagues and friends. What would I do if someone I know asked me directly to write a review of their book and I didn't like it? That, I don't know and hope I never have to find out.

Perception/Interpretation
You will never interpret a book the way the author intended. If you do, it's probably pure luck. I always struggled with the thought of misinterpretation. What if I was wrong in how I perceived the story or theme? That's the thing about interpretation. It's fairly unbiased. Societal, familial and environmental factors make up who we are as a person and how we are going to perceive certain situations in a book. Don't let that hold you back. It adds more levels to the review and there are bound to be others out there that think the way you do, or alternatively, completely disagree.

All I can say is be fair.

Be honest. 

And...be creative.

Literary Erotica

Woo wee...pleased as punch that my book reviews are gathering attention across the internet. Specifically Suite101 I've been given the opportunity to do and share what I love. Write and read. Write about what I read.

And the latest reading has brought up an interesting subject. Erotica and does it have a place in the literary world?

Bad Romance was an exception to the usual definition of erotica. It's packed full of the dark stuff of fantasy and fetish. But that's not all that erotica is about.

Nude Maja
Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, 1746-1828



Erotica has been around in one form or another for centuries. Paintings, sculptures and literature. Over the years, many have viewed erotica as nothing more than literary pornography, but it's so much more.

In its literary form, erotica is sensuous and arousing - somewhat like pornography. But it's not supposed to be gratuitous as most pornography comes across. There is a point to the story, there is something buried deep within the psyche that causes a character to need, or want. It's not just about the sex. It's about the relationships, it's about the environment, it's about the character.

You could have an erotic story about a woman who is a sex addict. The story is not about the acts, per se. The story is about the person, the addict, dealing with such an addiction and how it affects the rest of her life. Sure there are usually sexually explicit scenes but they need to have a point. Does the character feel pain when she indulges in her addiction? Remorse? Satisfaction? Does she see a problem in what she is doing? How does this addiction affect her other relationships? The woman could be married. Or maybe still lives with her parents. Maybe her days are filled with constant sexual thoughts that affect her job performance. There is so much more to be explored.

Freaky Fountain Press has brought up something different, yet tangible. The freaky side of sexual relationships. The fetishes, the painful relationships, the indignity that can be felt in participating in some of the weirder fetishes. The dark side. This newly formed book press takes us to a place that most do not wish to journey. But it's out there whether we like to admit it or not.

For so many years, gays and lesbians have been fighting for freedom, and the fight is far from over. They have struggled to be seen and heard, fought for the right to marry. And society is coming around.

Erotica has been closeted in much the same way. Why are we so afraid to talk about our most intimate desires? Why are we afraid to admit it's there and deserves its place on the bookshelf?

Time will only tell but one thing is for sure...erotica is making its way into the light.

Book Review: Bad Romance edited by Robin Wolfe

Bad Romance edited by Robin Wolfe (Freaky Fountain Press, 2011)
an anthology of dysfunctional desire

There can be so many reasons for staying in a bad relationship. The fear of being alone, the feeling of addiction to the one we love, the intensity of volatile emotion that makes us feel alive. We know they will hurt us; we know they will leave us wounded and lost. And yet we don't walk away...because when the pain is this irresistibly pleasurable, how can we? (Back Jacket, Bad Romance)

Genre: Erotic Fiction

Book Review: the Boy by Betty Jane Hegerat

the Boy by Betty Jane Hegerat

Another Suite 101 book review.


Genre: Fiction/Nonfiction

Book Review: Nothing Sacred by Lori Hahnel

Nothing Sacred by Lori Hahnel

Check out the latest review on Suite 101.


Genre: Fiction Short Story Collection

Book Review: Being Four by Kim Cormack

Book Review

Reviewed by me on Suite 101

I'm Reaching...

A point in my writing where I have to buck up and believe that I actually have some talent, or throw in the towel completely. The thing is, I know that I have the talent. I know I have the determination to get where I want to be, but along the way you meet people that either boost you up, or knock you flat on your ass. We don't like to admit that we need the constant compliments or flattery, but really we do. What good is any of this if there aren't people out there that believe in what you're doing?

As anyone in any kind of artistic field knows, there are those that think it's a pipe dream, or as my husband likes to call it, "my hobby". And maybe right now it is a hobby because really I'm working hard at it but seeing little payoff. But again, that depends on what kind of payoff you expect. Are you looking for monetary payoffs? Because if that's the case, you might as well be looking somewhere else. Like the trash cans on the street and bins in apartment complexes and then make regular trips to the bottle depot, because honestly, you'll probably make more money that way. Although it's not nearly as much fun.

Or are you looking for the recognition? Someone out there to take notice of your efforts?

Writer or dumpster diver? I think I'll choose writer, even thought sometimes the idea of diving into a dumpster head first feels a little more realistic. More payoff for the effort.

And you get dirty. That's what makes it 'real' work right? I've spent my life with people that believed unless you get dirty, pull a muscle while on the job or shoot a nail through your foot with a nail gun, then you're not really working. Even though you bring home a paycheque, it's not really work.

Well you know what? Writers pull muscles all the time. Writers drive themselves into insanity, spend hours with bad people, chase criminals, kill people, search for a lost love one, tackle subjects not meant for the faint of heart. If a writer wants to drive a nail through the foot of someone, they can. And they can do it essentially unscathed. If they want to maim and dismember someone, they can, without fear of being held criminally responsible.

Gee, when I put it like that, it's probably better to be a writer. Writers can be anything they want to be and for as long as they want. A writer can be sexually deviant. A writer can experiment with poisons, can hand their heads out of a fast moving train or ride on the back of a donkey. They can explore made up worlds, meet unimaginable creatures, time travel...I can time travel if I want. Shit...and I can still dumpster dive if I really, really want to.

What could be better than that?

It's Tuesday...Again

High fevers, psychotic mommy's and men who collect hats. That's what my days have been full of for the last little while.

The hubby came home sick the other day and suffered all weekend. Yesterday, the little person seemed to contract whatever her daddy had because she spent the day with a fever and sleeping and it was a restless night to say the least. This morning there is still a fever though it does go down with each children's Tylenol I pump into her. Probably calls for a trip to the doctor but we'll see how she is in a couple of hours.

But amidst it all, I have written stories, submitted stories and now it's the 'hurry up and wait' we writers are so good at. I sent off a story Saturday. The one I have dubbed 'psycho mommy', dealing with the aftermath of postpartum psychosis. It was an interesting topic to write about, and a mentally draining subject to research. But the story came out fairly strong so for that, I am satisfied. Lets just hope someone else thinks so too.

And then there is the hat collector. Such an intriguing character. An old man telling a story of his childhood and dogs who eat Chiclets. Fun stuff. That one is still in the writing stage but it's coming along.

So all in all, I have 5 pieces of writing out there in the big wide world, trying to fend for themselves like the child I will let go of one day. And just like the disheveled mother...I really hope they don't come home, unless they really, really have to.

Let Me Go Back to Sleep and Try This Again

As I wake from my slumber, I focus on the little person at my bookcase. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and look closely. Thank God she hasn’t torn all the books from the shelf as usual. I lay back and smell a familiar odor but can’t quite place it. It’s something I’ve smelled before. No, not baby poop. Not vomit.

It’s strong and brings me back to my childhood, my teens, even my adult life. But what the hell is it? It’s got a slight ammonia smell, or at least something I associate with that offensive odor.

I look at the little person.

“What are you doing?”

She doesn’t answer. Keeps her back to me, absorbed in what looks like lining the books perfectly. If only she could alphabetize the titles she has rearranged on numerous occasions.

“Hey. Come here.” I  sit up. She turns and then I see it. “Oh God.”

Probably the only bottle of nail polish I currently own is open on the shelf. The little brush lays beside the bottle on the shelf. “Shit.”

I get up and grab the bottle. It’s empty. I search and then see. Gobs of sparkly pink, with a little glitter, are spread over the top of the dresser. And the smell is becoming offensive. I look at little person’s face. No pink paint. Thank God. But her hands are sparkly and there’s a thick hard stain on her pajamas.

I take her to the bathroom, and try to wipe the paint off her skin with a wet cloth. It works a little, but not enough.

There has to be some nail polish remover around her somewhere, but do you think I can actually find it? I look through the medicine cabinet for something that might work. Aha! Rubbing alcohol.

I pour the clear liquid onto a cloth. It smells like nail polish remover. I just pray little person has no open cuts or scratches. I wipe the polish off her little hands. It works. Then I take the bottle and try to clean the mess off the dresser. It mostly works, but I don’t think it’s meant for removing paint from wood so it doesn’t give me the exact desired result but it’s better than it was.

Little person is cleaned, I’m showered.

But now, all I can smell is nail polish. Everywhere I go in the house. It’s strong. There’s a little on my hands that won’t come off.

But in all the early morning hassle, I did not get upset.

At least not until I poured my hot coffee into a normal water glass.

Why Write?

There are so many reasons a writer writes. Is it for the fame and fortune, that more than likely won't come, is it for the desire to be noticed, or to drive yourself completely insane? Or maybe you have a powerful message to share with the world.

I write because it makes me happy. To create new worlds so far from my own, or maybe not so far, to develop new and interesting characters, to try new structures and experiment with an idea. For me it's about the art. And if something that I write gets noticed then so be it. That's just an extra bonus. Of course I want to be published. I want my stories to be noticed. What serious writer doesn't?

Do I want fame and fortune? Again, who doesn't? But there are much easier ways to get there than by writing. I know very few writers that actually make a living at what they do, but I know many writers that have written fabulous stories and have been published by many a literary magazine or trade publisher. It's definitely possible to be published, but it's hard. It's a challenge. But do I care if I ever see my name on the front of a book? Not really. Because I just want to write.

I love the feeling I get when I read a story or essay in public and people come up to me afterwards saying what a great piece it was. Or, when they come up to me month's later and say they loved that piece I read at such and such. The fact that people remember what I have written, for me, is validation enough.

But I still work my hardest to learn new techniques that have worked for other writers. I am always trying to hone my craft, perfect my art, even though I know it will never be perfect. It might be good, it can always be better, and someone will always think I could have or should have done this or that differently. In the end, all that matters is how happy I am with the finished product.

And then I submit those stories to contests, to literary mags, in the hopes that someone else will see the vision I had while writing it. It doesn't always work, but sometimes it does. And sometimes, someone likes a story that I was not even particularly pleased with, but sent it out anyway.

Like most writers, I am my own worst critic. You can edit a story ten times and on the eleventh, still find something that could be changed or made better. There comes a point where you have to have faith and just let it go. If it gets turned down, it's not the worst thing that could happen. I think for me, the challenge is as much fun as the writing itself. Take a literary magazine for instance. Most get hundreds, even thousands, of submissions a year and of those submitted, maybe only publish 1-3% of those. Those numbers are demoralizing. But it also makes me want to try even harder.

Whenever I receive a rejection, I read that magazine to see what beat me out. Usually, I can see it, sometimes I can't. More often than not, I go back to the rejected piece and if there are glaring problems, I fix them and resubmit. If I don't see anything wrong with it, I resubmit. And I have seen some success from the diligence.
It may take forever, but at least, through the whole thing, I am writing.

I've been baffled by so many things in the last little while.

Just seeing how much my little girl has grown and learned in her short 2 and half years years. Seriously. She is quirky, she is witty and she's such a comedienne. She's learned how to put together a jigsaw puzzle. This little foam one that she received as a gift quite a while ago. She's tried and tried to put it together properly but it wasn't until this past week that I noticed her doing it. Matching the colours and shapes and designs exactly the way they should go. The other night, she puts the whole thing together except one piece. Which she then turns to her Daddy and says, "Daddy?"
She holds out the singe puzzle piece. Daddy says, "You can do it. Where does it go?"
She holds the piece over the only open hole and smiles, "Dis?"
Daddy says, "Yes."
She proceeds to turn the piece upside down, "Or dis?"
"No," says Daddy.
"Dis or dis?" And she turns the piece back and forth then starts to giggle.
Daddy shakes his head and sits back on the couch.
I can't stop laughing.

Then just today, I brought out paints for her to try. This is the first time I've ever let her play with them. It was exciting and new. She watched so intently as I showed her how to wet the brush and dip it in the paint. Then she did it. And was so excited over this new activity. Although she thought it was funny to go through the entire book and only colour the eyes of the caterpillars and butterflies.

At some point in the last few days it's occurred to me that in the matter of less than a year, those little one word phrases she uses now that only we understand, will turn into full sentences. She will begin to ask why? Hopefully this will be a replacement for the oh so common NO she uses quite adamantly now. But soon, we will be having full conversations with her. That we will both understand.

But no, I am not just baffled over the little person's development. I am baffled that I just got over a cold a week or so ago, and suddenly I am sick again. WTF? Really? I'm usually lucky if I get two colds a year. One before Christmas, one after Christmas. But this time, it's been two and in the matter of a month. I blame the rapidly changing temperatures, but who knows?

I'm also baffled that I have been writing like crazy. Three stories on the go and a novel. One of the stories is pretty much done. I just need to let it sit and stew for a little while before I look at it one more time then send it off. Another is in the editing phase and the third is still incomplete. And the novel, well, that's a whole different matter. I attribute this to the growing writing connections, the writing groups I have become more involved in, and the great support I have in other writer friends. It also helps that I have a short story being published in the fall and another one was short-listed for a contest, which didn't win, but it was short-listed. Giving me that overwhelming feeling that maybe, just maybe, my writing doesn't totally suck and this is not for nothing.

And so there it is. I am baffled. Amazed. Stunned.

Life is good.

Nostalgia and Remembrance

We used to play together every summer. Four years older than me, Michael would come to spend the summer with his Great Aunt (my grandmother) so yes, we were cousins. Though not directly. We rode our bikes, went swimming in the lake, sat for hours watching Young and the Restless. (He had this unusual obsession for soaps as a teenage boy.)

One afternoon, we were riding around Invermere, Michael was always way ahead of me. Older, stronger, taller, and he had a BMX bike that he loved to show off with. We reached the bottom of the Athalmere hill and suddenly he stops. When I finally catch up, spitting out my wind whipped hair, I see why he stopped. In his hand he held a thick leather wallet. I'm sure my eyes bulged when I saw just why it was so thick. There had to be at least $500 in there.

I asked him where he'd found it. He pointed to the gravel ditch on the side of the road. Being my adolescent self, I wanted to spend it. I am not proud of this fact, but hey, I was a kid, had never seen that much money at one time. And I think most kids would have thought the same thing. But not Michael. He stuffed the wallet in the belt of his pants and took off back up the hill the way we had come. I pushed my short little legs as fast as they would go, but I couldn't keep up. I could only assume he was going back to my grandma's.

He handed the wallet to my grandmother who instantly phoned the local RCMP to report the wallet. Soon thereafter, a man appeared at the door, to collect the wallet. He was a cab driver. For his honesty, the man gave Michael $20. I wanted to crawl in to a hole. Of course he had done the right thing. And I knew if it had been me that found it, if I had been alone, I never would have reported it. I was going to hell.

One summer before, Michael gave me shit for running over a garter snake with my bike. I hated snakes. I still do. I figured the world was just that much better off with one fewer snake in it. But in retrospect, I suppose running over him once is one thing, but when I turned around and ran over it three, four, five times...okay maybe a little overkill. As payback, while we played at the beach, I got stung by a bee. And yes I hate bees too.

That was the last time he came to Invermere for the summer. But the following year, I went to Prince George with my grandparents to visit him. Michael was now a year older and into sports. He didn't have time for a little kid anymore. I spent most of the time in my room, watching him play catch in the backyard. He was not the same. When they came into the house to get a drink, I made a nasty comment to one of his friends. I don't remember what I said, but I remember how mad he was. He didn't speak to me the remainder of our visit. Where we had once been close, suddenly with one single comment, it all seemed gone.

Over the years we spoke occasionally, but not like we used to. Then when I was in my early 20's he moved to Victoria. I was in Kelowna by this time. During phone calls, he told me about his new girlfriend, his daughter and later a son. I was happy for him, but missed how it used to be. There was a gruffness in his voice that I never recognized before, but I hadn't seen him in over 10 years. Things change. Life does things to you.

At 25 I moved to Calgary. Less than a year after I arrived, I get a call from him announcing that he was finally getting married and he really wanted me to be there. I promised him I would.

He picked me at the ferry. I hardly recognized him. He was gaunt, tired, substantially tatooed. And on a day that he should have been happy, he was anything but. He rambled, and mumbled. We made small talk. It was hard to get back to the comfort level we used to have between us. And then of course in the hubbub of the organizing, I barely saw him.

The reception was when we really connected. But we were both kind of drunk. And he seemed more angry than anything else. Something was wrong, but I didn't know how to broach the subject. How do you sit down and get someone to talk to you who first, is intoxicated, and second, you have been so far removed from this person for so long, that what right do you really have to pry, save for the fact that he is family? So I didn't push. I hardly saw him, and a few days later I was back home.

Over the next 10 years, I never saw him again. We emailed back and forth a few times. He was getting divorced, he moved to Fernie to be with his mom and work. But I never saw him, even though he was now that much closer.

I got word that he was in the hospital. Had no idea what was going on. Was told he had a liver infection. I didn't figure it out. Did not put together what I had sensed, did not see anything. About year later he said he wanted to see me. Wanted to meet Julianne. We kept putting it off.

He was all of sudden in rehab. And oh, it was all coming together now. The pieces started to fall into place. Liver damage, rehab, angry, gaunt. I didn't see it then but suddenly it all made sense.

A year later, 2009, I get a phone call from my dad.

Michael died.

37 years old, could not get a grip on the alcoholism and he was gone. Assisted by his own hands remains unknown. At least to me. I have my suspicions but no one has ever really said either way.

I hated myself for not being more aware. For not going to see him. Even though I also knew there was nothing I would have ever been able to do even if I had, I felt guilt. When he probably felt completely lost and alone I had no idea.

I know it's not my fault. I know I have nothing to feel guilty about. But, we will always ask ourselves what if? What if I had seen him? What if we had remained closer? Short answer, he probably would have dragged me down with him.

But needless to say, he is family. And I still think about him and miss him most days.

And he's happy now.

(and I am totally not sure why I just wrote this, but it is what it is.)

Secret Divulged...

We have been thinking about moving.

All the way to Holland.

It's still in the planning stages and there is the very possible chance that we will change our minds, but for now, it's up for consideration.

A few days ago it was a very likely move, maybe a 75% chance. Now that liklihood has somewhat dropped. Perhaps it's safe to say it's 50/50.

Initially it was my hubby that said we wouldn't do it unless I wanted to. After some thinking about it, I decided that it wouldn't be such a bad idea. But now, it seems that hubby is reconsidering. He doesn't really want to go back so although it would be a great adventure for me and would give his parents the opportunity to spend more time with their granddaughter, he would not be happy there. There was a reason he left, and it wasn't just because of me.

There are still a lot of things to consider. But if it doesn't happen this year, maybe it will happen next year. Or even the year after. Needless to say, it will remain a possibility.

I Have A Secret...

Or rather, "I know something you don't know."

Don't you hate that? When we were kids we had such a hard time keeping secrets to ourselves. We would go up to the first person we saw and in a sing-song tone, brag that there was some big secret that the other didn't know and there was no way in the world you were going to tell that person...unless of course, they guessed. Because if they guessed then you didn't really tell them. Right? They figured it out all on their own.

So, I don't really have a secret that will shake the world, but I have knowledge of something that will change the lives of many people. For some it will be a positive change, for others, not so much. And there are many of my readers who it will not affect one little bit. Like you TOTALLY wouldn't care one way or the other.

But, now that I have you all curious, I can't say anything until other affected parties have been told first. Because it just wouldn't be fair to have them learn about this via social media or the internet. Although some of them will learn of it via internet, email or webcam because there is no other way.

Isn't it exciting (or annoying) when someone does this?

All will be revealed in due time.

The Love Just Keeps on Coming

I've been slightly non-existent from the bloggie world for a little while. As if you hadn't noticed. Since the ear infection and what have you, I've played catch up and boy have I caught up.

And then I've had some fabulous news. Well, fabulous to me at least. I learned the other day that one of my short stories has been short-listed in a fiction contest. I can hardly contain myself. Also, another publication is coming my way later in the year. Maybe this writing thing isn't so far-fetched after all. Maybe I can actually write a decent story. And maybe I should start giving myself and my writing a little more credit. But I think that comes with the territory.

And then when I think the love can't get any better, what do you know, Apryl over at So F*cking Fabulous I Piss Glitter gave me a couple of awards.

First, something about 7 facts, where I have to share, 7 useless secrets, or maybe not so much secrets, but useless trivia about moi. I really am not that interesting but all in the name of good sportsmanship, I will cooperate and see if I can't come up with something that won't make you all groan or run for cover, never speaking to me again. And then there might be some of you that say, OMG, I can't believe she just admitted that. But I can take it. I've been through worse, I am sure.

But it really is a pretty award. I like sunflowers. They are all sunny and flowery and makes me think of anything but SNOW and COLD.

After I come up with my useless facts, I am then supposed to nominate 15 other blogs to receive the love too.

And then there is the Versatile Blogger Award. Well, if I am anything it's versatile. I don't have specific topic, I just write what ever happens to float through my little brain and sometimes it's short, barely lucid and painful and then on other occasions, I might have some deep thoughts. Or I just want to talk about writing, or talk about my child because she's funny. Or sometimes the off the wall antics of my husband. I guess, in short, there is always something to write about, which makes me wonder why I get these lags now and again.

Now, let's see...

7 Facts About Moi or All the Things you Never Really Wanted to Know But Now are Forced to.

1. My husband and I have a lot of mindless conversations. Example:

The other day I walked in the front door and in my hubby's over-dramatizing way:

HUBBY: I'm depressed.

ME: Well take off your pants.

HUBBY: Is that all you think about?

ME: Pretty much. At this age there isn't much else to think about.

HUBBY: Your eggs are just dying.

ME: Yeah. Pretty soon they'll need crutches.

HUBBY: *Rolls his eyes.*

On the positive side, we keep it interesting. And maybe that also means I am a little bit of a comedienne. Who knew?

2. I know I've mentioned this at some point before but I will mention it again because it's just too weird to not tell people, again. You know that crinkly, rattly scrunchy sound a plastic bag makes? Well I hate it. It makes my skin crawl and is almost as bad as the nails down the chalkboard thing.

3. I am a worrier. I am finally admitting it. Thanks Mom, it must be hereditary. I worry about small things, I worry about big things. Probably why I have a hard time sleeping at night.

4. I'm shy. Ha ha. I know what most of you that know me are thinking. But it's true. There are many different levels to being shy and there are many social situations that I am extremely uncomfortable in, but I try not to let it show. But it's there. It really, really is. Honest.

5. I'm a pathological liar. Okay, not am, and maybe never was, but you know how you tell yourself something long enough that isn't true, so long that you start to actually believe it? You've created so many fabrications around a certain subject that it becomes part of your life, as if it was a real experienced memory. I did something of the sort when I was in Jr. High School and even to this day, I have to remind myself that it didn't actually happen. Makes you realize the mind is much more moldable than you might have once thought. Seriously, anyone could be brainwashed.

6. I hate Jerry Springer. Okay, not him personally because he never did anything to me, but the show. My god. The show. How much do they pay these people to come on stage and act like trailer trash? I bet it's a lot. Maybe I could do something like that. Now you might think, if you don't like the show, then don't watch it, but it's not that simple. My husband is in love with Jerry and the tramps on the show. I think he harbours a secret desire to live in a trailer park. Not that I've actually got anything against trailer parks, it's just the whole stigma surrounding them. You have seen Trailer Park Boys, haven't you?

7. I love to write. Okay, this is exactly news, maybe a bit of a cop out, but hey, when you get to the end, what else is there to do? I could counter Apryl's fact that she can touch her head with her feet, backwards, by saying, I so totally can't. That does require flexibility so Apryl, in case you were wondering, that is actually a pretty big feat.

Whew, I think I did it. 7 Little Factoids.

And now I have to pass the awards on to some other worthy peeps. But I will have to do that a little later. For now I am going to leave you with my facts and fun times.

Ear Infections Are for Kids

Can you believe it? I think I have an ear infection. Not actually diagnosed but how else do you explain the fuzzy cotton ball feel in my ears, like I’m flying high above the clouds in a 747? I can’t even pop them without it hurting. Not excruciating, just annoying.

I can’t remember the last time I had an ear infection. Or if I’ve ever had one. Maybe it was as a kid and I pushed it so far from my mind that I can’t recall. But my sinuses are still sore from the lingering cold, irritated by the dry air and now, the ears.

I was thinking about the symptoms they tell us, as parents, to watch for with our children. Pulling on the ears, irritable. That is totally me. Well, the pulling on the ears part. Me, irritable? Ha. Never. But how can you not be irritated when your ears won’t pop or you feel like you have cotton balls stuffed inside your head?

Why I Have the Best Child in the World!

Here we go…Just moments ago…Please don’t judge me…I know it’s late and my child is still awake. Try to tell her that.

Little Person: (standing in front of her Daddy). Bah. Bah. (waves hand vigorously back and forth in front of her face)

Me: What’s the matter. Does Daddy stink?

Little Person: (turns her back to her Daddy and points at her bum.)

Me: Or do you stink?

Little Person: (nods head excitedly) ya ya ya.

Daddy checks her diaper.

Daddy: Go to mommy.

Little Person dances around the room.

Me: Who do you want to change your diaper?”

Little Person: Mmmmmm. (tilts head and puts hand to her lip like she’s really thinking about this) DADDY!

Me: (laughs hysterically)

I love my daughter.

I Did It Again...

After debilitating months of working and rewriting and sitting on and tossing away and rewriting, I submitted an essay for a contest. I toiled, I tell you. Really troubled over the whole thing. It was beautiful. Brilliant, even.

But they didn't see it.

Now I could run into the kitchen and try and hang myself with with that limp spaghetti that I haven't put away yet, or...I could just keep on toiling some more.

I think I'm getting pretty good at this rejection thing. One after another, they come and I keep on going. Continue to tell myself, "if you're getting rejections, at least you're writing." The more the merrier, right?

Wanna know something funny though? And I do this all the time. Just as I know it's getting close to the announcement of winners or I know I should hear something soon, the story runs through my head. Because I've read it so many times I've practically memorized it. And suddenly, as the announcement approaches, I begin to criticize my own work. Realize all the parts that could have been better. More fluid. More coherant. More descriptive. And then of course I know that the rejection is coming but in my mind the piece is no longer up to my standards.

What the hell kind of business is this anyway, that I've gotten myself into. Seriously. I could be doing something much  less glamourous like working the Drive Thru at Tim Horton's or shoveling snow for little old ladies. But, no, I choose to consistently poor my heart and soul into my projects just to have someone that can't really see the value in my love story, because maybe they just finalized a divorce, or my war story because maybe it's just a little too close to home, say, nope, it's not good enough.

And, then just like that, it dawns on me. It's not that my story wasn't good enough. It's that the other writer's stories were just a little better. Or maybe a lot better. Sure. Fine. I can accept that.

So what do I do? Since I have already realized some of the problem areas, I am just going to work on it a little more. And then, I will search out some new venues to submit that piece to...and I will start the process all over again. It's not the end of the world. Someone out there were surely appreciate what I have to offer, or I suppose I will die trying. But at least I will not have let those rejections get the better of me. If anything, they teach. Tell you that something was not right with it.

On the other hand, just because you got a rejection, does not mean that it's not good the way it is. It just means that at that particular time, it was just not the right fit for that particular publication. And in my case, because it was a contest, there were just that many more submissions under consideration. Like lottery jackpots. The higher the pot, more people by tickets, there by decreasing your odds just that much more. Go for the little pots and your chances have significantly improved.

Consider too, there are a lot of new literary magazines popping up. Online and in print. These new ones, will get fewer submissions to start with. So why not start there? Start with the ones that maybe, just maybe, your piece will get in by default. There's no harm in that, is there?

But most importantly, if it's something you really want to do, if it's really worth doing because you just couldn't imagine doing anything else, then keep trying.

Rejection is part of the process.

Enjoy it!

Double Lanes Safer than Single?

Why don't school buses put out their stop signs on double laned roads? Is this just a Calgary thing or is this the norm?

On more than one occasion since I've lived in Calgary, I've come up behind a school bus stopped to let out the little people and never have they had the stop sign out. The first time this happened I didn't know if I was allowed to go past or not, but there were no flashing red lights and no sign and even in my slight hesitation, other vehicles were already honking at me to get going. So I slipped by ever so slowly but it felt wrong. Just because there is an additional lane going the same direction as the bus, doesn't really make it any safer. A little person could still dart out in front of the bus and get smacked by another impatient driver. The safety of the children is supposed to be the number one priority, isn't it?

I remember when I was in second grade a girl that I went to school with got hit by a car and died. I can't say I really knew her or anything, but it was just one of those things that goes around a school, the immature and innocent not quite understanding the gravity of the situation. You would think that in the day and age of texting while driving or talking on a cell phone while behind the wheel, the safety of the children would be the first priority so why wouldn't we ensure our children's safety by using the flashing red lights and stop sign that someone took great care to install all those years ago? It would take all of two seconds to arm the lights and extend the sign.

Even now, after more than 10 years in Calgary, I hesitate when passing a school bus, lights or no lights. Actually I can't even remember the last time I saw a bus with its lights flashing.

I just don't get it.

Safety people! Safety.

The following is from the Government of Alberta Transportation website.

Motorists play key role in school bus safety

Edmonton… The 265,000 Alberta students that start and end their day with a ride on a school bus aren’t the only ones who need to be taught about school bus safety as most injuries happen before or after the bus ride. Drivers must respect the flashing lights on a school bus, which create a safety zone around the bus and are often children's only defence when they get on or off the bus.

Use caution and be alert when driving near buses and in school zones.

•Watch out for alternating flashing amber lights, which means a school bus is slowing to stop where students will either be getting on or off the bus.


•Slow down and stop when the school bus activates its alternately flashing red lights. This means you must stop whether you are approaching an oncoming bus or following one. The only exception to this rule is when the bus is on the opposite side of a two-way highway that is physically divided by a median.


•Proceed only when the red lights on the bus have stopped flashing.


•Watch for school buses loading and unloading children, even if the lights aren't flashing.


•Be on the lookout for children crossing the road.


When travelling in school zones, drivers must pay attention to the posted signs. The speed for both urban and rural schools zones is 30 km/h unless otherwise posted. These limits are in effect on school days from 8 a.m.-9:30 a.m.; 11:30 a.m.-1:30 p.m. and 3 p.m.-4:30 p.m. The fine for passing a school bus with its red lights flashing is $402 and six demerit points.


Some municipalities have bylaws not requiring school buses to use their alternating flashing lights when they stop. In this case, drivers do not need to stop but should still be cautious and watch for pedestrians when the buses are loading or unloading students.

Transport Canada has reported that school bus travel remains the safest mode of transportation to and from schools. Maintaining this safety requires motorists do their part too.

Improving traffic safety is one of the actions under Premier Ed Stelmach's plan to provide Albertans with safe and secure communities. Other priorities for the government are to govern with integrity and transparency, improve Albertans’ quality of life, manage growth pressures, and build a stronger Alberta.


For more information about traffic safety, contact the Office of Traffic Safety at 780-422-8839 or visit http://www.saferoads.com/.

Personally, I still think those lights should be used all the time. But at least I answered my own question.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmm...

I don't know about you all, but I find it a complete miracle that when you have a really bad cold...you know the super head congested, can't breathe, sinuses hurt to the point that you think your head is going to explode but yet the build-up is so fricking bad that you can't NOT blow and your nose looks similar to that of Rudolph, only much dryer, kind of cold...that brain matter does not start coming out your nostrils.

Gross, you say. Yeah it's gross, and it hurts like that commercial for Advil (I think it is) where the guy with a jackhammer is beating on the women's skull, only in my case he's drilling into my sinuses, but now that I think about it, drilling would probably make me feel a whole lot better. But you get the picture. You don't want to blow, you don't want to cough, but in either case, you have no choice, those body functions take over out of neccessity and you are no longer in control.

Shit.

And yes I've taken medication to relieve the pressure, I've taken medication to relieve the pain, the only thing left is to drink and relieve ALL pain.

At least until morning.

But, I've taken medication so I can't even drink. That was not thorough thinking on my part was it?

Well, at least I got to vent a little.

Am I A Bad Mommy?

Little Julianne is hardly ever sick. She’s almost 2 and a half and I can remember maybe twice that she came down with a cold that was frustrating for us. You know, the constantly runny nose, bad cough, the need to rush off to the doctor for fear that she is in so much pain and you just want to comfort her. Slight fevers, etc. But those instances were over a year ago. Since then, she has had minor sicknesses. Maybe a little cough that lasted no more than a day and even then it didn’t seem to phase her one little bit. In my eyes, she has become some kind of mutant specimen. A toddler that’s never sick. It’s unheard of.

So…last week I took her for a play date at a friends house that I had been warned full well that her child was coming down with a cold. In my mind, my first thought was that good, maybe she will actually get sick. Build up her immunity. But at the same time I thought, is that irresponsible of me? We are supposed to protect our children. Sinister as it may seem, I opted to still took her. In hopes that either she would continue to display those mutant tendencies or she would actually get sick.

That was a week ago Tuesday. By Saturday she was still not sick. But I was. Oh boy, was I ever. The classic stuffed nose, cough and just feeling generally miserable. She did have a bit of a cough but nothing more. And her energy level was still at the max. You would not know she was coming down with something.

Maybe my child was destined to be a carrier of viruses but not actually display symptoms herself. Could I be that lucky?

Sunday was the same. She had a cough, and I was really sick. But nothing more from her.

But Monday…uh oh. I started to question my choices as a mother. Yikes. The stuffy, runny nose came on full force with a super phlegmy cough and a fever. With a little Children’s Tylenol, the fever left and it was just the runny nose and she was still full of energy. Though intermittent this time.

Tuesday was even worse. Then she woke up in the middle of the night, all stuffed and coughing and miserable and she was definitely feverish. She won’t drink, though she should be. She doesn’t want to take her medicine. Arie stayed up with her until around 3 in the morning when she finally fell back to sleep but only slept until around 6. Not enough sleep for sure.

And they we are at today. I am still sick, but much better than I was a few days ago. But Julianne is lethargic. Sleeping off and on, coughing, not so feverish anymore, thank goodness and the nose isn’t running all that much. But she’s coughing and she’s tired.

And I did this to her. I’m sure of it. If it wasn’t the germs she collected on her own, then for sure it was from me when I got sick. So either way, I made her this way and even though I am happy she is sick just so that I can be reminded that she is normal, I feel bad for her that she is like this.

On the other side, it’s probably good for her to be exposed. Soon enough she will be in pre-school and will be far more exposed to the germs of the other little people. Might as well get used to it now, right?

Working Out POV

I’ve been having trouble nailing down the POV (Point of View) for my novel. There are three important characters in the novel and to define one voice for the whole thing has caused me a whole lot of distress. In the last go round I thought I had settled on separating the book into sections dedicated to each character but as I work on it more I am not totally satisfied.

Then the question arises of do I write it in first person, or third person? One of my characters seems to want me to write her story in first person, but the others seem quite happy to settle with third. I’ve also been toying with the idea of an omniscient narrator who tells the story in third person but I fear that will lose some of the effect.

In all the confusion I was pointed to an interesting novel. Middlesex by Pulitzer Prize winner, Jeffrey Eugenides. The whole story is told in first person POV by the main character of the novel Callie, who is later called Cal for reasons that may be evident just by the title. What strikes me about this is that for the better part of the first half of the novel the history of Callie’s (Cal’s) family is told through her eyes going back to well before she would have even been a glimmer in her parents eyes. Information that she would totally not have been privy to, but somehow it works. So this first person narrator becomes an omniscient narrator and the author works this into the story in a way that would be seen as more ethereal but nevertheless works. Is this what is referred to as a “reliable narrator” just by the mere fact that we believe it and just go along with it?

This technique goes against everything I have ever learned about POV. If you’re going to tell a story in first person you’re limited to those elements and scenes of the story that the narrator actually witnessed. But apparently there are ways to overstep those boundaries.

So back to my own novel. The character that I first believed was the main character became boring. Fell flat on her ass while trying to tell a story that she didn’t have all the answers about. And then there was a PI who was just creepy but fun to write in his POV but I became bogged down in staying in that POV. He was draining, like that houseguest that overstays their welcome. And then the other character, well, her story is far more interesting but I still am not married to the idea that it is her story. So do I choose a completely unexpected character to be the narrator. One that’s in the story but has a much smaller part and make that person an omniscient narrator? Or, or, or…there are so many different ways I can go and I can’t figure out the right one in this case.

Needless to say, I have to keep writing and hopefully it will work itself out in the end.

How do you determine whose story it is?

Wake Up Call!

On the weekend I participated in a workshop on promoting yourself as a writer. It was eye-opening to say the least. Before I went I was under the impression that once you have a publisher willing to publish your novel, the work is out of your hands. The publisher then becomes so invested in making you successful that they will do what it takes to make sure that book sells.

Wrong!

According to Marty Chan, the workshop facilitator, even though on rare occasions you might find someone that will put in the effort, it’s more likely that you won’t. What a crap shoot! No matter how you decide to publish, you will still have to do your own marketing and promotion because you and only you, will be invested enough in the project. And I was hoping to NOT have to do all that work. The publisher is going to invest its time and money in what they KNOW will sell, not with a newbie even though they thought your story was good enough to publish.

And then to add to the reality that I learned this past Saturday, I came across this blog post that only managed to reiterate what I had already learned. To be successful, you have to work hard. And not just at creating the masterpiece. You need to believe in yourself and your abilities enough to sell yourself. You need to put yourself out there, and not necessarily just when you actually have something to brag about.

Facebook, Twitter, blogs, personal websites. You need to create a network that will encourage a publisher to take a chance on you. So it’s not all about the writing. You could have a fabulous story but the publisher won’t take the time to look at you if you have no internet presence. If you don’t already have a following, so to speak.

So let the promotion begin.

Baby steps.

So then you might ask, what’s the benefit to publishing with a publishing company? Why not just self-publish since you still have to do all the work? And the answer is this…established publishing companies have the distributors, they also have an obligation to submit your work to awards, such as the Governor General’s Award or the Scotiabank Giller Prize, just to name a couple. An author cannot submit to these awards directly and self-published books are ineligible.

I still say crap shoot.

But it’s got to be done.

Working in the literary arts industry, I have been approached on several occasions, just in the past week of so, with questions regarding e-books and how, as a writer, to approach this latest technology. But I have to admit, I know little about this, as do many writers.

I was asked to see if I could find someone that knew something, anything, about e-books and how to go about doing it from a self-publishing perspective. But really I am the wrong person to ask about self-publishing because I don’t believe in it. But that’s another blog post.

I am actually torn on e-books. While the advantages seem to far outweigh the disadvantages, I can’t seem to get past the idea of not holding a real book in my hand. To not feel that paper between my fingers or hear the crinkle of the page as you turn it, doesn’t feel the same. It feels wrong on every level. Yet, there are advantages.

1. No more packing around numerous books or documents. If you have a Kobo you can download as many books as you want onto one device. So instead of taking 5 heavy books on that two week vacation to the in-laws, you can put them on the Kobo and it slips neatly into your purse or carry-on or suitcase. You can also put PDF documents on the Kobo and read at your leisure.

2. It’s more environmentally friendly.

3. At first I thought the Kobo would be like reading on a computer screen, but I have heard, because I don’t actually have one, that there is no backlight on the screen of the Kobo, therefore you still require light to read on it. Just like a book.

4. E-books are cheaper than the real thing.

5. If you have a spouse like mine that doesn’t appreciate books for what they are and is always trying to convince you to get rid of that somewhat small library of favourites, you can do just that. (if you can actually bring yourself to empty those shelves). You can stop the constant complaining of how much space it takes up, or that your toddler daughter keeps pulling everything off the shelves. Not an issue.

6. You don’t have to leave the house to get your next great read. Sit in the comfort of your home on a cold Canadian winter day, purchase an e-book online and within minutes you have that next great novel at your fingertips.

7. From a publishing perspective, I suppose you could have your books available to your readers a lot faster than waiting for those 500 copies of your first print run to be complete. Sometimes months from signing the contract. Only one e-book needs to be created and voila, it’s available to millions. And in what? Maybe a week?

At a recent publishing workshop I participated in, the subject of e-books came up and whether or not actual hand-held books would become obsolete. And in the opinion of the facilitator, no, it’s just another option being made available. Like when it was thought TV programs would do away with the need for movies, or the numerous channels now available for viewers would cause many other television stations to crumble. It never happened, it just created more options.

 

Would love to hear from anyone that has more experience with e-books, or just some opinions on the subject.