The Life Of A Writer. #3. Mentors.

I have been fortunate over my lifetime as a writer to have attended a number of first class workshops, retreats and courses from the Banff Centre of the Arts to the Humber School for Writers. The facilitators and mentors have been top notch, ranging from Austin Clarke at Glendon College (York University) in the mid 1970s to Alistair McLeod at the Humber School for Writers in 2006.


There were two who stand out as my ongoing mentors, both of whom are unfortunately no longer alive. I didn't meet either of them at workshops or courses, but they were the two who became both mentors and friends for the long haul. The first was William (Bill) Kilbourn whom I met through municipal politics (early 1970s) and the other, Adele Wiseman, when I interviewed her as Writer-in-Residence at the University of Toronto (mid 1970s) for a paper I was writing for the MLS degree on the various resources for writers as they learned their trade. Both of these courageous and talented writers encouraged my writing and I enjoyed their support and friendship over a period of over 20 years before they both died in the early 1990s. 

 I have many friends who are writers, but I don't think at the advanced age I have reached I will have another mentor like either Adele or Bill. Neither of them were alive when my first book, One Day It Happens, was published in 2007, but both of them believed there would be books. Especially about the northern mining community where I grew up and my second book, Ile d'Or, is the book they might have envisaged. Or I hope so. It was their faith that often kept me going. Their humourous responses to my despair at that ever happening. Their insightful comments about it. Now my friends and I encourage each other. Sometimes we read and critique each other's work. We go to each other's launches. We discuss promotion and applaud each other's successes, We carry on, knowing how important that camaraderie around writing is, that understanding of the long hours we slog away in solitude that precede any published article, story or book.

Two friends who have shared this journey over many years since I met them in the early 1980s are Joy Kogawa and Ian Wallace and I have appreciated, and still do, our conversations and mutual support. Now I am also meeting many other writers through my writing group and through the Writers' Union. Having books published gives one access to the work that goes on around the writing itself, including the advocacy of the Writers' Union and access to their resources on a myriad of topics (legal, copyright, etc.). But that's another story (or blog post).  

See also — Lisa Young's blog on writing:
www.50essaysonwriting.blogspot.com 

The Life of a Writer. #2. A Week of Avoidance.

Sometimes avoidance is necessary. Or is that just another excuse? No, there are too many events this week that nourish my mind and spirit. And after three months on crutches (another excuse?) when I read and wrote much more than usual, I need that nourishment. Or I need some level of change. So on Monday evening I went to the Toronto Dollar Supper Club to hear David Crombie speak. What a treat to hear a talk on cities within the context of ideas and vision. There is such a lack of that at the municipal level  in Toronto (not to speak of other levels of government) these days. My mind was challenged again to think of what can happen in positive ways as the democratic process leaves room for ideas to thrive. And for people to make their voices heard. Yes, such an evening (when my friend, Joy Kogawa, was also honoured for her work around the Toronto Dollar) helps replenish the spirit.

Tuesday: A friend took me out to dinner at Zucca's where we both ordered black cod with an olive crust. After admiring the presentation, the meal then melted in our mouths. Ruby has done so much for me over the time of healing from foot surgery that I felt I ought to be the one treating her to dinner, but she reminded me that I'd given her my Metropass for three months and how she had been able to use it to find out if it would be useful for her. Of course, that led to some discussion of the deterioration of the TTC. Unfortunate reality as the infrastructure seems to crumble and service is about to be cut. Not to mention fare hikes. In any case, she enjoyed the flexibility of the Metropass and wanted to treat me. Thanks, Ruby.

Tonight I will go to my local library to hear a talk on Chagall given by David Wistow from the AGO. I took a course from David on the Group of Seven many years ago and know him to be a fine, informative speaker. I have seen the Chagall show at the AGO twice as well as many years ago his work at the Chagall Museum in Nice. I look forward to tonight's speech.

The week goes on. And the truth is that this week I have also been revising some stories and as well have read an unusual novel by Teju Cole, a Nigerian born author, set in New York City called Open City. I am now finishing a book of essays called Why Not?, such a literate little book, by Ray Robertson, a thoughtful Canadian writer.

After tonight, two evenings of socializing.. Open House at Dance Cafe and Christmas party of my writing group, Moosemeat. Better to avoid writing for a while than these stimulating events!!! Or better to take them in along with a bit of writing on the side. The balance will shift the other way soon enough.

The Life of a Writer. #1. What I do to avoid writing.

Ah well. I think about it a lot. I make my bed. Do the laundry. Cook. Bake. Do you want a recipe for cheesies made with rice krispies? Or an apple crisp made with cinnamon raisin bread as a topping? I've made both of these this weekend. I ate the apple dessert in two days. The challenge becomes not to eat the cheesies before going to the Christmas party of my writing group later this week. I think I'll make a salad for that as well.

Oh yes, I went to St. Lawrence Market yesterday morning. Then had a friend over for lunch. She is en route from the east coast to Saskatoon where she lives now. She brought the flowers!

I also read both the Globe and Mail and the Toronto Star, Saturday editions. And am reading a couple of books. And I guess while all of it was interesting and even necessary, now it is time to do some work.

McGILL ALUMNI (TORONTO) BOOK CLUB. NOVEMBER, 2011

 A wonderful evening of conversation with a group of McGill Alumni in Toronto. I had the opportunity to speak for half an hour and then to answer questions for another hour. What a privilege for a writer to spend that amount of time with a group (over 30) who know one's book and want to talk about it.

Each format for a reading or presentation is different and I stayed pretty flexible because what I was requested to do was quite open-ended. The closer the event became, the more time I was given to present and/or speak at the beginning. When the time came, I spoke with a couple of short readings interspersed when they fit what I was talking about. For instance, I talked about a character who popped into the book in the final revision quite spontaneously. I was surprised and not sure what to do with Marcel, the ten year old boy, but he demanded to be there. So he stayed and wound his way through the book as I proceeded with the final revisions. The section I read was about his first appearance next to a rock where Nick, a man who had returned to the town for a visit, was sitting deep in thought.

Ah yes, Marcel appeared on the page fully formed and demanded to be there. I have no idea where he came from, except I wrote him. Writing is sometimes such a mysterious process. One has to be open for what arrives. And then there are all the hours of sheer work as while something may present itself spontaneously, one then has to work with it.


In any case, this book club was one of my best experiences and I will cherish it for a long time. An honour to have been asked and to have met with so many others from my Alma Mater for the evening.

HOW TO WRITE A MEMOIR. A FEW HINTS!

1. READ. 
William Zinsser's Writing About Your Life is a particularly helpful book to read if you are contemplating writing a memoir. Also, read lots of memoirs. As you learn about the life of someone who interests you, you can also see how that person tells his/her story.What makes it interesting? That may help you decide what it is that makes your life interesting that you can make into an appealing story for your readers.

Pick a point in time at which to start. This does not have to be in chronological sequence. In the same way a novel may go back and forth in time, so can a memoir.


2. WRITE.
At some point, it is necessary to start writing. At the beginning, get things down. You can choose what to keep later when you have thought about what stands out about your life. And what story you want to tell about it. You will have to decide what to include and what not to include. It is important not to include everything.


3. REVISE.
You have to create a narrative of your life. writer of a memoir doesn't simply try to convey every detail of an entire life, but has to select what is important to the narrative chosen. And to tell a compelling story.

Everyone has a story, but do you have a reason for wanting to share it? It might turn out that your reason is the hook for your readers. And provides you with the thematic unity your story requires.


Note: It may be presumptuous of me to try to convey how to write a memoir when mine has yet to be published. However, I've almost finished it and what I have learned thus far is fresh in my mind and may be helpful. And I have had both a short story collection and a novel published.

Good luck with it!

MEMOIR. Draft Prologue. When Gold Was Worth $37 An Ounce.

Come to Val d’Or for your first million.*My father went to the golden valley because of gold, but I don’t think he thought it would lead to his first million. I'm quite sure he never reached a million. But it was certainly because of the gold that he, a mechanical engineer, was hired by Sigma Mines to design the hoist and to oversee the technical aspects of its operation. It was the first home of my parents who were married in 1935, the same year they moved into a company house built for the first residents at that mine in northwestern Quebec. Here they lived for thirty years and this is the town where they raised three children.

The impact of this town, and others like it across the north in that era, was to create a tribe of northerners, something that remains in one’s blood for a lifetime. Yet other factors and themes are the basis of whatever myths sustained our family. Myths that are likely at the very root of what created the life trajectories of each of the three children, my two younger siblings and me. Each of us might answer differently the question of how and why we’ve followed particular paths, yet there would be some commonalities drawn from the themes of the isolation of a mining camp in those days — the sound of the whistle at the mine as well as the blasting underground, the French language surrounding us, the family silver, the focus on reading in our lives, the English dictionary, the fireplace. Or could it have been mainly the experience of our father going to war that formed us? Was it his focus on overseas as well as on ancestors and family trees? Perhaps it was our father’s alcoholism. And our mother’s joy in good company, good food and dancing.

I knew early and only too well the impact of the alcoholism, but I wasn’t aware of the importance of most of these other themes except as underlying refrains. And even underlying that perhaps it was after all the gold that had the greatest impact on all of us. The gold about which we knew so much more than we were even aware of knowing. For we children of the company houses all knew the price of it. $37 an ounce. We knew that it was melted in a hot furnace and poured out in a liquid stream into rectangular pans to create gold bars that were then hidden away somewhere none of us knew about. We knew it was because of it the miners went underground to that dark place where only men were allowed to hack and dig into the rock, looking for it. We knew these things, but we ignored them as we played games, went to school, made friends who came and went in our lives when their fathers moved from one mine to ours and then away again.

Some of the men probably did make their first million in the frontier era of the gold mines. Probably not by mining. More likely on the stock market or by high-grading. There were always men who brought out bits of gold from underground, hidden in their mouths, in their clothing, in their lunch buckets. High grade gold it was called because it was of the highest grade and consequently the most valuable. And there were ways of selling this stolen gold down the line through mob contacts in places as far away as Montreal, Buffalo and New York City. Like so many things children know, this was something we overheard the adults talk about. We knew who was suspected of high grading and who had put money into the stock of some penny mine that had gone into production and created wealth for owners off in some city, but also for them as a result of that.

I don’t know about my father’s success on the stock market, but he did invest in some of the larger gold producers. He tended to his finances, but in reality he left most of that to my mother. It was his job to draft and design and to go underground to check on how the equipment worked down there. And in 1942, after his third child was born, he went off to join the army. I do know that he was proud of his family, particularly of his antecedents. And it was my father who showed us family trees and how to read the hallmarks on silver. 

Most of this held no interest for me, or only peripheral interest. Except, I suppose, for the gold that was not possible to ignore. Until I went to a writing studio in Banff in 1992 long after my father died and discovered a story there about someone known to us as our maternal grandmother’s Uncle Billy. Of course, we had been told this story but never in as vivid a form as I found it there in a manuscript in the Whyte Museum of the Canadian Rockies.

As children we had only known this ancestor of my mother’s as Uncle Billy and the story told about him was that he had discovered the Banff Springs. Like gold, another discovery of something of the earth. But it was more than that that struck me as I read from his manuscript. It was in those moments, sitting quietly with his huge, unpublished material that I began to realize ways in which all the different branches of our family had a role in the creation of our country. From the grandfather who worked in gold mines in South Africa before emigrating to the gold mines of northern Ontario. From the discoveries of Uncle Billy in western Canada of the hot springs and apparently also of oil. From the ancestor who settled on the banks of the St. Lawrence, who was the first settler in Canada. And it was at Banff I realized I wanted to explore more the small role of the nuclear family to which I belong in this wider picture. And these themes began to resonate as I delved into my own life and history, tying it to that of a family and a country.

Everyone has their own story, of course, and every Canadian’s story is part of the larger whole that is our country. I just hadn’t thought of it that way before going to Banff and it is because of that discovery that I began to write this memoir.

*“Dans son rapport annuel de 1934, le Service des mines du Quebec rapporte que ‘la ville connue sous le nom de Val-d’Or, située sur les lots 61 et 62 du canton de Dubuisson, et sur le bloc 14 du canton de Bourlamaque, a déja une population considerable.’

A l’été1944, un vaste panneau apparait a l’angle de la 3e Avenue et de l’Avenue Centrale.

On peut y lire:

‘Val d’Or , Québec.

La croissance de population la plus rapide au monde

1934, population: 5 prospecteurs

1944, 7,500 personne prospères.

Une augmentation de 1,500 %

Venez a Val d’Or, pour votre premier million.’”

(*Société  d'histoire de Val-d'Or)

What Are You Reading?

When I read, I feel a sense of well-being when language is poetic and has surprising images and metaphors, when stories are intriguing. I am delighted with books of that exquisite caliber that soothe, transfix, even transform me. This is the gift of well-written fiction. I have been reading practical books about the financial mess that has taken over on a global basis, but it was only when I picked up a couple of novels recently that I was satisfied at this deeper level.


These novels were:

• Itani, Frances. Requiem.

• Ondaatje, Michael. The Cat's Table.

There are many other novels on my 'books to read' list and I will try to mention them at some future date. In the meantime, I'm interested in the recommendations and comments of others. Both for my own interest and for anyone else who drops by this site for ideas about writing and reading.


Oh, by the way, I've been rereading my own novel, Ile d'Or, before my next book club appearance. And I would like to recommend it to readers as an interesting read that will intrigue and surprise you and give you insight into aspects of Canadian life and history.

WRITER'S BLOCK.

I can't imagine there is a writer who has not experienced writer's block. In the days when paper was used, fear of 'the blank page' captured the condition. There ought to be a contest for the number of ways  a writer avoided sitting down to confront this page. Or nowadays, 'the blank screen.'

What would your list look like?
Mine might involve:

• making a phone call. For me this is usually a terrible solution that distracts me further from work and creativity, but wonderful for that ongoing sense of isolation that occurs when facing the page. 
• Putting the dishes away. Well, after all, like the laundry, the ironing, making the beds, taking out the garbage, it needs to be done. Just not now!
• Going for a walk. For me usually a wonderful solution in that ideas begin to flow then. I usually wait too late to take this walk and have gone through all my other time wasting techniques to no avail. When following a more ongoing routine than I do now, I took an early morning walk and then another late in the day when I wanted to make the transitions in and out of writing. Lax as this may sound, it created a structure and discipline of its own.
• This summer when I was on crutches and couldn't walk I took up baking when I wasn't sure where or how to start on some piece of writing. Now that the crutches are almost gone, I will have to go back to walking a lot as I gained 10 lbs. Oh happy day! 

I think you get the picture. You probably do a lot of the same things. Or similar ones. When someone asks me what to do to start writing, my immediate thought is 'Sit down.' So I sit down at the computer at some point and open my word processing program and begin. If one manuscript has left me blank, I start with another. That may start me working in an entirely different direction for a while, but I usually have a number of things on the go and rather than writers' block, my problem is often focus. But we could talk about that another time! Or not.

What about you?

• 
  

So You Want to Write. Some Questions to Ask Yourself

People seem endlessly fascinated by the routine writers follow. Often they don't know how much work it involves and isn't simply a matter of some inspiration that carries a story or book to completion. While an idea may come in a sudden flash, the story that follows may take months to write. And when do I do that writing? 


The flash has sometimes come in the middle of the night and I have then spent the night writing something that became the backbone for a story. But the ongoing work of writing and revising happens during the day for me. Generally in the morning. Although I've had various routines to fit different stages of my life. One period when I took time from employment at the various places I worked to make ends meet (and sometimes because I believed in and/or enjoyed the work), I found working during my children's school hours was the only time I wouldn't be distracted too often.

When my children left home, I fit my writing time around my other employment. I made a point of not working on Mondays at the job and taking that day to write. I had the good fortune of job sharing with someone who wanted Fridays off so I was able to follow that regimen for quite a few years. Since retirement from outside employment, I don't write at the same time every day. However, I have a minimum amount of time for writing each day that is on the low side and I make sure to meet that. What I find is that I more often than not exceed it. But at the same time, I don't feel as if I am missing out on what the outside world has to offer that I want to explore.

The questions to ask yourself if you, too, think you want to write likely go something like this:

1. Do you have a deep need or a strong urge to share a story? You may know that everyone has a story to tell, but that not everyone can write. Can you write yours? Are you willing to spend a minimum of an hour or two a day on this? Are you willing to spend more time if you find the story requires more to develop?
2. Are you willing to revise and revise and revise?
3.  Are you able to face rejection when you send your work to editors/publishers? Do you know how difficult it is to find a publisher?
4. Do you know how difficult it is to find an agent? The agent is looking for someone who has already published a book or two, the writer without a book published has difficulty getting their work looked at at all. Sometimes it seems like a mug's game.
5. Would you consider self publication?
6. Do you have any idea how rapidly the whole face of publishing is changing? With electronic media as well as the traditional book publishers now in the field, do you have the energy to learn about what is going on so that you can make the best decisions about submitting your work?And what kind of contract you need when it is accepted?
7. Are you aware that it is difficult to get most books reviewed anywhere, that books have a short shelf life and require as much time devoted to them after publication if you want sales as during the writing process?
8. Are you willing to put a lot of time and effort into promoting your book once it is published, in whatever format?
9. Are you aware that only a small number of writers make significant amounts of money from their writing? 
10. Are you going to sit down today and start?

If you don't seem to have a choice about whether you write your story or not even if you find your answers to the above questions discouraging, just get cracking!

AND GOOD LUCK TO YOU!

The Ten Most Common Questions I Am Asked at Readings.

The most common questions I encounter at readings vary from one to another, of course. But there are certain common themes. Working in the field, one forgets that the central knowledge of one's metier is a mystery to most people. Even avid readers. Even other writers who are starting out on the journey that may lead them to published articles and books also. Even one's friends.

So people come to readings for a variety of reasons. Many of them reflected in the questions that are asked.

• When did you start writing? This questions links well with why I started writing? So unless that has already been asked, I tell the story of having a poem accepted when I was 7. In other words, an early success, but followed by a long history of rejection. Although I don't recall much other writing before my late teens, etc., and then before my mid thirties.
•  How long did it take to write the book? This is of endless fascination and I imagine there are as many answers as there are books. Or writers. Sometimes it is hard to answer as a first draft may have been written long ago and been picked up over the years and set aside again. It would be lovely if every book took a year or two to write and then was published shortly thereafter. That is rarely the story of any book. I often say my novel, Ile d'Or took 40 years from the first glimmer on paper to publication. Of course, I did many other things and wrote many other stories during those years. But it is nonetheless an honest answer.

• Where do you get your ideas? What I often want to say to this one is, I wish I knew. But there are many sources for ideas so I look at the specific work we are discussing and tell the audience about some incident that led to this novel. Or this character. Something for them to think about and perhaps apply to their own experience.
• Do you start with a character or an idea? Or do you have a plot in mind? Do you work from an outline? These questions usually come separartely, but in the writing of a book I think of them as similar and often it makes the process more clear by talking about them together.
• Who is your favourite writer? Who are you influenced by? I confess this varies depending on the day, although there are many Canadian writers whose work I love and one of my earliest passions was for Russian writers like Dostoyevsky,
• How did you find a publisher? Trying every avenue I could think of, I was finally accepted by Inanna after many years of having short stories published and continuous rejection of longer work. Tellling about this could take an evening, but that is essentially what happened.
• Do you do a lot of research? Not a lot of official research. Often my life experience has been my research. If I need information, I ask people who have knowledge a lot of questions and these days do research on the internet. Sometimes also in libraries.
• How many copies of the book have been sold? Often I don't yet know because of the vagaries of the publishing business, but I tell them I think all of us would know if it were a best seller.
• How much money do you make? I don't know the answer to that either at any given moment, but an awful lot less than most people assume. I've always had to have another source of income to write, which has made for a lifetime of adventure, to put the most positive slant on it.
• Where/how do you start to become a writer? This is probably the prototype kind of question for people who are trying to figure out what to do to get the story they have out there in the world. And the reply is just as stereotypical really, you just sit down and start. Beyond that there are many answers to specific questions, but I think people think writing is easy and the reality is that it's 90% hard work. Slogging. After the idea comes the writing, the revising, etc. over and over.
• Which character most closely resembles you? I sometimes say which one I think does, but often find an interesting anecdote to tell that increases the mystery for the questioner. So often it is assumed that everything in a book is true and based somehow on my life when I know there is a mixture of truth there, but used imaginatively to create a new reality. So answering this question can be fun!

These are the general questions that seem to arise over and over, whether with friends, at a reading, wherever. There are always very specific ones based on the actual book, questions about why a character does something, about the setting, anything that has intrigued a particular reader. I find the q&a's a lot of fun as I enjoy the feedback now that my work is out there. And often there is something I haven't thought about that gives me pause and delight when I see my work reflected through a reader.

Fall Sky Over the St, Lawrence. 2011

 

Photo by Nicole Gombay

This sky reminds me of skies in northern Quebec where I grew up. It is solace for my soul when life in an urban metropolis feels overwhelming.  At the moment, what does that to me is not the city but the lengthy period I must spend on crutches. I think, I read, I write, but after a few weeks, having one's freedom of movement curtailed becomes almost unbearable. Today the ennui was relieved when my niece arrived in her car and she took me to vote at an advance poll (Ontario election). We also went to the grocery store, something I haven't been able to do since July. I find the firsts very exciting, even something so mundane as going to my local NO Frills store. I haven't ever shopped on crutches before, so that was an eye opener. I suppose there is a story in all of this, but at this point I look forward to putting it all behind me. I get sick of following my friends only on Facebook, wish I could join them at Word on the Street tomorrow. I hope the weather holds up and that it is a great day for books in Toronto. And everywhere else WOTS is being held on this last Sunday in September.

BOOK CLUBS. Planning for a Book Club Appearance.

Recently I received a request from the Toronto alumni of my alma mater, McGill University, to attend discussion of my most recent book, the novel Ile d'Or, at their book club's November meeting. The invitation included a request to speak at the beginning of the evening. 

The email reads as follows: I think it would be a real treat if you would speak for about 10 minutes or so at the start of the meeting. In addition to people having the opportunity to hear from an author (so rare and exciting!), it might also lead to more questions for the group.

I agreed to do this (with pleasure!) and have some possible ideas for a talk, suggested by the questions of the representative of the club, as follows:

• A short introduction about yourself (where you are from, where you went to school, how you got interested in writing, etc.). 
• How long did it take you to write this novel?
• What is your writing process like? For example, do you plan out the plot and characters first in great detail, or do you just start and see where it goes?
• Anything else you might want to include...

  Please let me know your thoughts about such an introductory talk, she writes... I think it would generate incredible interest.

  

The questions are similar to those I am asked when I make other public presentations, although the format and audience are different each time. The key difference in the situation of being invited to a book club is the assumption that many, if not most, of the participants will have read the book. This leads to more interesting discussion for both writer and readers. So while the questions suggested are general, more in-depth ones will more than likely emerge in the course of discussion.  So while initially I am guided by a format, I scarcely have to do more than think about it for this part of the talk. Since I haven't reread the book for a few months, I will likely at least skim it before the meeting though.

 I don't think this will be a piece of cake, but every appearance is exciting and gives more visibility to the book. I do expect to enjoy it as much as I did a large slice of the cake below at a recent party.

Crutches. Another Countdown.

The countdown is over after six weeks. Or I thought it would be. Now there is another, unexpected one. I am not able to throw away the crutches, but must use them for another 35 days. Unimaginable. Or at least, I would rather not imagine it. Or is it to be more valuable writing time? Time to read through the novel again. To continue revising short stories. Since I am able to go out more, I will do that, too, when I can find transportation. Even if I had a car I couldn't drive it as it is the right foot that is not weight bearing for now.

I hope friends will continue to drop by. The porch will get cooler, but fall weather is generally pleasant. I tell myself it won't be so bad, but I haven't managed to convince myself yet! Instead I am still sad and disappointed at this continued restriction on my mobility.

Maybe there is a poem I will write about crutches. Or a story. In the meantime,there will be photos! Oh, and I think I can do the cha cha on one foot and one heel, but it wouldn't help with the healing. So for now  I will resist the temptation to go dancing.

Banana Loaf.

Sometimes I've done all the writing I am going to do that day, but still want to make or create something. So most recently it was a banana loaf from the Comfort Food Cookbook by Johanna Burkhard (1997). I seldom make anything without some slight change. And although it isn't a very original change, I often add semi-sweet chocolate chips to this recipe. Some people also like shredded coconut in it.

 Banana Nut Loaf/Bread

325 degrees  9”x5” loaf pan, greased. Or parchment paper on bottom.

Baking time: 1 1/4 hours.

1 3/4 c   all-purpose flour        

1 tsp.   baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

2                 large eggs

1 c.      mashed bananas (about 3 ripe)

1/3 c    vegetable oil

1/2 c     honey

1/3 c     packed brown sugar

1/2 c     chopped walnuts

1/2 c     semi-sweet chocolate chipits (optional)

Sift flour, baking soda and salt in a bowl.

Beat eggs in a separate bowl. Stir in bananas, oil, honey and brown sugar. Stir until smooth.

Stir dry ingredients into banana mixture until combined. Fold in walnuts (and chocolate chipits).

Pour batter in prepared loaf pan. Bake in preheated oven for 1 1/4 hours (325) (I start checking at around an hour) or until cake tester inserted in centre comes out clean. Let pan cool on rack for 15 minutes. Run knife around edge; turn out loaf and let cool on rack.

Note: Lining bottom of pan with waxed or parchment paper means you’ll never have trouble removing the loaf from the pan.

Countdown Continues. Reflections.

36 days on crutches, viewing the world from my front porch. 6 days now till the  'skewer' in my toe is removed. This existence has been surreal, but a time for friendship, reflection and a lot of reading and writing. I thought the time would drag, but this last part has gone quickly. I don't expect miracles, but I will be glad to be able to have a shower without saran wrap and a big plastic bag over my foot. I will be glad to be able to manoeuvre the stairs to the basement and do my own laundry. It will take time to walk distances and to start dancing again, but I will at least be able to put weight on the front of my right foot soon. And give the heel a rest from taking all the weight on that foot. And that day when the 'skewer' is removed will be a huge milestone even if I can't walk and dance and take the TTC for a while.

I don't suppose I'll really understand fully the value of this time until it is over. But I do know I am far more aware of the generosity of family and friends and that I have a caring community that surrounds me. This is so even though many of them live at a distance. I am grateful. And also for the time to reflect and do some serious writing and revision. And to understand my life as a writer better. If I hadn't had that work to do, I suspect the time might have dragged more.

Would I Lie To You? Synopsis of Latest Version of a Novel.

This is todaý's synopsis of my novel, Would I Lie To You. For the moment, I am pleased with it. As any writer knows, everything is open to revision at some later point. The process goes on and on. In any case, I have almost finished revising this novel once again and felt it needed an updated synopsis also.

 

Synopsis:

As her husband lies dying, Sue goes to see a psychic who tells her there is someone like a son in her life. She dismisses this, but at Jerry’s funeral his son turns up, a son Sue didn’t know existed. She goes to tell the psychic, Hans, and later has lunch with him. As she goes about her life, grieving, getting to know Thomas, she regrets never telling Jerry, or anyone else, about the baby girl she gave up for adoption when she herself was only sixteen. At the same time as she starts to look for her daughter, she begins to fall in love with Hans who is struggling with difficulties in his own marriage. When she finds her now grown up daughter, Gwen, they move toward an understanding of what they mean to each other in a tapestry of existing family that includes what they have built thus far. The novel is about Sue finding her long lost daughter and about reclaiming her past. It is about love, loss, betrayal, courage and, ultimately, redemption.

The Countdown. How A Deadline Gets Established..

Suddenly the motivation and energy to go through the novel my agent critiqued recently has descended on me. As it is, I am counting the days (sleeps) until the pin in my toe is removed and I can start to walk with full weight on that foot. It dawns on me that after this date, my life will become busier again. If I don't face the comments about this novel now, will I have time like this later? Not likely. Especially since I am already revising short stories and considering again a manuscript of my memoir. And wondering if I can finish my mystery novel in the next few months.

So I began to reread the novel called Would I Lie To You? again. Yes, I can see areas where it slows down. I can see the ambivalence of Sue, the main character, about the man who attracts her after the death of her husband. Also that she ought to start to think about the child she gave up for adoption, something she ought to have done much sooner. That theme is too important for it to be on the second tier of the story. It is likely the most important life experience for Sue to come to grips with. So I am engrossed in this now, half way through the pages. Shifting sections around. Taking sections and realigning the focus. Not sure what else yet, but it is a changed novel already. And I will likely finish tweaking it, working on it by the end of the weekend. And then I can have the conversation with the agent she suggested when we discussed her reactions just before I went for surgery.

Yes, surgery. The last day of August now and I have spent an entire month on the porch! Not venturing out into the city as I protected my foot and got around on crutches, hoping the surgery and subsequent will allow me to walk and dance again soon. And to get out and listen to readings of writers who interest me. To go to movies at TIFF. With a new appreciation of the health and freedom to do those things.


So writing has been a large part of this time even when simply watching the world go by. With the reflection that occurred in that time suggesting nothing in particular. Except perhaps as the time comes to an end, I think I will continue to appreciate more my family and friends who have been so supportive. And at the same time, have more capacity for the isolation writing demands. For a long time, I've run from it even when I've faced it. I hope that now I can face it on an ongoing basis. And without cutting or damaging my ties with the world beyond that.

Jack Layton Inspires A Country.

What a sad day for Canada when Jack Layton died, a truly humane politician. He has inspired a country, Canada, to be even better than we are. Hopefuly his legacy will be that no one drops the ball and especially young people and the younger politicians carry on to new heights of taking care of the most vulnerable in society.  That he could find common ground across extreme differences, or at least see that there were talking points that could lead to solutions is a rare gift in the polarized pit of politics. He was a man of courage and commitment and care. Would that he had been able to follow through in Parliament as leader of the official oppostion. His would have been a strong voice. The letter he wrote two days before his death will hopefully inspire the rest of the party. And all of us as citizens of Canada who have lost a strong and compssionate voice that spoke so eloquently for 'ordinary Canadians.'

Team Work.

Blueberry pie made with wild Ontario blueberries as a late afternoon treat. Earlier for lunch, hummus and spinach dip with fresh pita bread. Chicken taken out of the frig as well when my family turned up unexpectedly. All of these treats brought by friends making sure I am managing as I hobble around on my crutches.Why ever did I think I would feel bored or isolated? My friends are generous with their time and in bringing treats for my meals. Sometimes I wonder if writing a blog or article (or both) on how to set up a support team if one lives alone in a city without family in that city would suggest ideas for others to follow in similar situations. I know if anything comparable arises again, I will once again send out an email to anyone I think might like being involved on a support team as my experience has affirmed people really are willing to help out when they are asked. And that they actually like to be asked!

Here is what I did. I wrote an email letter describing the situation I faced (surgery on my foot) that would lead to a recuperation period of six weeks when I would be unable to put the front of one foot down. During that period I would be on crutches and there would be various things I would need help doing. I mentioned that in building a team my intent was to spread things around so nobody would feel they were doing too much. I also said that I was on a cancellation list for the surgery and so wouldn't have a lot of warning for when all this would happen. I was hoping to have the surgery in the summer so I could sit out on my front porch a lot, watching what was going on on the street, speaking with neighbours, reading. And since the surgery did happen at the end of July, that is exactly what I am doing. Watching the world go by from my porch or living room window.


Living a sedentary and rather quiet life is unusual for me. I am more apt to be out at a dance class or a dance. Perhaps doing yoga. Taking a long walk. Taking courses here and there. Writing is, of course, sedentary. But because that is so, I attempt to remain physically active as much as I can be in other ways. But this experience is very sedentary and isolated. Except it isn't because moving around on crutches takes a lot of different muscles and is exhausting. And due to my great support team, there is always a phone call or a visit to keep me connected to the outside world.

And the good news about writing is that in the spaces in between, I have begun to work on some stories and have revised two in the last couple of days. They are part of a collection I am working on that includes a series of linked stories, some stand-alone stories and some flash fiction. I have even included a couple of poems. So although I am not yet rereading a novel that ny agent had some reservations about, I am at least starting to write once more.

I welcome any comments, questions or suggestions!

Finding Time to Write When On Crutches.

With the prospect of weeks of having to remain at home off my feet, I visualized words flowing as I sat at my computer. Alas, instead I spend my time writing and responding to email as I attempt to stay in touch with the outside world. Still, I have written a couple of blog posts and done a bit of revision on a short story or two. And patted myself on the back for creating a team of friends who have been absolutely amazing in making sure I am not isolated, that I have food to eat, fresh laundry, cut grass, library books, good conversation. Oh yes, transportation, too, to medical appointments. And one friend drove me to an ice cream parlour where we had huge scoops in waffle cones that we savoured, watching the action on a busy street. A break from the chair on the front porch, which in this season is also wonderful. Neighbours come to talk when they see me with my foot wrapped in white in a black surgical sandal and my crutches leaning against the house.
           So I savour this time of friendship that has given me an incredible sense of support and of knowing how generous and caring people can be. I can be so independent most of the time that I don't ask for help and forget that is all I have to do for someone to be able to offer that help. It is also sobering to be reminded that there are people who are not so fortunate who struggle all the time with one level of disability or other. I will strive not to forget about them as time goes along and my own time on crutches ends.
           Now I will try to do a bit of writing before the day gets any older, before the phone starts to ring and the neighbour who drops off a newspaper arrives. When I have the morning Globe and Mail, I will sit out on the porch to read it and enjoy a bit of this sunny summer day before it reaches its height in terms of heat and humidity. And when the crutches are no longer necessary some time in September, I will strive to keep up with all these friends who have been so generous. I will hope that the folks who drop by will continue to do so. And I will hand out gold stars to all my wonderful friends and let them know I will be there for them when they need me.

My Toes. Are They Really Mine? Are They Apt to Provide Inspiration for a Story?

Is that really my foot, that somewhat swollen thing at the end of my leg? The toes are, thankfully, different. There is a pin sticking out of one that will be there for another four weeks. I won't be able to put weight on the front of that foot for that much longer. Crutches will be my regular companion, the challenge not to go fast and risk hitting the pin, or coming down on it. That would render the surgery pointless. So patience is  likely the major challenge.

Quite soon after the stitches are removed (ouch!) and the surgeon pronounces that I am doing good work (and I tell him he is), someone else rewraps the foot and, this time, covers the pin at the end of what was until the operation a wandering hammer toe. So I won't know for quite a while now if the foot will transform so that next time I see it, I will recognize it.

What does this have to do with writing? you might well ask. Maybe it means I have scads of time for it while I stick close to home to heal. Or maybe it means everything else takes so long that there is almost no time left in each day for creating anything. Not even revising a story that awaits that careful eye. What can I say? Like many experiences, I suspect I won't know until later how this one has contributed to my life in general and my writing life in particular. I don't even know if I'll write about it elsewhere.  But past experience tells me I will. And that this is likely only a beginning. After all, the idea that the foot may turn out not to be mine seems like an interesting premise.

Milestones in a Writing Career.

A comment on my blog caused me to start thinking about what the milestones have been around my life as a writer. In this post, I focus on workshops and retreats. I haven't included workshops I have subsequently taken through the Writers' Union around publishing, promotion, etc. Nor have I commented on the writing group I joined in 2005, something I hadn't previously thought would be helpful (how wrong I was). Nor the many single workshops I took at Humber School for Writers prior to attending a concentrated workshop in the summer of 2006. Perhaps I will write about them another day. In the meantime, I recognize they were all important, but my focus today is on workshops and retreats.

One has to be serious about one's work and have a body of work that one creates in solitude, but workshops and the community and feedback that flow from them have been critical in moving me forward and in providing milestone experiences. I also benefited from the Writer in Residence program at the University of Toronto in the 1970s when Adele Wiseman was the writer when I was a mature student at the university for a year. We became friends as well as colleagues and encouraged each other until her death in 1992. I consulted writers in residence through the Toronto Public Library as well on more than one occasion, including Austin Clarke, Janis Rapoport and Lyn Hamilton.

Note: I would be interested in other writers' comments/reflections on their experiences. The following are some of mine.

Workshop. York University, Toronto. 1970s. The writer who facilitated the group I attended was Austin Clarke who paced the front of the classroom like a caged lion. Then suddenly he would impart some pearl. I recall the phrase, 'The Fear of Invention.' It had a profound impact on me as I struggled to put stories together. On the other hand, this was the first time I had some external validation from a writer who was already established that I could write, too. I had taken one course at McGill University in the 1950s with Constance Beresford-Howe where I didn't experience validation of what I wrote then, nor did my work yet deserve it, but I did read wonderful books. In the years since, I have reread two novels in particular, Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse and Ethel Wilson's Swamp Angel, which still strike me as jewels.

Writers Retreat at Bracebridge, Ontario. 1980s. Sponsored and supported by the Writers' Trust,  a group of writers of both fiction and non fiction gathered at a lodge on a lake near Bracebridge for two weeks. This time was magical, an opportunity to work without distractions, to eat good meals in the company of other writers and to converse with colleagues in the evenings if one chose to do so. I was fortunate to meet writers such as Isabel Huggan, Jean McKay and Betty Jane Wylie while at this retreat. And to discover that there is a special way of being for writers in such an environment, a way of moving through the scenery with a dream like expression that might portend a poem, of taking a canoe out on the lake to let one's thoughts flow through at the same time as one paddles along the shore.Ways of being I took for granted in myself, but didn't usually find in friends in other fields.

Banff Centre for the Arts. Alberta. 1992. Adele Wiseman encouraged me to go to Banff where she was the Director of the Writing Program. Unfortunately she was unable to be there because of illness and died that spring. Edna Alford and Marilyn Bowering were the two writers I worked with over the six week period I was at Banff, working on Ile d'Or, a novel that was ultimately published in 2010. This workshop was a turning point in many ways. I worked with writers from across the country, for the first time participating in a group of other writers where I was also accepted as such. Mavis Gallant was the special guest for two weeks in the middle of the program and I had the privilege of an hour with her when we discussed her life as a writer and mine also. It was exciting and inspiring.During the two weeks Gallant moved among us, but this opportunity for a conversation with her on my own was a moment I still cherish.

University of New Brunswick. Fredericton. 1997. Writing Workshop. One week with Ann Copeland as facilitator. I worked on short fiction at this workshop. I chose to go because I'd heard the program was a good one, but also as an opportunity to spend time in Fredericton. After the workshop I went to St. Andrews by the Sea to meet friends with whom I drove up through New Brunswick to Riviere du Loup on the St. Lawrence in Quebec. At this workshop, I met people like Nino Ricci and Janet Lunn as well as the Acquisitions Editor, Laurel Boone, from Goose Lane Publishing. I had had much correspondence with Ms. Boone and it was a treat to meet her and speak in person.

Humber School for Writers. Toronto. 2006. At this week long workshop in July, I was assigned, much to my delight, to the group who would work with Alistair McLeod. I had decided when I retired from doing other work that it was time to work towards seeing books published. Over the years many short stories had been. So I submitted the first chapter of Ile d'Or in its latest version to this workshop. After the workshop, the book that was published first (in 2007) was a collection of short stories, One Day It Happens. At Humber, I learned from Alistair McLeod that he had accepted two of my short stories, ten years apart, for publication in the University of Windsor Review. Somehow this tied together many parts of writing experience and I felt the courage and confidence again to continue submitting my work. In the next three years, I had two books published. The short story collection, One Day It Happens, and finally, the novel, Ile d'Or. And now, I am working on others!

Surgery as Inspiration.

This is more about not writing than about writing. When one has had surgery and is recovering, writing a story or poem or novel seems pretty remote. However, I have made a lot of notes about my hospital experience. All the contradictions of what one is told in hospital begin to fade quickly, so the notes will still be there if I want to try to create something later. Now I am simply pondering the reality of sitting at a computer at the same time needing to keep my right leg elevated to avoid swelling of the foot where the toes in question are now recovering. Also contemplating the reality of moving with crutches for the next few weeks because I can't put the front of that foot down for quite a while. I am far more mobile than I expected to be so that's a good thing, but there are endless challenges. I will try to see them as an adventure in healing. The carrot beyond healing is to get back to dancing. Long before that I will be writing, of course!

READER FEEDBACK. Please let me know what you would like to read on my blog.

Since I want to develop and maintain reader interest in my blog, I am rethinking my focus and seek your comments and feedback around that. I would like to know what you, the reader, would like to see when you drop by my blog. Please leave comments. I will try to reply to all comments and questions.

Writing is the underlying river of my life. That is the origin of the title of the blog, as well as the sense that it would resonate for others who feel the same way. The flow of this river has connected many disparate parts of my experience. I began keeping a journal when I was still a teenager and have done so in some form ever since. There are more than two drawers full of lined notebooks where, if I delve into them, I find quotes or descriptions I could use in a story or novel. On the other hand, there are pages and pages that bore me now. The digital journal I began to keep about ten years ago is not as full of repetition as I record there only when something actually feels significant enough to me to do so. I also edit as I go along or when I go back to look at an entry, something I would have considered a sacrilege in younger years.

Sometimes something comes to me as a story or an idea for a story. Or for a novel. It could be a character or an event. Or even a place as was the case in my novel, Ile d'Or. And in my collection of short stories, One Day It Happens, many are set in locales that interested me and where the skeleton of a story occurred to me.

I often refer to inspiration in my blogs.There are many sources of inspiration.  I have begun to journal by taking photos, finding they also act as inspiration and/or research for a story. Ultimately though it is hard work that gets a piece of writing finished and out there in the world where readers can read it. So, after the initial idea, I know I will have to nail my butt to the chair and get on with it. How long that will take is never certain. A full draft may come quickly, but then there is the endless and ongoing revision. All of this constitutes the life of a writer.

I am also trying to set up a regular schedule for writing and posting blogs so that you will know it is worth checking back. That may be difficult over the next month as I will have surgery on my foot soon and won't have access to my computer for a week or so. But when I do, I hope I will find your comments. At that point, I will continue to post something at least once a week, keeping what you want as well as what I want to share in mind.

Midnight In Paris

Charming movie I saw this afternoon in a cool movie theatre on a hot day in Toronto. Lovely to be in Paris with Ernest Hemingway and Scott Fitzgerald as well as Gertrude Stein and painters like Picasso, Dali, Toulouse Lautrec for an afternoon. Best of Woody Allen's recent films, I was transported to Paris. The girlfriend character was quite shallow and her parents were caricatures, but the main character, a writer, was delightful. As were the historical cultural icons we met in the course of the film. Great way to spend a hot, humid afternoon.

Jazz in the Beaches also beckoned, but now that I feel like it it is raining. Maybe tomorrow.

Near Blenheim, Ontario. July 2011.

Summer Sky

Soybean plants

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lovely summer day! Rest and relaxation and likely also inspiration.

Brockton Writing Series. Audience. July 6, 2011

The Brockton Writing Series was started by Farzana Doctor and is now a regular monthly reading held in Toronto's west end Parkdale area. One of the readers last evening was Antanas Sileika and you can see him sitting in the background before his turn at the podium. He read from his new novel, Underground, ending on a very dramatic note that ensured readers for this intriguing book. The other readers were Diana Fitzgerald Bryden and Ian Malczewski. Diana read from her award winning novel, No Place Strange, from sections set in Beirut and Athens. Ian, an urban planner as well as a writer, read some of his poetry.


There are always interesting book launches and readings going on in Toronto. A good place to live as a writer, but also sometimes it is hard to get down to the ongoing, difficult work of writing. This series provides a sense of community with a forum at the beginning for writers to speak with each other. It was led last night by Sileika under his other hat of Director of the Humber School for Writers. He gave information about the programs at HSW and also discussed language and what constitutes good writing with some memorable examples.

The woman in white in the photograph is Sandra Campbell, Ontario representative for the Writers' Union. I am the one behind her and next to me is Jasmine d'Costa.

Toronto Island. July 2011. Inspiration without photographs

Early in the morning today, I left on the spur of the moment to go to Toronto Island. In my bag I had a book to read. I would look for a shady spot overlooking water. I had forgotten that I would be traveling in rush hour, crammed into the subway. I stood holding onto a pole in the middle of the car, almost cheek to cheek with the other passengers with our hands arranged up and down the pole. Behind me I felt butts pressing into me, hips beside me. The two pole grippers on either side of me began to talk.
     "Where did you get your coffee?" the man asked.
     "I made it," she said, screwing the top back on the thermos.
     "It smells good," I said spontaneously and their heads jerked toward me and away. There was silence. I wasn't there. I ought to have observed the etiquette of rush hour. No jumping into strangers' conversations. Acting as if no one around can hear anything you say to each other. And as if you actually can't hear them. I stared straight ahead, said nothing. After a while they resumed their conversation. I remained quiet. She pulled up google on her cell and asked about the best route to take to work. Their outfits both bore the insignia of the City. Parks I seem to recall, but I don't know. He suggested going east on the subway instead of going down to Queen. So she got off at Bloor and he at Queen and I continued on to Union Station. In silence.
     On the ferry, I realized I hadn't brought my camera. There would be no photos of whatever caught my eye, whatever might act as inspiration for a hot day in Toronto. There are no photos to post here. But it was a good outing for the morning. I took the ferry to Hanlan's Point because it was the first one leaving the ferry docks in downtown Toronto. When I arrived I meandered for a while, occasionally sat down to read the book I'd brought with me (The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins). Sat on a bench and watched birds fly across the blue sky, listened to the waves on the sandy shore.
     When I glanced back behind me, I saw the tall buildings of downtown and the CN Tower. This is the life, I thought, as I wandered gradually back to the ferry at Centre Island. Along the way, I discovered a new park for children I will go back to explore one day. And much to my surprise, actually began to write this piece in my head at the same time as I decided to incorporate a couple of poems into a manuscript I am working on. It's a collection of short pieces, many of them linked. Why not a handful of poems? There is one photograph in the manuscript already and there may be others.
     Let's see!

Celebrating Diversty in Toronto. Pride Parade 2011

What a beautiful day it was to celebrate Pride. Sunday parade with over a million lining the streets. Joyful occasion to see so much support from across the spectrum in our city for our friends, family and colleagues in the LGBT community,

An Earring as Inspiration?

Or is it the swirl of the hair?

Public Lending Right. 25th Anniversary.

http://www.writersunion.ca/plr.asp

Check out this link at the Writers Union for comments on the public lending right. TWUC celebrated the 25th anniversary of this momentous support of writers'work at the AGM in Toronto this spring. The booklet contains the comments of many Canadian writers (including those of yours truly). And also included is a photgraph of the cover of my novel, published in 2010.

THE WRITER'S LIFE. Ancestors.

These two people are my ancestors. Actually they are my great grandparents on my mother's side. The woman is directly descended from Louis Hebert, the first French settler in Canada. Therefore, so am I. The man is of Irish descent. I understand it was a turbulent marriage!

I was pondering photographs as I finished working on a piece of fiction. Looking for ideas, perhaps. 

WHAT AN EVENING! Moosemeat Writing Group Chapbook Launch.

At the Arts and Letters Club in Toronto on Friday, June 10th, the writers of the Moosemeat Writing Group held the 8th annual launch of a chapbook of flash fiction by our writers. The evening was hosted ably and humourously by Isabel Matawawana and Jerry Schaefer.  The room was full and there was appreciative applause for each reader. Lots of fun and laughter as well as prizes, mainly of books donated by publishers of some of the writers in the group, including my publisher, Inanna, and Heather Wood's publisher Tightrope.

Sam Agro provided the illustration and Kurt Zabatiuk put the chapbook together. 

Back Yard Inspiration. June 2011.

Fine Day in Montreal. June 2011

 I love Montreal. When it's time to leave, I'm never ready to go. This time the weather moved from cold to hot to cool again, but there was no rain. A colossal wind storm on Saturday when one ducked into doorways or a small coffee shop so as not to be blown away. Branches down. Went to a small dance studio to see (and dance a bit) some superb West Coast swing.


The photos were taken on the edge of Square St. Louis, a favourite haunt of mine. The Bixi bicycles were back at the edge of the park and I saw them being delivered at spots further north.

Went to convocation at McGill for Health Sciences, large crowd under the white tent. Impressive to see the diversity of the graduates of the 2011 classes.

Now in Toronto again where the grass was high (cut this morning) and the clematis had bloomed and wished me good morning today!

Are the Dandelions 8" High?

 This house next door is a distraction from writing. The eaves have not been cleaned in two years, in spite of many notices from the city. The view from my bathroom window is quite lovely, but the water that runs down into the space between the houses and thus into my basement is another matter. As for the dandelions in the back yard next door, the city will remove them if they are 8" high and charge the owner for doing so. After whatever amount of time it takes to provide notice. If last year is any example, about the end of July when nothing has happened city employees will come and cut the grass and weeds down.


Well, maybe it's just a convenient excuse not to write this morning. Or to write a blog post rather than add to the manuscript I am working on now entitled May I Have This Dance? This is a collection of short fiction with some flash fiction at the beginning, a middle section of linked stories pertaining to dancing and some other stories written fairly recently. How it will evolve is still a mystery, but the work is progressing. In the meantime, my mystery novel languishes as does another novel and a memoir. All progress though, albeit slowly, with the focus of work shifting from time to time.

These are the dandelions, just waiting for a breeze to waft over into my yard. The ones in the front were removed by a midnight posse! Or that's what I think happened.  In any case, those weeds ended up in my recycle bin and were collected by the city.