What blog posts do you read?

Do you ever wonder what others read when they decide that a post on a blog interests them? With the wonder of statistics readily available for the blogger, I often indulge my curiosity and check. The all-time high so far on this blog is a photograph of an ibis. Recently the favourite was on how a writer wastes time. Perhaps the first appeals because of its beauty while the second makes others feel better. Either they waste more time than I do and feel some sense of satisfaction or they are not as lazy as yours truly and that makes some feel better. Just wondered!

Life of a Writer: #11. Prologue to a Mystery

After a reading at the Rowers' Pub Reading Series (November 5, 2012) in Toronto where I read the first chapter of the mystery I am working on, Todd Swift (who also read that evening) suggested I include a prologue before the first chapter. He thought I needed something to foreshadow the events that would occur after the first few chapters. Since I agreed with this suggestion, I proceeded to write a prologue (see below). A similar sequence occurs at some point into the mystery, except at that juncture the names of the characters are used. I also asked a colleague from my writing group (Moosemeat Writers Group) to look over the prologue (Isabel Matwawana) and make suggestions. Since her comments were all helpful, I looked over the areas she alluded to and edited further.

Todd Swift also felt the title (I had particularly asked for feedback on this from the audience at Rowers before I read), The White Ribbon, ought not to be used as such as there is a famous film of the same title. When he learned about the white ribbon campaign of men against violence against women, he suggested some variation. At the moment, I am calling it simply White Ribbon.

 As you can see, feedback is valuable/invaluable to a writer. I appreciate any comments anyone might care to make!

 

 

 

White Ribbon

Prologue

Mid November

The coordinator for this particular Sunday at a church in downtown Toronto had started to greet the people, but the service had not yet begun. At the sound of a scream in the distance, she stopped and looked around.  Although they had started many services with many kinds of distractions, she appeared unable to continue.

            After what seemed a long time, but was really only a few seconds, one of the parishioners jumped up and started across the wooden floor. He was followed by a woman, who was heavier and slower than he was. The minister was not far behind. They headed toward a staircase down into the basement where there was a washroom for women and, a little further along the corridor, one for men. Small washrooms, each with two cubicles. Between them in the hall was a water fountain. The stairs were of the same heavy wood that extended throughout the church, but the floor in the basement was tiled. The sound had stopped, but just as the male parishioner came down into the hall, a woman emerged from the women’s washroom.

            “On the floor,” she said in a quavering voice. “Feet… sticking out.” She was visibly shaken, her face contorted with horror at whatever she had seen.

Reading: November 5, 2012. Rowers' Pub Reading Series.

#10. Life of a Writer. No time to waste.

An interesting report, positive, from reader for my agent on my mystery, "Two Left Feet." The report points out strengths and also what might benefit from revision. So...no longer is there time to waste as the writer (yours truly) sinks her teeth into revising.

Some remarks lead to obvious solutions. An error can be corrected by doing a bit of research. Others require a lot of time and thought. How does one take someone's POV (point of view) out of a story/novel and yet have them visible and known through the eyes of others? Well, that's precisely it...through the eyes of others. Not so easy really. Thoughts can't be conveyed through others most of the time, unless there is something obvious occurring that suggests them.

At any rate, that is today's challenge. Likely next week's and next month's also. I will keep on working on it and possibly (probably) report back in further posts.

Luciana Ricciutelli (R), editor at Inanna, with two of her authors. Zoe Roy(L) and Mary Lou Dickinson (middle) at WOTS, Sept. 2012

Did I say there is no time to waste not only because this revision takes up a great deal of time, but also because I have a finite life span. At an advanced age already, getting things out there now may lead to publication while I am still alive to enjoy that.

#9. Life of a Writer. How to Waste Time.

If I ever wondered about something I am good at, now I have found that talent. I can waste time like no one else on this planet. Maybe it is a characteristic of writers. Or maybe it is when I am incubating ideas. This morning I went to No Frills to buy unsalted butter that was on sale. It was an extra trip since they were out of it when I arrived yesterday. After coming home and putting the butter in the refrigerator, I decided it was such a beautiful day that I must be outside. So I walked over to Avenue Road (Toronto) to see an exhibition of paintings at the Ingram Gallery. When I came home, I did a load of laundry and had lunch. Soon I will leave for the Bloor Cinema to see the 9th film of 10 at TIFF. (Artifact) .

The reality is that between my activities of this past week, including some wonderful films (Amour, Quartet, The Gatekeepers, etc.), I have done a lot of writing. I never really know when I am wasting time and when what I do is productive. It may be necessary to my ongoing existence. But it may also be a way of easing into what I intend to do on a manuscript.

What I am working on now is a memoir. The title: Restless. That captures the life of someone who wastes time as well as all the other examples of restlessness in my life. I think. In any case, I am going to have a section critiqued by my colleagues at my writing group, Moosemeat, in ten days or so. So I have been looking for an extract that seems to be ready for their close inspection. And every time I sit down at the computer, I do something to prepare the excerpt I will send out a week before this critique.

View from my window this evening.

Creative Risk with a Blank Book. 1990.

Blank Book

(1990)

Yet another blank book. Who gave it to me this time? To draw? To write? That is the question. To take creative risks. My greatest risk may be to open this book and mar a blank page, to change the pristine quality of it. I can do as I please. Sky can appear overhead, visions of old women rocking in nursing homes, drooling over teddy bears. Anything at all. The flashing numbers of trades on the stock exchange I watched from the broker’s floor. The scallops I ate for dinner afterwards. All of it part of the flow of one life that I cannot seem to capture in a character or form to share with others. Today I do not mind. I have filled a page!

Some books are never published.

Some books should never have been published.

BEWARE!

It’s odd to think of inhabiting a womb. The one I inhabited had four occupants. One was born dead…

1/13/90

Dear Mikail Gorbachev,

abcdefghijklmnopqurstuvwxqz

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 l2 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

22 23 24 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 34 35

abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz

#+X

                        36 37 38 39 40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

Lithuania may be the downfall.

Or will you get a Nobel peace prize?

54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66

Nelson Mandela will soon be released

67 68 69 70. He is 71 now and has been

in prison in South Africa for 25 years.

Winnie has waited. 72 73 74 75 76

77 78 79 80 81 82 83 My mother is

83. She is paralyzed on one side after a

stroke. 84 85 86 87 88 89 90. It’s odd

to think my sister and I shared a womb.

91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99

Yours truly,

100

p.s. Blank books may turn out to be dangerous.

Labour Day. Toronto Island Escape. .

 Perhaps my last trip to the island now that September has come and summer is over. Or not. Although it felt as if it likely was the last trip for many folks on the ferry. School starts tomorrow. Harbinger of another season as is the fact that daylight gets shorter by a few minutes each day. I won't miss the humid heat, but even so I enjoyed the summer this year. There was so much to explore in the area of the city where I now live. Gradually I am doing so and feeling more at home each passing day.

On the island, I continued reading a thick book on Africa (The Fate of Africa) for a course in the fall. Although had I discovered this book myself, I would have read it anyway. Well written and very informative. I also found a bench in shade on Algonquin Island where I could see bits of the air show taking place at the CNE (Canadian National Exhibition) today. And walked a bit.

So, fall is in the air and as well as continuing to write on various writing projects, short stories, the memoir, I will pick up my TI|FF tickets this week and go to my first of 10 films on Thursday.