Thanksgiving

It’s Thanksgiving here today, north of the 49th parallel. We don’t have much of a Thanksgiving tradition in our family. My mum came to Canada from Scotland, and she never picked up up the Canadian Thanksgiving tradition. The only time we ever really observed it as a family was when I was away at university, because it was a good excuse for my mum to make a special meal for my friends and me to come home to. Since then, we’ve occasionally shared Thanksgiving with our best friends, which is always lovely, but it’s not unusual for the holiday to be a non-event for us, the way it is this year. My parents and my in-laws are both away this weekend, and my husband left last night for a workshop in NYC, so it’s just me and Isabelle, and I couldn’t see doing the whole turkey thing for just the two of us, especially since she doesn’t really like turkey. But even without a Thanksgiving celebration, I can’t help but think about what I’m thankful for. It’s in the air, I guess. The list is long and I won’t bore you with it all here. But the thing that’s really on my mind right now above all the rest is that I have a great kid. I’m really enjoying this age, but more than that, I’m enjoying Isabelle herself. Today, the two of us drove out about half an hour to wander in a local antiques mall. It’s not her favourite thing to do, but she went, without complaining, because I wanted to. From there, we went clothes shopping for awhile. She’s fun to shop with because she has a sense of humour about it, like being more than willing to try on the most god-awful pair of pants that wouldn’t have been out of place in my 1970s childhood, purely for my entertainment. She was patient and interested and interesting, and every bit as unable to walk past the bookstore we encountered as I was. And when we’d finished shopping, we went out for dinner, just the two of us. We ate and talked and smiled together at the over-the-top earnestness of our waiter. Not once did I have to actively parent her; she knows how to behave herself in a restaurant. So instead, I just got to enjoy her company. I know the adolescent years and their potential turmoil are fast approaching, and that might shake up the dynamic between us. But for now, it’s pretty wonderful. There’s nothing quite like hearing your child tell you she loved spending the day with you. And for that, I am very thankful. Share...

Crossing the line

The nature of my current WIP has me thinking about the nature of morality. However varied people’s moral stances may be, most of us have one, bordered by the lines we believe we would not cross. Some of those lines seem absolute, like the belief, say, that we wouldn’t – couldn’t – kill someone. We take wedding vows believing wholeheartedly that breaking them would be crossing the line. Some areas of the line are a bit more fuzzy: maybe we’ll tell a little white lie to spare someone’s feelings, but “real” lies leap over to the wrong side. But the thing about the lines we wouldn’t cross is that we always seem to imagine them as lines in the sand. Been to a beach lately? The tide comes in and washes away lines just as well as it does castles, the wind shifts and blows dry sand around, and, sometimes, we smooth over our own efforts with a sand-covered foot and start all over again. Lines are as easily erased as created, in sand and in life. How many men conscripted to the trenches of WWI – or any other war – would have said they could kill when they were home with their families going to school every day? How many parents ever believed they could shoplift before their children’s hunger pushed them to do it? And how many people grew up, fell in love, and got married believing they’d ever be able to have an affair? That last one is important in my WIP, which is what got me thinking about the changeable nature of certain so-called absolutes in the first place. It seems to me that the impermanent nature of lines in the sand isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We change, our beliefs in what’s right and wrong shifts, even if only slightly, with changes in our circumstances, age, and wisdom. But it has me wondering: is there anything unchangingly absolute, black-and-white and permanent in us? Is there anything we wouldn’t do, given sufficient motivation? I don’t know. But I do know the questions have given my main character a whole lot to think about. And that makes for a great writing day. Share...

Under the Surface

In honour of my dear friend Pam, whose recent post about her husband’s special mug was one of my favourites on her brilliant blog, below is a picture of my new giant tea mug. I spotted it on the first day of our summer vacation this year, and couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I went back to buy it. I’m not a particular fan of the character pictured on it; it was the message that caught my attention. Like most writers, I’m an avid people watcher. I love speculating about what’s really going on with that couple at the airport or that woman scowling into her cell phone at the grocery store. It’s not about judgement, but simple human interest. What’s there under the surface? What’s her story? What’s his? Is it what it appears to be or something completely different? The speculations aren’t personal to the people involved, because I don’t know anything about them, truthfully, but the questions feed my writing, inspire scenes or whole plot points or even spark the birth of a new novel idea. And people are just plain interesting to me. But of course, the most interesting ones, the ones that have become the most important to me, are the ones who let me see – and let me be – the dashing hero behind the grumpy façade or the goofy friend behind the shy exterior. I’m lucky to have a few of those people in my life, and I’m abundantly grateful for them. Hope you have a few, too. Share...

Sunday fun

My daughter’s favourite thing to do on weekend mornings is, well, nothing. After a busy week at school, the lure of TV, toys, and time to play makes her tough to drag out of the house sometimes. But it’s a beautiful day today, and I think we were all in the mood to do something. When I asked her what she wanted to do today, expecting to hear the usual pitch for free time, the first thing out of her mouth was “Go bowling?” Not quite what I expected *g*, but it’s something we haven’t done in ages, so what the hell. Off we went to our local bowling alley, where we dutifully donned our rented shoes. I’m a terrible bowler, but I ignore that reality and just have fun. We cheer for each other, jump up and down when we actually do well, and generally make fools of ourselves for a couple of hours. It was great. And taking the time to do it made it seem much easier to come home and get back to work, somehow. Share...

Shortlist… check

After much discussion and deliberation, we finished the shortlists for the fiction and non-fiction sections of the writing contest at the SiWC, the two categories for which I volunteer as a reader. Now karen, the conference – and contest! – coordinator gets the very pleasant job of notifying the people whose stories have been shortlisted. Congrats to all of them. Reading for the contest is a fascinating professional development exercise for me every year. There’s nothing quite like reading a mind-numbing number of stories back-to-back to highlight what works and what doesn’t, and the task never fails to motivate my own writing. What works? – Consistency. Consistent voice. Consistently good use of language. Consistent verb tense. Consistent mood and tone. – Plausibility. I don’t care how bizarre the world of your story may be; if you make me believe it’s real, I’ll go with you. (see also: consistency) – Coming full-circle by creating an ending that works with the flow of the story. – Meeting the guidelines. Keep your word count within the published upper AND LOWER limits. There’s $1000 prize for the first place winners of our contest, so it’s well worth putting pen to paper for next year. Share...