Moving Forward

It was a slow month, and I fell off the wagon a few times with some sluggish days. My thoughts have been like ants scurrying from a flooded anthill. But I still had one of my strongest days, thanks to my competitive perseverance and my buddy’s taunts. Although I may not have progressed as far as I would have wanted; amidst all the turmoil, I still clocked 384.12kms, which is like running from my seaside home to the crystal aquamarine waters of the Rockies. I have gained a little more clarity in the last two days, and so I will continue forward rebuilding to maintain my head above water. 

Until then, stay safe, stay kind ♥️.

Heart of Stone

The Big Bad Wolf has nothing on Rolf Lovett, the antihero in my story. It’s been a challenge to write amidst the uncertainty of my world. I forced myself to put my hands to the keyboard to complete my short story for a contest closing tonight. And so, I thought I’d take this fleeting inspiration to add a few words here since I have somewhat fallen off the blog earth since February. Disillusionment and rose-coloured glasses were to blame for my abscondment. I am proud to maintain a perhaps naïve vision of the kindness I see in others. The problem is, that with that, the reality of malevolence in someone often knocks the wind out of my sails.

But, as the old saying goes, bad luck happens in threes. So, what started with hopeful poor judgement and subsequent twofold hardships are perhaps a signal that my misfortune has come full circle. If my story is any kind of hopeful beacon, threes have a way of overcoming the wolf.

Zebrafish

We take an unknown leap when we fall in love; trusting the care of our heart to another person.

This month I had the prompt to write a love story from my online writing group. The assignment was to choose one of the 6 senses: touch, sight, smell, sound, taste, or magic. We had to write about a character whose sense we chose is heightened or diminished. We needed to explore how their distorted sense affects them or those around them? And we could make it a love story... This was well within my wheelhouse since love and relationship stories are my passion. I also decided that I wanted to play on the current themes of how people meet that differs from when I was growing up.

I concentrated on sound since it is a sense that I don’t appreciate in the context of love or give a tremendous amount of thought to, but it is something that I imagine could confuse someone's feelings. I remember as a child I went to camp and had a tremendous crush on a counsellor whose speech was dysarthric or apraxic. It made me wonder how a love story incorporating that auditory dissonance in contemporary times might play out. 

“His voice was distinctively him, my Zebrafish. The absence of the alveolar trill of the dropped Rs in my name, and his soft sweet drawl pulled the corners of my mouth into a smile.”

There were so many threads that came together to weave this story of mine, and it took a lot to imagine the reality of my character. Not to mention, speech can be difficult to describe. But, I wanted to give myself a challenge. So I donned my academic hat and dove deep into the research of learning a new glossary of terms. In our day and age of texting and digital culture, I thought to explore the auditory experience of a relationship in the context of our current modalities of communication would make for an interesting love story.

I'd been doing some edits on my novel and took a break to work on my monthly writing group assignment. I was feeling like I wanted to give my novel’s protagonist some sort of hope. My novel ends dismally and so this little piece also felt like it could be an epilogue of sorts for my own peace of mind... I doubt I have more to say about the short story to actually make it a sequel to my novel.

“… delighting my tympanic membrane like a gentle caress that would linger along its journey deep within me… his words would bounce around inside me until they’d find their final resting place in the warming of my heart.”

One of my writing group members mentioned the dissociation we sometimes have when meeting a radio personality in person. All these little threads came together to craft Zebrafish; a story about a broken-hearted girl who finds love and learns to trust again despite all these auditory obstacles. 

My short was very well-received and I am always humbled by the compliments on my prose. However, so far the male love interest in my novel, let's call him Joe, is not well-liked. I have woven my female protagonist into a few stories outside the novel and her other male counterparts are always better received than Joe. I am going to have to start sharing some of the wooing passages to get my readers to fall in love with Joe just as they have fallen in love with my Zebrafish. 

Perhaps, I took a leap with Joe and was blinded by love myself... 

Kindness of Strangers

My mom posted an image this past week of one of those rare people that cross your path through life if you are lucky. Sadly, we’d only just found out that he’d passed away. I first wrote to him on this day four years ago. In 2016, I was lucky enough to reconnect with a fellow from years ago that worked in the same real estate office as my mother. I remember him from the office when I would stop in to see my mom, from pictures of them together and from the time my mother hosted a work party at our house. But in actuality, I did not know him beyond those brief interactions.

I was in a tough time in my life in 2016, a lot of indecision, insecurity and uncertainty surrounded me. A few friends had mentioned that they loved Greece, and it looked beautiful. It was also a warm and a welcome sunny destination from the remaining grey that lingered above me. 

I remember writing to my mom to ask about her friend George. He had returned to live in Greece years ago, and I thought he may be the perfect person to contact for info about his home country. My mom gave me his address and told me to send him an email, and so I did. Little did I know that that first email would lead me on a journey that would renew my spirit in so many ways...

My letter to George was a simple introduction to who I was as a reminder and some requests for places to visit, affordable places to stay, if he knew any, and his recommendations for what I should see of his country. I only had about ten days so there was a lot I couldn’t do, but before I knew it he responded with such enthusiasm and had planned my entire stay. He coordinated with one of his good friends and his cousin on one of the Greek Islands. I remember receiving his response and thinking, “Well, I guess I’m going to Greece!”

The gesture overwhelmed me and it was a relief of sorts to have someone take over. The only thing I had to do was to buy my plane ticket. In the weeks approaching my trip, George sent me all kinds of fascinating history lessons about the country. We wrote back and forth for about two months before I arrived. He had a genuine love for Greece, and his passion enticed me to learn more about the place. His enthusiasm was contagious. 

He’d connected me with a friend of his in Athens that would show me around and his cousin in Santorini who would be my island guide. I was so excited about the adventure but a little apprehensive as I was sure it would be all too good to be true. But it was true... Even with my early morning flights, when I mentioned I would find an airport hotel, George insisted I stay at his apartment and had made sure that his friend in Athens would take me to meet my flights. So here I was, ticket in hand, his pad in Athens and a taste of the Greek Islands on the horizon.

My trip to Greece is the best trip I have ever taken. And I owe it all to a lovely human who’s pure kindness and generous soul made it possible. His friend and cousin went above and beyond anything I could imagine. They’d pick me up in the morning and drive me to countless sights throughout the day.

I remember how I mentioned how I loved urban art and whilst in Athens, his friend spent the evening hunting for art until we found some beautiful murals. I was ready to throw in the towel, but he was insistent about satisfying my original request. We ended up in fabulously colourful back alleys; places I wouldn’t have been wise to explore alone. I remember how we serendipitously finished the evening in a little gallery out of the way that had one of the most splendid exhibitions of mural art.

There are so many glorious memories I have of my time in Greece and, would have loved to visit George’s town but it was too far to reach in the little time I had so he had suggested Santorini. I had planned to return to Greece again, but by that time George had fallen ill. I never heard back from him, but I hope he knew what a cherished set of memories he’d given me. There aren’t many altruistic people that you come across in life, and when you do, they’re a treasure…   

Welcome Hindsight

In the early hours of the evening, we sauntered through the familiar yet foreign streets of my home. Ours was the biggest house on the block. I hadn’t remembered that as I stood there and smiled when my eyes met the window of my old room. The faded fireman safety sticker alerting firefighters that a child occupies the room if ever the house was ablaze still there in the corner of my bedroom window. I welcomed visual flashes of cherished misplaced memories.

I stood for a moment observing the driveway. It seemed so long as a child, and the front yard so big. Now, it looked like nothing but a miniature patch of greenery with a modest-sized tree. I remembered how the tree used to loom over me like a gnarled wooden monster. The monolith was the hide and seek counting spot. It was the tree whose leaves I’d enviously gaze through to catch glimpses of the older kids enjoying the hot summer nights when I had to come in early.  

It was sobering to walk those familiar streets, glancing in each of the illuminated windows; knowing I’d been in almost all of their rooms as a babysitter or as a friend. I recalled my adolescent mindset. My core ethic hasn’t changed; an unconscious foreshadowing. Perhaps, even a predestined path which brought me to where I find myself today. 

But, with each step forward, I carry each happy moment I have collected along my path. They are little undisclosed treasured snippets of happiness I mostly keep to myself. Yet, I’ll share them with the people I pass through my escaping smile. 

May the New Year bring the discovery of many new wonders, the warmth of loved ones and the illumination of hope… 

Here’s to hindsight 2020!

Thirteen Knives

One of my readers commented on how my story took them to another place; somewhere unfamiliar, which intrigued them. I love the research of writing; immersing myself in a new life, or revisiting one that I have lived. The last piece I wrote was difficult, as I was a tourist in all the experiences myself. I had no former memory to draw on, and nothing of the story or the involvements which my characters went through were familiar to me. This is where the research part gets tricky. Several readers have mentioned how my descriptions are so well-written; so it was a genuine challenge this past month as I travelled into a world I have never been in. My academic background has helped me in this respect. The discipline to be thorough adds to the reality created when constructing a story; from creating the foundation of the immersing plots to resolving all the loose ends, all take patience and careful attention to detail. 

With all of my other stories, there is an element from my life that comes to life through the story. It gives the opportunity for me to appreciate those excursions in more detail, to examine perspective from a new point of view. And even better to re-examine the reality through the lens of perspective that the distance of time offers. I wrote a story a few months back where one reader remarked on how “the conflict in their relationship seemed so natural (and sad). I loved your characters, they were so real.” This is because there is a piece of myself in everything I write, from a shy little girl in an old-fashioned elevator to the painter in the story I am writing.

I watched as the colour ran down the ferrule to collect in the bristles of the head. As I unbuttoned my shirt and let it fall to the ground...

It is perhaps why I unwittingly test the boundaries of my explorations; my subconscious takes notes for a future purpose which will be revealed when I least expect. And why, when a reader says “this is a really good portrait --- it feels realistic and heartbreaking” that although they may not be familiar with the dynamic I write about, they can commiserate.

Epistolary Relationship

There is something comforting in the distance, maintained and intimacy cultivated through words. As a teenager, I loved the Griffin and Sabine series. At a dinner party a few years ago, I learned the author lived on my little island, and I fault him for nurturing this romantic nature in me. The thoughtfully curated sentences that caress a reader’s psyche to conjure a fantasy beyond the reach of reality. 

I only just learned of the term the other day. Although I am well versed in the epistolary relationship; I did not have a term to define the romantic excursions that have led me into worlds I may have never experienced were it not for my love of writing letters. 

When I think of the people I have met in person because of such relationships, I can’t help but fall back into the romantic images created in my mind from their words. The interchange of our communication, and the shared yearnful tension that such a relationship nurtures. There is both a safety and vulnerability that is only attainable in the “epistolyrical” world. And, while one can remember the feeling it creates in our hearts and minds, it is forever lost when we meet face to face... 

Vulnerability

I didn’t think I’d be able to, but I made it through reading a piece of mine without my voice cracking. I wrote it just over a year ago, and it was the first piece I had submitted for a creative nonfiction contest. It’s a personal piece and also written in the first person. It was the first time that I have been able to read the piece aloud without my eyes welling or stumbling to voice the words I’d written about a traumatic experience that changed my life forever. When I wrote the piece, I thought it may be the end of my novel but through my online writing group’s reactions to it; the story seemed to fit well as my opening. It sets the tone, and I was so nervous about reading aloud in front of people today for my IRL writing group. I had read them my prompt submission for the month and they wanted to hear more.

So, I mustered you the courage and said: “I’ll read you my opening.” 

I wondered about revealing the reality of the story, but then felt I’d made a great first step in reading it publicly for the first time. And it’s not a topic I want to talk about, so sometimes it’s better to keep the origins of stories to myself…

Lingering long weekend

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” 

— Albert Camus

As temperatures drop, I’m thankful for the sunshine this long weekend. We had our first frost this past week, and it was a reminder: I’m running out of time! Meanwhile, this time away from work was a welcome brief interruption from my routine that gave me pause to the ever evaporating year. With my results back I had a moment to breathe, look forward and write... 

I’ve gotten so much completed on my current story, and the research aspect of it is invigorating. If only I had a few more days... But, I think I need to step back and take a breather before I continue. I am feeling like I am getting a little tangled in the story. So, the week away will give perspective and I have sent off my draft and I’m awaiting some insight from my readers. 

Muse

I was in charge of this month’s prompt and chose the image to the right combined with an individualized mathematical treasure hunt to find the sentence that would start or end the story we would each write (we each have different favourite books). 

My sentence came from Kafka’s La Métamorphose. “Nous avons fait tout ce qui était humainement possible pour le soigner est le supporter; je crois que personne ne pourra nous adresser le moindre reproche.” 

I had two competing ideas, and I’ve been trying my best to weave together the strands I followed. It’s not my regular writing genre, but I like to challenge myself with going out of my comfort zones. It used to scare me to write “people” stories, then “dialogue” and now I’m trying my hand at a suspense thriller. 

When an IRL character from one of my stories dear to me asked to read some of my work yesterday, I thought this may be the story for them. If for no other reason than that some snippets I’ve written are in their native tongue. 

I’ve been so enthralled with the research for this story, I think it may end up being a little more of an involved project. But, I will try to get a short story draft ready by the end of the week. So back to my story, while Mino tears apart bull kelp on the beach, I’ll let my thumbs take me back to my typing.

Boarding Pass

I’ve made it over the worst, but the cough and pain in my lungs still linger. Now I will spend the week scrambling to catch up on my classes and my writing.

Yet, upon my return to work on Friday, someone told me I looked majestic and ten years my junior. So, I guess I at least look less ragged than I feel.

Now, as winter creeps in, I can look forward to spending the next solstice surrounded by snow in real winter! And, with the key criteria for travel dealt with, I can at least enjoy a little of my Sunday morning dreaming of all the lesser-known spots I’d like to visit... 

Conquered

Well, it’s been a bit of a rough week. I seem to have caught the cold to end all colds, and even my endless bed rest and liquids are no match. 

So, while my fever looks like it will keep me home for the weekend as well; at least I got my self portrait done for the tea towel fundraiser! 

I'm not a starfish...

Pebbly Beach (My backyard)

It feels like my IRL writing group is focussing on love themes for our next meeting. In my human stories, I focus on relationship dynamics and I am debating which of my stories I should share. During our last meeting, we had discussed reading our work aloud and I think that is why I am struggling. 

It’s hard to take that risk and make oneself vulnerable when you’re in the spotlight. I prefer the shadows with anything heavy and so to read my work feels daunting, especially with a personal piece of creative nonfiction, which is my novel. 

My work is heavy, I think that is the easiest way to describe it. One editor commented on the rich descriptions and vivid detail in my narratives, he was impressed with my use of figurative language. I think I achieved that as a way to distance myself because they are nonfiction. However, it’s very different to send someone pages and discuss them than it is to read my work to an audience.

Pebbly Beach (My backyard)

Perhaps, I will play it safe in the respect that I could share a current piece where I have tried to engage my inner comic and lighter side. It was a work that emerged from prompts stipulating that you needed to incorporate the following words: calico cat, eggshells, mysterious and you needed to either begin or end the piece with the sentence “I laughed as I swiped the blood on my face and smiled.” I am a comedian with my friends so I don’t mind being in the spotlight doing stand up and making everyone laugh in that regard, but to write it is a whole other story, pun intended. So I am hoping I pulled off the comedic element in my written word. 

Anyhow, I have one more day to decide which route I should take; personal disclosure and hoping I can get through reading the opening to my novel, or grab my fictional piece and give the group a lighter side! 

I think I will continue reading the book I thoroughly enjoy that my PhD supervisor recommended for now and sleep on my decision...

 “What do you think? I’m not a starfish or a pepper tree. I’m a living, breathing human being. Of course, I’ve been in love.” 

― Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore