1163 words on the Pie Story tonight. Maybe another 500 to go–probably less. It’s a sad story. Probably because, in addition to being about poverty, it is related to some other things from the wasteland of Bagot Street: Arnold’s litter-mate, who died at three days old and was buried in the garden; the eclipse and the fountain downtown; the east-facing window, from which the view was nothing but bleak. I surprise myself again with the depth of the despair I still carry with me from that time, even in the light of today. […]
In which I reflect
I’m back from Chicago with a suitcase of laundry, a new handbag, and for the first time, visual records of the place that has come to mean so much to me. If I’m counting correctly, this visit was my eighth time attending CIROBE, the Chicago International Remainder and Overstock Book Exhibition. Over the years I’ve become quite attached to the city, most particularly the park across from the Hilton, where I sometimes run; the Art Institute, which houses Caillebotte’s Paris Street, Rainy Day; and the lakeshore in general, so superior to the same area of Toronto. More than the city, though, it’s the people. I am privileged to work with people so intelligent, friendly and well-read. Between this group and the people of VP, I’ve been in exalted company lately, and I have come away both humbled and encouraged. You, my friends, colleagues and mentors: each of you is something I aspire to be, and I am honoured to have so many of you in my life. […]
Sun goes down, temperature drops
With the turning of the year I’m entering my most productive phase, in my day career, my writing and even in my random personal business. This time is the best time to do all of the things I normally avoid, like making medical appointments, getting my pants hemmed, and painting that bit of trim I never finished during the last reno (okay, I actually still haven’t done that one, but it might happen). A tally of what I get done in a typical day now would seem insurmountable during a day in the opposite phase of the year. Why? Well… it comes down to sleep. When the days get shorter, my circadian rhythm seems to be disrupted, and I adapt by sleeping less, for a while; or at least by feeling more awake during my waking hours. On the weekend, 1028 words on the Pie Story, which still has no name–though it is about to have a sex scene. As interested as I am in writing the sex scene, I’m afraid Thanatos wins out over Eros tonight: I am even more interested in writing a scene for the Not-a-Werewolf book, a scene which came to me in a dream the […]
Sisyphus finally gets a cup of tea
I don’t mean to imply that the Day Career is generally Sisyphean. But at the moment it’s requiring 12-hour days just to stay afloat, and the backlog hasn’t really decremented, and the results aren’t visible to anyone who can’t see all the crossed-off items on my gargantuan to-do list. At the end, or beginning, of those 12-hour workdays, I seem to be managing to post to the photo blog and this blog, managing to write the Pie Story, and managing to plant the seed file. I haven’t yet managed to critique anyone else’s stuff, catch up with any of my groups’ posts, or most importantly, make any progress on either of my novels. I’ve also managed to hurt my best friend’s feelings inadvertently, neglect my husband, overcrowd my social calendar and skip almost all of my workouts. I think it’s time for some ruthless decisions about just how I spend the coin of my days. […]
The Pie Story, Continued
575 words on the Pie Story, which, you will be relieved to hear, is not actually going to be titled in Esperanto. Apparently I default to a particular setting for my short stories–this is the fourth or fifth piece I’ve set in the same locale. It does mean something to me, that place. I saw an eclipse there. It’s discomforting to know that all my dark days are so unforgotten. I never think of them, but I write of them often. […]
The Pie Story
I’m just pillaging the seed file this month. 851 words on the Pie Story, which will soon have a name of its very own. In Esperanto, if I’m not mistaken. What a feeling it is: to turn, all in a moment, away from pettiness and toward the whole open world and all its surprises. […]
Days grow shorter
So short, in fact, that despite feverish activity all week, I am further behind than ever. And the economy is NOT helping. I will drop all of that at the foot of the stairs of the office, though, and go on lightened of that burden. I will sit myself down at my good crooked harvest table with a glass of stout and a crisp apple, and I will do something new. […]