Celebrate Christmas

Christmas tree lights seem to make the place quieter. Snow too makes the world a quieter place. This is why I love Christmas. Christmas starts for us December 1 when I allow Christmas carols to be acknowledged. (Halloween is too early for carols. I don't want to be sick of them before we get any snow.) I enjoy daydreaming while Nana Mouskouri sings Petit Papa Noel and Ave Maria. I love the full force of the choirs who back up those who sing O Holy Night.

Garrison Family Decorating Inc.

The first weekend in December is when we bring home a tree. I like a real tree. The cool scent of pine is synonymous with Christmas. That and the fragrance of apples and cinnamon. We decorate the tree, hang the stocking by the fireplace with great care....meaning we have to take them down every time we want a fire, and by the end of the night our house looks like Santa's workshop. Knick knacks and bric-a-brac abound. Cheery little ceramic snowmen hang from our lampshades, wreathes adorn our doors and every card we receive is on display along with the children's artwork and crafts from previous years.

We have a tradition of inviting 'Poppa' over first thing Christmas morning to watch the kids unload their stockings. This year my parents will be sunning themselves on a beach so breakfast will no doubt be with my husbands family.

Dylan and I last Christmas.

While my mother-in-law fries up the blood pudding and tomatoes and eggs the kids will be busy playing with their cousins and their new toys. My husband will be watching Christmas Vacation or Scrooge and he will be munching on his traditional Christmas snack of oysters on crackers while he reminisces with his siblings about Christmases past.I will undoubtedly have a chocolate hangover. The kind that will make me just sick enough by New Years to warrant a solid resolution to eat well and be active. Turkey will be roasting in the oven. My mother-in-law makes amazing mashed potatoes
I am hoping for snow. I want to take the kids tobogganing and skating in the few days I have off from work. I also look forward to the those days in between celebrating when I can curl up in my chair and catch up on my reading. More than anything though, I look forward to creating more quiet memories that will one day be memorialized in the book that I am not writing.



My dad will probably be wearing this hat on the beach this year!

Let A Little Life Get In The Way...

Meditations and a cool app on my ipod: both inspiring.

I used to use the excuse that life gets in the way but lately I have been thinking about that and I know now that that excuse is a poor one. Life is something we are full of from our biology to our spirituality. Saying that life gets in the way is likening our lives to the doors that are tightly shut and to dismiss life as such means that we are not looking for the doors that are open. Lately I have been really busy. With life. It has not been in my way. It has not kept me from doing things. On the contrary. I have been living a lot. I have been working hard. I love teaching and I love wandering the aisles of the libraries returning the books that others have read in their bid to really live. I have been socializing. I have visited my family, hosted dinners, attended parties and gone out dancing and to the movies. I have been expanding my interests by reading my first Danielle Steel book and picking up books written for teenagers. I have also discovered Marcus Aurelius. I have been reading more to my youngest and paying attention more to my older children...including taking an interest in their hobbies. (Check out Smosh or the Dudesons for some zany - albeit slightly inappropriate humour!) I have taken the train to Toronto, saw the musical Chess, drove to Ottawa for my niece's birthday and again a week later to bury my grandmother. I went to New York State twice for lunch with my other grandmother and my seventy year old aunt. I drank in the culture and art of Quebec City along with the red wine, cheeses and breads from the region. I learned how snowflakes are really made and why there are no two flakes alike.  I watched Paddle to the Sea; a National Film Board film from my childhood and bought an ipod which I use primarily to listen to the Cool Yule stream of jazz radio from Toronto. I walk my dog. I watch the squirrels getting fat and the geese fly south. I spend nights in watching TV with the family. We were treated to the Lawrence Welk Christmas special on PBS last night. I suppose I have been especially contemplative given that there is only one month left in this year. And I don't have much to show for all my attempts at writing. But that is OK, because the life I am living will allow me to breathe life into my stories, and it is after all the stories in our lives that help keep open the doors of the future.

Day 13: Sometimes Your Diet Gets In The Way.

I have started a diet. Woah! What?!!!  Me diet? Ha! I never used to have to think about my food intake. When I was in high school I would frequent the doughnut shop across the street daily on the hunt for chocolate eclairs or bow ties. Whichever one had the most rainbow coloured sprinkles would accompany me back to the school hallway where I would sit in front of my locker and slowly savour my treat; much to the chagrin of the pack of cheerleaders that for some reason seemed to pass by me everyday. They must have been hungry watching me. I never gained a pound. I was a solid 100lbs until I became pregnant with my first child. At slightly over the nine month mark I hit 130lbs. Not bad. Child number two put me up to almost 150lbs. Child number three came out at almost 100lbs, I swear! That pregnancy ended with a mind blowing off the chart weight of 180lbs. The minute I shared that moment with my scale I changed my diet and exercised every night. In only two months I had returned to a respectable size. Time, children and life in general has seen my weight go up and down since but never to a size of ill repute until now. Somehow the boot camp this summer, work outs at the Y, walking to work and back and daily walks with the dog helped me to gain a ton. Literally I think! So, diet, here I come.
Instead of eating an eclair in front of my peers today I brandished a sliced hard boiled egg. That was my snack. A pack of almonds was my breakfast. My colleagues and I discussed the merits of my doctor recommended South Beach Diet. No carbs for two weeks, then a slow re-introduction of healthy carbs. Sure. I can do that. I think.

The Hot Air Balloon: Big, round, full of hot air and symbolizing lofty ambitions.

But it is going to require a lot of concentration and commitment (I admit, I caved and had a chocolate bar this afternoon). My will-power is sputtering on weak batteries as it is, so my writing may have to give. I don't know if I have will-power enough for both projects. Oh, but wait. I am not writing these days. Good then. Expect to see me 20lbs thinner before Christmas. That, or I will drop a 20lb manuscript on your desk.

Day 12: Sometimes Life (and Death) Get In The Way

I was speeding along down the literature highway. I was flipping through pages like wind through the napkins on my picnic table. I was drinking in words from Stieg Larsson and Harriet Beecher Stowe. Then the unthinkable. My favourite 'wordsmith' passed away. She loved collocations. She inspired me to teach. She and I shared a passion for music and words the Dead and Cohen. Her passing was like slamming into a fiery truck; the kind that slides slowly towards you down the side of a mountain and you watch knowing that you cannot get out of the way.

I haven't read since. I haven't written since. I know She would tell me to shape up and get back on track. Fortunately a window has opened. Through my grief I can see clouds of opportunity and I know She would be very happy for me. Nothing stopped her from galloping after her dreams. Even at the end she was able to hold her very own literary creation in her arms. So starting today I am going to wholeheartedly approach three particular projects blessed in the knowledge that I am healthy and able to do so. Sunday will see me participate in the CIBC Run for the Cure. Unlike the Beat Beethoven run...this one is more of a Beat the Bitch that is Breast Cancer run. Also next week, I start a new job working at the library. I have dreamed of working at the library since I was a child tearing every book off the shelves and begging my dad if I could please take them all home. And third; I am going to start reading again. I am alive and healthy and instead of having the attitude that 'life gets in the way' I am going to make my way of life the only way to live.

Now. Which book to read first? How about Mark Twain's 'On Writing and Publishing'. Baby steps.

Day 11: Read. Read. Read.

Just a few of my piles of books.

They say that if you want to write a book you need to read. Read a lot and read a variety of books. They would be those writers who write about how to write a book. I figure they should know. After all, I have read many of their books. They make lists that read like a whose who in literature. They make lists that read like first year English class at Anywhere University. If you are Canadian they make lists that include Margaret Atwood, Margaret Laurence and Micheal Ondaatje. They make sure to include Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Faulkner. They include in their lists Henry James, James Joyce and Joyce Carol Oates. Kerouac, Salinger and Steinbeck. Twain (not Shania) and Tennyson. Those of us on Face book have undoubtedly received those lists whereby we check off the number of classic titles that we have read and pass it on. Many of us are in book clubs where we read books like The Kite Runner and Sarah's Key. Then there are the series of books that we are sucked into; Twilight, Outlander, The Millennium Trio of books and so on. I have been busy reading this summer. I have been catching up with the classic titles like To Kill A Mockingbird and Uncle Tom's Cabin. I have also read biographies of Rob Lowe and C.S. Lewis. On my nightstand are stacks of books that I am 'in the middle' of. Books like A Passage to India and Aspects of the Novel by Forrester and Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton. Then I have books that I aim to read one day. The Interpretation of Dreams by Freud and Swann's Way by Proust are collecting dust along with my collection of Simone de Beauvoir books. I have books that are dog eared and have broken spines from my reading them over and over again. Books like Plath's Bell Jar and Kerouac's Dharma Bums. Flaubert's Madame Bovary and Thoreau's Walden round out this set of books. I also have a pile of books set aside that I have collected from the library. They are the books I have picked up for research. You see, the book I am hardly writing these days requires that I learn a little about economics and globalization. So bring on Naomi Klein's Shock Doctrine and some book called Reefer Madness (not about pot, or the movie. If you want a book along those lines try The Electric Kool Aid-Acid Test by Tom Wolfe. Another of my favourites.) about the black market along with a couple of  idiots guides to economics.

Some of the books on my bedside table.

I went to Indigo the other day and to my delight they were having a sale. Buy three and get the fourth for free! I have now added Leonard Cohen's Favourite Game and Beautiful Losers to my library, along with Kerouac's Big Sur and Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. I can't wait to read, and re-read, these books!
Oh yeah, and I can't wait to get writing.

Day 10: Take Advantage of the Opportunities that Present Themselves

The most telling thing about the path my husband and I are on in our relationship is that the best things in our life just seem to happen out of the blue. Opportunities seem to present themselves, we go with the flow and then we find ourselves with a new dog or a new house that we were not in the market to buy or we find ourselves re-decorating the house in one weekend. If you had told me a couple of days ago that we would have a couple of beta fish in addition to our frogs, birds and dog I might have laughed. But now we have them. Last Monday if you had told me that I
would be heading to Montreal to meet a talent agent for my daughter I would have responded with "I wish!". Well, it happened. Last Monday night on a whim while I was surfing the net (and consequently not writing) I found an agency.These days everyone from Elite to Ford allows for online applications Orange Model Management included. My daughter by my side I filled out the application and sent off a few snapshots. I didn't think much of it and made sure my daughter wasn't getting lost in rosy visions of instant stardom. The next afternoon the agency called and asked if we could be in Montreal Thursday for a meeting with one of their agents. OK, so I admit to indulging in a few visions             
 myself after that call!                                                            
They were interested in Maggie. On a whim I said 'yes'. I made arrangements to be free from work that day then spent the rest of the afternoon googling 'reputable'+agency+Orange Model etc. There were mixed reviews and I had my doubts. So did my husband. But fate was once more opening a door for us. Hubby and I decided to go for it. It is summer after all and we were free to take the day trip. If anything, we thought, taking this trip would be great for many reasons. Our children have never been to Montreal. A trip to meet an agent would be an experience that our daughter would never forget. If offered a contract and everything was on the up and up then wonderful! If not, then our daughter would learn a valuable lesson about the business. Wonderful! We drove up the night before and settled into the pleasantly opulent Place D'arms Hotel in the Old Quarter of Montreal. I can't remember ever staying in a hotel with hardwood floors! The next morning Hubby attended mass at the Basilica around the corner then took the boys for an adventurous day around town. Maggie and I had a delightful continental breakfast of croissants and jam before heading to run errands. First stop: A photo shop to print up pictures of Maggie to show the agent. Second Stop: The Gap to find a white shirt for Maggie to wear to the interview. Apparently wearing white shows off your colouring. Third stop: Back to the hotel to wash up and get ready. Then we were on our way. The agency was a few short blocks down from the hotel in a gorgeous old building. The lobby was huge. It was covered in marble and brass and filled with young urban professionals walking to and fro. Once in the office we were met with bright orange walls and a lovely young receptionist. We filled out some paperwork then were greeted by "J"; the agent. He welcomed us into his office and we had our meeting.

After some discussion and a lot of questions J. offered Maggie a one-year contract. He told us to take it home and have a good look at it before signing. We left the office with wings on our feet despite my lecturing Maggie again about not getting her hopes up too high. We were going to take this slow. One runway step at a time so to speak!  We had time to kill before meeting the boys so we wandered around until we found a beautiful old style French restaurant. Hubby and I had informed the kids that while we were in Quebec we were going to do our best to only speak French. I had spent the morning asking "Avez-vous des vetement pour les enfants?" and "Sil-vous-plait, ou est le Gap?" The waiter at the restaurant took my cue and would not answer Maggie unless she spoke French. He was also quick to bring me a Danish beer and Belgian waffles for desert. We met the boys shortly after our decadent lunch and listened as they shared their stories of the Science Centre, the Indiana Jones exhibit, their metro ride and their visit to the Juste Pour Rire theatre. On the way home we stopped at St. Hubert for dinner. I decided I wanted to rent Bad Cop Bon Cop   again as we travelled the road towards Ontario.

We had a great time indulging in our whimsical nature and will keep you posted on what is to come ...in the meantime I am going to keep my attenae alert for opportunities in the writing world!

Day 9: Attend Your Kids Soccer Tournaments

Saturday broke hot and steamy. The sun was relentless and it beat down on us as early as ten a.m. while we set up our gear. We were behind an industrial park surround by hill and vale and soccer field upon soccer field. The flocks of girls coloured the fields. We set up our chairs, coolers and umbrellas, ready for the onslaught of games for the day. Game after game our girl persevered. She ran and kicked and ran some more. In between runs the coach spritzed the girls with water. Some teams had tents donated by their sponsors. Others took cover in the bush to the far side of the fields. By four p.m. the porta-potty had run out of toilet paper and there was....well, lets just say it was out of order. The games were hard and the girls were strong. There were collisions and bumps and bruises. Some intentional. Most were not. How do I know? The games were peppered with "whoopsie!" and "Oh! I'm sorry" and "Are you OK?".  The girls tournament would have gone much faster for the seconds spent reassuring each other. The girls really knew how to play, but it was a pleasant surprise to hear that they were still delicate and thoughtful enough to apologize to each other. Or maybe Canadian enough?!

Me with Maggie and her trophy.

Today the heat still sat over the fields. The sun hid behind the clouds and the sky was grey. Once again we came, we set up coolers and chairs and umbrellas. This time we hoped the rain would stay away. The boys were playing today. They ran, they kicked, they fumbled and fell. There were bumps and bruises and knocks. There were goalies hanging like monkeys from the goal posts and boys cartwheeling around the fields. This time though, there was less chatter. Instead the games lost seconds from boys stopping to lend a helping hand up. One team unfortunately lacked a sense of fair play. They threw grass, whined and threw out "In your face!" with each goal. Fortunately (thanks to karma) they didn't come away the champions.
Overall, my kids came away one with a trophy, one with a medal both with a shining example of teamwork, grace and sportsmanship.

Dylan with the ball.

                      Not much writing, but a lot to write home about!

Day 8: Re-decorate your house.

Two weeks ago I was thrilled to begin my holidays. I was going to read and lie in the sun and go to the beach and, of course, write! Well, my holidays have ended and I have returned to work. I am tanned and well rested but have not written much in the way of a book.
I have however re-decorated a couple of rooms in my house.
One Saturday morning (actually, it was closer to noon) my husband announced that he was full of energy and we should therefore paint our 'reading room'. I jumped out of my chair excited at the prospect of such a project. Our first stop had nothing to do with the reading room. We went to Leon's to buy two new futons for our rec-room. The rec-room should be called the 'wreck' room. Six years of children playing 'wizards' and 'shopping mall' and mini-sticks takes a toll on a room. Six years of toddlers finding the smallest piece of crayon beneath the couch cushions and applying said crayon to the walls. Six years of fort building and fort wrecking and mayhem devised specifically for wrecking those couch cushions. Somehow the stuffing slowly seeped from the cushions. The coils and springs began to show. Can't find a DVD from Jumbo Video? Can't find mom's favourite mug? Can't find the neighbourhood kids socks? Just look inside the couch. A real treasure trove of surprises.

The 'Wreck' room: Before.

Stop number two: The Brick to buy a new love seat for the reading room. We are going with a hot little condo sized red number to brighten up the room. Which brings us to the paint store where hubby and I had a snarky tete-a-tete over which colour would best suit our little room. I was reminded of my inability to steadily paint the corners of a room. So one wall red, three walls cream was out. In the end we opted for the hemp coloured paint which I approved of mostly because I could see how easy it would be to relax in a hemp coloured environment.
Next stop: home. I cleared the little room of its books and papers, the piano and the tattered blue rug. I carried out the curtains and washed the walls. I taped the trim and set out our painting supplies.
I looked around. Something was missing. Oh! Yes! Hubby! Who only a few short hours beforehand had enthusiastically declared his intent to paint this room.
He was in the kitchen washing dishes.
OK. I started. I rolled the first coat then called hubby in to do the *ahem* corners and trim.
It was looking good.
The next morning I applied the second coat of paint. Hubby, who was again washing dishes, called from the kitchen: "You know? We really should paint the rec-room."
Back to the paint store where I chose (gleefully on my own this time!) an eye-popping lime green and a bloody tangerine.
I bribed the kids to wash the walls for me this time. Hubby was still in the kitchen.
End result?

The new and improved rec-room: After.

One new soothing, mutely coloured reading room with a red couch on the way for me to lay on when I am thinking about writing; and one refreshingly bright and clean rec-room once more fit for six upcoming years of the children's shenanigans!
Oh! And deliciously clean dishes!

Day 7: Get Swept Away With Your Girlfriends. Literally!

The night was still and quiet. The light of the stars stuck like pins in the black cloak of night and the colossal pine tree tops pricked the edge of the dark sky. Standing in the middle of a Canadian vision I stared up at what resembled an IMAX representation of the night sky. I was mesmerized and at once felt at peace.
Not so earlier in the day.
I had been exploring the campground with my friend C. We wandered down gravel trails lined with tents and pint sized trailers. We sauntered past great motor homes set on hills looking out to the mighty St. Lawrence river. We made our way down a narrow tree lined path and found ourselves on a small out-of-the-way dock lined with jet ski's and boats. Here the river branched off into small channels and inlets dotted with just a few of the 1000 Islands. We faced a narrow channel, rocks on each side that slid down into the water like a 'v'. The middle of the waterway was a deep clean green-blue colour and we could see a current flowing out towards the greater part of the river.
Boys were doing laps. Swimming hard against the current, floating back to their starting point and swimming again. Groups of friends were sitting on noodles and on life jackets. They floated down the channel with the current, climbed out of the water, followed a trail back up to the far end of the water then repeated the journey with laughter and smiles. It was a natural 'lazy-river'.
My friend and I noticed some of the riders floating around the bottom point of an island and others coming around the top point of the same island.
We decided we should do the same.
The sun was shining and the air was muggy. It was a hot day. We raced back to our campsite and collected our friend N. We fairly flew to the tuck shop to purchase floaties and flutter boards. We headed to the beach to collect our friend R.

C. and I in our trusty floaties.

C. and I praised the paradise we had seen. We spoke eloquently of the 'idyllic lagoon' and the lazy-river just waiting beyond the hill. We worked ourselves into a frenzy of excitement as we led our un-suspecting selves and friends back to the water's edge.
Our friends ooohed and aawwwed over the sight. C. jumped in first and treaded water in wait. I was next and did the same. R. came splashing behind me and N. cautiously took her time climbing off the dock while we started panting with the exertion of resting against the current that one regular boater had described to us as being 'stronger than usual today'!

Our first indication that this adventure might not turn out as expected was N. losing a shoe. It fell to the depths of the river much to N's despair. By this time I was floating on. We agreed optimistically that the shoe would be recovered later and we allowed ourselves to merge with the current and begin the ride of a lifetime! Slowly we rounded the bottom of the 'Virgin' island. Looking up to the top wall of rock we discovered the island was named so due to a statue of the Virgin Mary overlooking the river...and again....optimistically, we thought, overlooking our journey.
Wrong.
A great current was flowing on the far side of the island. We swam towards it. Laughing, comparing ourselves to the turtles in Finding Nemo. We were going to ride the current just like them.
I reached the current first shouting, laughing 'Here we go! Get ready guys!'
All of a sudden I was travelling backwards. I was flowing fast, and far. Away from my friends and away from the watchful eyes of Mary. By then R. had joined me. Our eyes wide and our mouths full of water after dropping jaws emitted loads of laughter at our own expense. No worries! We decided to stay close to the island and follow the shallows. C. caught up with us towing N. behind as her laughter weakened her ability to fight the current. It was not to be. The slime covered rocks challenged our footing and the current reached in to the crevices and pools trying to pull us back out. C. climbed a knotty path to scout out a route over the island back to the original channel that would deposit us safely back to the dock from which we optimistically began our journey. Meanwhile N. had sliced her toe on a sharp rock and was wounded in spirit as well as physiologically. We faltered in resolve.

Repairing N.'s toe.

All of a sudden C. announced we had an audience. While we had been comparing ourselves to turtles the inhabitants of Mary's private island had been enjoying a quiet garden party. They ogled C. as though she was an alien species that had climbed out of the river.
We were informed that we were trespassing and ordered back into the river. Despite informing the *ahem* gentleman that our friend was bleeding and despite relaying our doubts in being able to swim against the current to return to our roots, the man blithely reminded us that we did have floaties and that we had no choice but to jump back in the river. Dismayed at his lack of grace (Mary was right there listening in on our conversation) we slid back into the current and let it carry us back around the bottom of the island. We clung to the forbidden rocks on the island side of the channel where the current had weakened until we were able to forge our way across to the dock.

                              The Story of St. Lawrence

The good news? We recovered N.'s shoe. Bad news?  Whew! Way too tired to write after that swim!Saints preserve us.

Day 6: Retro T.V. ~ The Best Way To Watch Your Resolve Dissolve.

I was full of resolve today. I was going to write. Write a lot. And write at least five pages. Unfortunately the first mistake I made was in telling someone that I was going to write. (See Day 1). The second mistake was to get sucked into the campy tune of the Brady Bunch theme. Yep. The Brady Bunch. My husband has made the Brady Bunch this summer's theme show. Every night he settles on the couch with our children for a rip roaring evening of wholesome t.v. fun. So far I have been able to evade the  popcorn and soda and giggles and sing-a-longs (my kids know the theme song inside out now). About the same time as my family is settling in for their late-night laughter I am settling in for a good night's sleep. (I have been working this summer....the rest of the family is off until September).

Alas, tonight I couldn't stay away and, I have no excuse. I am on holiday. Two blissful weeks of spending time with my family. This means that I too get to partake in the 'Deja View' marathons with my husband and children. Saturday nights have always been reserved for Lawrence Welk re-runs. Yep. Old bubble-blowing Larry Welk. True, we do enjoy the good hearted mocking banter. It's how hubby and I bond. But truth be told, I enjoy the music and we both thrive on nostalgia. We both remember the days when members of our family wore floor length ball gowns that were the same colours as the curtains in our homes.
The Golden Girls is another show that warms our hearts. My husband has a soft spot for these ladies. Especially Betty White and Bea Arthur. The fact that he watches Maude re-runs attests to these feelings.The children rarely join us for these shows.

Dallas, All in the Family and Good Times used to occupy our time nightly but now we have moved on to the original episodes of Hawaii 5-0.
Who can write when such a wealth of retro entertainment is calling to me nightly...along with my husband who, although is very supportive of my writing, would rather I massage his feet while we go back in time together?!
Time spent not writing my book, but time well spent nonetheless.

Day 5: Spend an Idyllic Weekend on the Water.

I lay on the bow of the boat listening to the Stones against the backdrop of kids leaping into the river and waves lapping against the shore. The sun was hot and strong; the air hotter and stronger. Any ambition, any motivation to write floated away with the currents.My first day of vacation and all I wanted to do was to spend time with my family. I had spent the afternoon watching my dog chase waves and bark at the boats. I ate fresh raspberries and my mother's homemade chocolate chip cookies. I congratulated my son on the fish he caught and scrambled to get out of the water when he released said fish a little too close to me. At the same time a limp fillet of dead fish flesh floated by thus hastening my migration to the boat. The movement of the boat lulled me into the depths of sensation. The humid air carried the scent of the river and of the trees that crawled over the islands. The water carried the sounds of the boats some humming, some sputtering and others with sails flapping as they passed. The breeze was gentle and soft like a fine silk scarf playing about my hair. I felt languid and tasted sleep. Sweet soft afternoon.

 An island in the St. Lawrence river: The perfect spot to not write!

The next day saw me lying on a sandy beach sipping the rays of sun that beat down around me. Sand buried tanned bodies, sand spilled into the crevices of our blankets, towels and chairs and sand crunched between our molars. More fresh raspberries deposited seeds into our sandy mouths and watermelon washed us clean. Sandwiches crafted with care and bags of chips and Doritos also filled the bellies of the hungry masses of children who have accompanied us on our trip. This day saw the air fill with footballs and Frisbees. Picnic tables sat under the poplar
trees at the top of sand dunes. Great families congregated and young lovers embraced. People pranced like porpoises in the gleaming water.
By the end of the day the sun had siphoned energy from our bodies and we limply filed like ants in a column to the parking lots. The cars welcomed us like bread to a toaster. And we all slept that night like logs in an overgrown forest. Cool and tired beneath thin sheets.
No. No writing for me this weekend.

Day 4: Searching for Research

Research is my favourite part of not writing a book. I can take an idea to the computer with me and spend hours following link upon link until finally I reach the decision to write an entirely different sort of book. I digress. A lot.
If I do manage to stay on topic then I enjoy exhuming articles essays and images;collecting mass amounts of information that I thoroughly intend to read.
Better still is printing the articles. Watching page after delicious page climb out from the inside of my printer. Each piece of paper goes in white and fresh, naive and young. Each paper then comes my way, instantly educated and carrying with it reams of intelligence.
I love finding just the right binder or folder to house my piecework. The colour usually reflects my hope for the book. If I am particularly passionate about the topic I might choose a red folder. If my writing is particularly emotional then I am likely to choose green or blue. I once chose a folder that had a picture of a canoe on the front because I was writing a fairly decent piece of Canadiana. A lot of thought goes into this process.
I then have to find an appropriate place to file my work. If it is a current project I keep it close by me. My bedside table has stacks of books and papers. Some of them have to do with my writing!
My desk has two large drawers that hold my works-not-in-progress. It also has a drawer full of my favourite pens.
Unfortunately these drawers have somehow filled with mouse droppings. I wonder what that says about my writing?













I think I am going to have to research that.
**********************************
http://www.duke.edu/web/isis/gessler/topics/island.htm
"Island of Research"   fromTHE SCIENCE GAME by Neil Agnew and Dandra Pyke. Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs (1969).

Day 3: Wondering about the man from Montreal.

 Last night I sat on a hotel patio down by the lake with my friends researching the habits of humans. What I mean to say is that since the band was too loud for us to converse I spent my time watching people. I watched an older woman with gray hair waving her jazz hands and claw-like fingernails to the beat of every song as though she was trying to cast a spell on one of the guitar players. I watched the sax player and listened to his fingers when his mic failed. I watched a family parade from one end of the patio to the other, bopping with babies secured to their abdomens. And I wondered about the man whose table we appropriated. The man from Montreal who was passing through. He had left half a bottle of beer to guard his table while he stood to the side of the patio smoking. His wife was sick and sleeping upstairs and he had come down to hear some music and have a few drinks. The first thing I noticed was his big head. Then I noticed his big toes. It made me think about genetics and I wondered what his children looked like. If he had a son was he large like his father? I imagined his wife a petite french woman with black hair. I don't know why. It just seemed right.

I wondered what this man thought of us. Two women first, sitting at his lonely table. Slowly more women joined our party until he was surrounded. The look on his face told me he was a gentleman.
I wondered if he was worried about his wife looking down on us. What would she think? Anything?
The man was jovial. He spoke to us English as a Second Language teachers in broken English. We spoke back in our best broken French.  He stayed for two more beers, and at least five more smoke breaks before bidding us adieu.
We stayed on watching the fireworks over the fort and watching the great orange moon rise over the river.
I can use my imagination and build this man up to a fantastic character, or I can reduce his likeness to a mere passerby in the book that I am currently not writing. (Too busy drinking on the waterfront patios).More than anything though, I can wonder what it was that brought us to his table and too what degree will my wondering procure the meaning in our meeting?

Day 2: How Not to Write a Book on a Sunny Day.

Last night I was walking home down a long straight stretch of road and I noticed how black the trees turn against the pale blue and orange sky. Birds flew high overhead then perched solemnly atop the highest branches. The sun was so strong and the sky so clear that it seemed impossible that night could rise against the day. Night was indeed quick and quiet. So quiet that the sun rose today with a smirk; almost with arrogance. I was weary walking to the park to exercise at eight a.m. but I decided to meet the heat head on. Rather than be a victim to the sun's rays I pushed myself to produce more perspiration than the sun could reap from me. Walking home I took in the flavour of summer mornings. I savoured the shade, the way the brown grass crunched beneath my feet, the dew that grabbed hold of my ankles and the strains of summer scents trying to thrive despite the heat washing over our summer in waves.
All of this I drank in and stored for the morning when instead of challenging the sun I might challenge something else and succeed in writing a line or two.
Beautiful weather inspires me but it also distracts me. I did not write today. I tucked the images. scents and emotions away until such time as I need to recall them for a scene in one of my chapters.

Day 1: How Not to Write a Book.

Welcome to my blog.
As this is my first attempt at blogging, and it is my first day, I thought I would start simple.
My goal in writing here is to log my attempt to write a book.
I, like you, and like everyone else I know, am writing a book. I have been all my life it seems! How many of us like to tell our family, our friends, and anyone who will listen, that indeed! "I too am writing a book!"?
How embarrassing when months later said people ask how our book is coming along? Or worse, no one asks at all because you see, they too are busy writing their own book. *sigh*!
So I am starting this project. A project that will highlight the power of procrastination over will power. Maybe by doing so I will one day have a completed manuscript to share. Maybe.

In the meantime I have a few thoughts to share about how not to write a book.

1. Tell everyone that you are writing a book.
2. Think. Think a lot. Think about what you are not writing..all of the time.
3. Get your priorities in order: Family, finances, work, play...anything that will give you an excuse not to write today.
4. Have frequent showers and naps. My best and most creative ideas come to me in the shower...the place least likely to have a pen and paper. Ideas also come to me at night, when, I am either dreaming or too tired to roll over and grab a pen and paper from my bedside table.
5. Take a walk and listen to music. You are sure to lose your train of thought as your creative ideas slip away on a stream of melancholic notes and snake their way up to the great clear skies of distraction.
6. Create a blog about how not to write a book. Writing here will surely waste the time I could have used to write the book that I am not really writing.