Writing, Editing, and other Fun

After Sadie left I wanted to take a nap but knew there wasn’t time. But then I fell asleep in the bathtub so managed a few minutes. (chuckling here) I actually thought it was the cat waking me and then realized it was my own soft purring breaths.

It wasn’t my three year old granddaughter who wore me out. She had a tummy ache so we stayed home and cleaned out bedroom dressers which, when we got to the accessories, interested Sadie greatly. Scarves, belts, and costume jewellery. Oh, and purses. Those little clutches with sequins, or beading, or just shiny little bags with long skinny straps. Yes, she loved those the best. Look Nana, they fit me. I laughed. The little purse practically touched the floor. The jewellery was the best. Chunks of plastic that she used words like amazing, lovely, and corgeous to describe. That’s right, corgeous.

No, if I had to account for my fatigue it would not be my fun day with Sadie, it would have to be mental depletion from my writing activities the night before. A short thriller/suspense/crime/goosebump kind of story. Actually, it’s not the writing that tires me, it’s the editing. (a collective groan here).  It doesn’t necessarily mean I hate editing. I like it. Really, I do. I like it even better when I’m finished.

Here’s how it works. I write the story. It might take hours, days, or weeks. When the story looks good−meaning I love it just the way it is−I SAVE it. Next, I save it to a new file and go crazy. I rip it apart. Take the middle paragraph and use it to open the story. My finger hovers over the delete button as I dawdle over my favourite sentence. The one I felt smug about when I tapped it out on the keyboard.  But what the heck, my ready-to-go story is safe and sound in another file. I ramrod over the words, killing my darlings, and changing anything that sounds like writing.

My favourite authors are those who keep me on the edge of my seat and make me feel as if they are sitting across from me telling me this unbelievably wild story and I believe it. I believe every word they say. I mean that’s why it’s so unbelievable, right? No, it doesn’t sound like writing. It should never sound like writing. Not the crime and suspense anyway.

Think about it. Stephen King is the best when it comes to painting a colour by colour picture of his characters. You don’t even realize he’s doing it and then they’re right before your eyes. From a furled ear and slumped shoulders to pidgeon toes. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.

In the end, I liked the new revision of my story the best. Decided to go with it. That’s what tired me out. Feeling my heart race when I got it right, and relief that it was finished. I’d given birth to another story.

It wasn’t until the next day, after my time with Sadie, that it hit me. That’s when it would have been good to curl up in my pyjamas and watch some mindless TV−fall asleep. That was out. I’d committed myself to attending an authors’ reading. I always follow through on a commitment. I like to think I do anyway. Besides, listening to authors who have made the journey can be very inspiring.

All writers talk about...The Journey. I never really got it until this past year.

 

This is a picture that my friend, Debbie Okun Hill, snapped from the hotel window as I headed out to my own reading.  

 

It feels like I’m moving in the right direction.

Cheers!

 

The Magic of a Writers' Festival

I could not have written this blog yesterday or the day before or the day before that. I needed time to absorb the emotion, the experience, and the magic.

It was an honour participating in the Eden Mills Writers’ Festival on their 25^th Anniversary. To quote The Record, the festival is ‘virtually a Who’s Who of established and emerging Canadian writers’.

People had asked, Are you nervous. Before I arrived in Eden Mills, the answer was Yes. But meeting the writers, understanding their creed, their passion, and being a part of the celebration overshadowed the apprehension about my reading.

I toted books from home hoping for the opportunity to get them signed. I was lucky to meet and chat with Linwood Barclay about his latest novel, A Tap on the Window, as well as my personal favourite, The Accident. Cathy Marie Buchanan likewise signed The Day the Falls Stood Still and The Painted Girls. Meeting Cathy was a highlight! That left Beginning of Was by Ania Szado. She signed my book just before leaving. Can’t wait to read her new release Studio Saint-Ex.
A small house on the main street served as the authors’ Green Room. That’s where I met Linwood Barclay. That’s where the writers gathered the morning after the party to register and collect name badges. Many of us had become acquainted the evening before at the incredible outdoor gala welcoming and uniting this year’s cast of readers. It was at the party that I got to know YA Fantasy Writer Rachel Hartman from Vancouver, recipient of the 2013 Sunburst Award for her novel Seraphina. Because I wanted to attend her reading, I  missed the first set of Fringe readers consisting of Shannon Alberta, Michelle Glennie, Mo Markham, Desmond Beddoe, and Meghan Casey.  I had the pleasure of chatting with Des and Meghan in the Green Room before dinner and their excitement at being invited to Eden Mills matched my own. The other Fringe readers included Brittany Smith, J.E. Hewitt, and Star Spider.

The day passed in a heartbeat. The readings ended. The crowds dispersed. The writers made their way back to the Green Room. Soon the little house bulged with talent. The living room, dining room and kitchen filled. Writers standing, sitting, crowding couches, or parked cross-legged on the floor. Sipping on a beer or enjoying a glass of wine. That scene - my mind snapshot - will never leave me. It looked like a family reunion – in many respects it was.

That was the magical moment. A moment frozen in time. Not the stage or the dinner, or the book signings. It was the crescendo of voices, the pulsing energy, and the force of like minds. That moment will always be with me. I will be able to recall that memory and re-live the feeling at will.

 

It’s impossible to mention all the writers I met. At least in this blog. In future blogs I will talk more about the actual readings and how they affected me. More about my reading and how I could do it differently. Aside from the exposure from reading at a festival of this calibre it was an opportunity to learn, to ask questions, to glean as much information as possible from writers who have made the journey. Whether it was at the party on Saturday night or on the shuttle bus the next morning, meeting on Publishers’ Way or at the dinner held at the Community Centre, everyone was friendly and supportive.

As someone mentioned at the time, the heartfelt good-byes after dinner were reminiscent of last day at camp. Hugs, well wishes, and email exchanges.

It was an honour to be included in this monumental celebration of the written word.

The magic lives on.

Prepping for Eden Mills Writers' Festival

Three years ago I gave as much thought to being a Fringe reader at the Eden Mills Writers’ Festival as I did to having a granddaughter named Sadie Muffin. Sure that’s her name. Just ask her. But I’m thrilled with both roles. The idea of participating in the festival makes me as happy as seeing Sadie’s infectious smile every Nana day.

At first, I panicked about the actual reading. But as I said to my daughter-in-law, it’s only seven minutes. She then pointed out that when I’m standing in front of an audience seven minutes could seem like a long time. Thanks Monika. That aside, I edited my humorous submission to fit the allotted time and my panic about reading is all but gone.

 

I’m more excited and nervous about the chance of meeting some of my fave authors. I’ve been a fan of Cathy Marie Buchanan since her first book, The Day The Falls Stood Still and I wrote a review of The Painted Girls for Quick Brown Fox. Read it here

Also, though I’ve yet to read Ania Szado’s latest Studio Saint-Ex, I have her first novel Beginning of Was. No doubt, I’ll pick up Studio Saint-Ex with the hope of Ania personalizing it.

Then there’s Linwood Barclay. OMG. Thrillers are where it’s at and Barclay is good. I’m a Lee Child/Michael Connolly/Stephen is King type reader and I’ve added Linwood Barclay to the list of read ’em alls.

Actually, right now I’m engrossed in Barclay’s latest, A Tap on the Window. This morning I was reading it. The vacuum hose lay tangled at my feet. Funny how that happened. I’d left the book in plain view right next to my knitting. One glance in that direction and it looked as if the bookmark was inching towards me. Finally, I dropped the beater bar, scrunched my wool and needles aside, and plopped into my chair. The dishwasher was full, the washing machine had a load ready for the dryer, and there I was lost in a good book. What else is new.

So, there’s no time for me to be nervous about my reading. Right now, my focus is on getting some books signed during my two-day dream weekend and saying hello to my favourite authors.

Eden Mills Writers’ Festival – A Reality

Poet Debbie Okun Hill asked if anyone was interested in accompanying her to the Eden Mills Writers’ Festival. I jumped at the chance. It was 2011 and she was attending the festival near Guelph as a Fringe reader. Though she was a member of my writing group, I didn’t know Debbie very well. Of course, all that changed over the course of a couple of days.

While I relaxed in the hotel room with a book in one hand and the other burrowing its way through a bag of peanuts, Debbie mingled with award winning authors and poets at the Saturday evening reception. I could hardly wait for her return. I wanted to know EVERYTHING.

The next day we left our Guelph hotel and bebopped over to Eden Mills. We’ve all heard the expression there was excitement in the air. Well, that describes the scene perfectly. The activity only added to the butterflies I was experiencing. Debbie remained her calm self.

As we wandered Publishers’ Way, stopping at various booths manned by authors and publishers, my friend generously introduced me to every acquaintance we came across that she’d met the evening before at the soiree.

One of the authors was Allan Casey, recipient of the Governor General’s Award for his book Lakeland. Allan was a very personable fellow and spent a few minutes talking to us about the complexity and mysteries of the publishing industry. I searched out Allan Casey’s book and carried it with me until I spotted him later in the afternoon and begged a personalized autograph. He graciously complied. This picture of me with the author was on the Eden Mills website.

 

 

I wandered Eden Mills capturing the flavour of the venue with pictures of the parade, various booths, and audience-dotted lawns with authors at the podiums. My camera remained at the ready, recording Debbie’s journey as a Fringe reader. Here she chats with Trudi and George Down of The Book Band.

Wolfing down a burger at the food court along the main street, I imagined Debbie snacking in the coveted writers’ lounge enjoying small talk with her favourite poets. I was thrilled for her.

It was an uplifting and inspirational experience and I was thankful for the opportunity to tag along.

Debbie read her poetry in her trademark cadence as I snapped picture after picture, all the while wondering how she could perform in front of a large audience in such a calm and professional manner. I was a bag of nerves for her.

At the end of the weekend, heading back home, Deb encouraged me to submit a story, saying that the next time we go to Eden Mills she would be on the other side of the camera, and I’d be at the podium. Riiiiiiight....

And so it shall be.

On Sunday evening, I received a phone call from the Eden Mills Writers’ Festival. They put me on speakerphone. I wondered if they could hear my heart pounding as I repeated “How exciting. That’s so exciting. Thank you. Thank you.”

 

Eden Mills Writers' Festival September 13 - 15, 2013 Twenty-Fifth Anniversary

Experiencing Technical Difficulties

So what gives? Are you having problems with Google? Or experiencing trouble with Gmail? Is your Facebook account wonky? Are the settings on your computer changing at will? Or is this all a sinister plot against me?

Last week we cancelled our landline. It had been out of commission for over six weeks. For years, this rural area has been notorious for bad telephone lines. Then, about three weeks ago, lightening fried one of our appliances.

That’s not all that’s strange. While writing my blog this week, I noticed that my default settings on Microsoft Word had changed. Not such a big deal until I copied and pasted my blog post to Blogger. There it looked like a crazy mix of line spacing and indents throughout my document. Maybe it was Blogger. For a short scary period, I was unable to connect with my blog. I mean it just disappeared. I finally accessed it through my Facebook page but couldn’t get to the Dashboard.

Then Facebook started acting up. My updates were two or three days old. Then several updates would come through at once. Which reminds me, don’t you hate all those ads. It takes even more time to troll through updates now. If not for my writer page, I’d pack Facebook in. I have 78 Likes (do I hear 80?) though many don’t see my posts. I keep advising people to change the settings so they will receive my updates but I don’t know if that works. Now when I post an update to my writer page, Facebook tells me that for $30 they will ‘Boost’ my post so more people see it. hahaha

Everything Google seems to have a glitch. My two email accounts interchanged somehow. My default email address was not my default email address, if you get my drift. Then I couldn’t sign in to one of my email accounts. I should have worried but didn’t. I expected that eventually my account would open and I’d simply retrieve all the emails sent in the interim. WRONG!

I started worrying that it could be a virus or something. I checked my ultra reliable anti-virus protection and it showed no problems.

Wild thoughts like a compromised email account went through my mind. Tell you what, just to be on the safe side, if you receive a phone call or email saying I’m in trouble and need money, make sure you mail the cheque to my home address.