Writers Always Write

            You asked if I still write my blog. The answer is …I’ll try to explain.

            For two or three years, I conscientiously blogged every week—without fail. Mostly I enjoyed it. Sure there was the odd Sunday night I wanted to crawl under the covers and listen to the crickets through the open window. But, no, instead I hunkered down at my desk in a windowless room trying to think of something—anything—to say in a blog post. 

            Now when people ask about my blog, I’m not sure how to respond (i.e. come up with an excuse) in fifty words or less. Of course, that’s always been my problem. The fifty words or less part.

            The fact is, I’m never sure what to blog. I write in my journal(s) on a fairly regular basis. I try to keep my Facebook Writer Page going with inspirational quotes and posters, interactive babble, book and movie reviews, my personal thoughts—embarrassing sometimes the way I bare my soul. I write a monthly magazine column—more babbling and baring my soul. And I just finished a birthday letter to my son. Actually, it started out as an informal chat but it’s definitely a letter—all 750 words. AND I still WRITE. You know, the fiction kind of writing. My passion that I scramble to find time to do. I haven’t worked on my novel for eons but I have been spitting out short stories.

            So, back to my blog. There are links on my site to all my First Monday columns. That’s something someone thanked me for recently. And I’m thinking hard about what I can put in a blog post that I haven’t already shared. The answer is, not much. 

          My hero bloggers post interviews, plug their favourite literary events, promote local happenings, and introduce new releases and elaborate launches. Hmmm...

           For now, I’m going to share things from a number of places, not the least being my mind, things that may or may not interest you. It’s up to you to leave comments.

            In the meantime, rest assured, that even when I get so frustrated that I want to scream and run away from everything to do with the writing and publishing world, I still can’t stop writing. I’m always writing. I’m writing write right now.

Sons of Anarchy Review...sort of

Bikes, broads, booze, and bedlam.

Hubby and I just finished watching the series Sons of Anarchy. Every night for weeks we were riveted to the TV. Caught up in the street wars of a highly dysfunctional family and their followers. Lies. Lies. And more lies. Secrets too. Lots of them. That’s the entire premise of the show. 

By the time we got to the sixth season of the seven-season series, I was turned off by the senseless, tortuous killings. Blood and guts. It was over the top. They carried it a. bit. too. far. My opinion. It was a relief when the series finished. We were addicted to it! Now we have our lives back—at least our evenings. Even so, I wasn’t ready to let go. I went back to the Special Features of some episodes to hear the interviews and learn the how’s and why’s from directors and writers. Interesting stuff.

The writing was superb. Creator Kurt Sutter worked on The Shield series , which up to this point, was the most compelling edge of my seat what will they do next show we’d watched. It reigned over Breaking Bad, which was another well-written show. All twists and turns. Both series, The Shield and Breaking Bad, were totally unpredictable. Just like SOA. 
Many of the actors on SOA had starred in The Shield. Even our favourite crooked cop Vic Mackey played a small but important role in SOA. Way to go Michael Chiklas. C C H Pounder was also in there doing what she does best. Walter Goggins (Shane from The Shield) did an incredible performance as a transgender named Venus. You’d have to see it to believe it. Brilliant performance!

The lead characters of SOA were bang on credible and at the same time, incredible. Gemma, the matriarch, was a repulsive And compulsive liar and manipulator. If Gemma had disappeared from the scene, the series would have ended after the second season. So I guess that’s why she stayed on. That, and the fact she’s Kurt Sutter’s wife in real life. I hated her character. A middle-aged biker mama mincing around in tight jeans and stiletto boots intimidating everyone in her path, beating up cops, and killing… Oops. Yep, she did a great job with this role. Katey Sagal’s come a long way from Peggy Bundy and there ain’t no going back for her. 

Charlie Hunnam was spectacular as Jax Teller. Except for his English accent. He managed to hide it for the better part of the first four or five seasons. After that, it was painful to hear him speak his lines. Weird pronunciation you wouldn’t hear from a California biker or a Brit. It was distracting. Often annoying.

Some of the characters were lovable but all were misfits of society. Outlaws we loved and hated. Often within the same episode. No regard for life. Made emphatically clear when Jax ran over that poor bird leaving nothing but feathers across the pavement. Don’t freak out. It was a mechanical exploding bird. That was just one dead bird but as for their business associates, it was impossible to keep a body count for each episode. 

Even Jax’s oldest kid was a little twisted but the porn king and reformed junkie…wait… Some of you may want to watch the series, if you haven’t already. I could say SPOILER ALERT and tell you not to read the rest, but if you’re at all like me, you wouldn’t be able to resist. And it would ruin the entire show if I told you that the…
So...I guess...that’s it. 

Traditions and Ritual

Some people think it's fate. My friend calls them magic moments. When things just connect in time. An opportunity of sorts. And everything falls into place. It's the way I felt when... First of all, let me explain.

In the October issue of First Monday magazine, I revealed my interest in the Crone Ceremony. A Write Happy Old Crone  Of course, it’s written in the style of all my columns: tongue in cheek. I’d come across some info on women celebrating age with pageantry and ritual, a tradition practised for hundreds of years, . I immediately embraced the idea. It's my fervent hope that one day I will be a participant. Perhaps, it will be necessary to be organizer, as well.

One of the ponds on David Plain's property

A few days ago, my husband and I enjoyed a tour with other nature enthusiasts on David D. Plain’s Aamjiwnaang land. Aside from the natural surroundings, other dimensions of this tour captured my interest.

I was fascinated by the sweat lodge we came upon in a clearing. Naturally, I encouraged David, local author and historian, to enlighten us.

Sweat Lodge, David Plain File Photo

Dried remnants of cedar boughs from the last ceremony, also known as a Purification Ceremony, were evident on the open domed structure. A dug out pit for the hot stones was in the centre. These red hot rocks called ‘grandfathers’ are heated for four hours in a separate pit outside the lodge before the ceremony begins. According to David, ‘small cedar boughs are put in the water that is used to sprinkle on the hot stones or 'grandfathers'. This sanctifies the water for use. Cedar is one of the four sacred plants.’

The more I learned, the more I wanted to know.

The hut, enclosed in canvas for the sweat lodge ceremony, is large enough for a circle of a half dozen people. David explained that a leader oversees the ritual. Four or more hours of discussion, song, and prayer.

I experienced an aha moment. Purification is also part of the Crone Ceremony. It is suggested that the individual bathe in warm water while consciously purging discouraging thoughts. It is the belief that all negativity will drain away with the bath water.

My mind was still focused on ritual when we came across the remains of a fasting shelter in the bush, triggering my curiosity. Again, David patiently explained the rudiments of this tradition. Fasters go to a place where they can be totally alone for five days. They prepare by participating in a sweat lodge ceremony immediately before they go out to do their fast. He was quick to point out that the person denying himself food and water is checked on periodically.

Fasting Lodge, David Plain File Photo

Oh, and the Faster has a spiritual helper. They are spiritually connected by a ceremony that is held at the main lodge even before they do their Sweat (this aroused more curiosity). The Helper remains at the main lodge, eating and drinking for the Faster. I concluded that I’d make a better Helper than Faster.

Fasting seems like an appropriate addition to the documented steps for the Crone Ceremony. Nothing as extreme as five days in the woods, but some kind of a fast would fit well with the purification part of the ceremony. Like the fasting ritual, the Crone Ceremony is traditionally followed by a feast. A celebration.

It all came together for me. Ritual, tradition, spiritualism. Now, more than ever, I understand the meaning of preparing oneself, mind and body. In my case, for the privilege of joining the Sisterhood of Crones for the final stage of life. A long stage, mind you, but the last third of my life, nonetheless.

I'm thankful for the timely nature walk that stirred my passions and opened my mind to the dignity and honour of practising rituals.

David D Plain is a First Nations historian/author living on Aamjiwnaang Territory, an Indian Reserve in Southwestern Ontario. Among his impressive credits, in 2014 a film production company from Toronto optioned the film rights to his latest two books for a television drama series. He's also had...well, check it out for yourself. 

Here's a link to an interview by Gloria Pearson-Vasey for Writers Networking 

http://www.gloriapearsonvasey.com/writers-networking-david-d-plain/

https://www.facebook.com/Books-by-David-D-Plain-149682714184/

Writing Break is Over

I’m pulling up my socks—or hoisting my bra straps—for a new season of writing. 

In my last post, I said good-bye to my blog for the summer. I thought I was bidding farewell to my writing but that didn’t happen. It was silly to think that I could just stop writing. I continued attending our weekly critique group, Writers Helping Writers. That kept me from getting stale. I love the editing process so being able to critique stories every week was a pleasurable pastime.

I began writing flash fiction to take to the weekly meetings. Kept the stories under 500 words. A great exercise! Of course, it was all crime writing. I can almost hear Bob McCarthy adding that ALL my writing is a crime. Very funny, Bob.

There was a time I was aghast at having to write short stories. After all, I am a novelist. Yeah, right. The advice from Peggy Fletcher to write short stories (she didn’t take no for an answer) was the best I’ve received. Whatever one learns from short stories—especially in a critique group—can be applied to all writing. Novels included. And if Peggy were still with us today, I’d say thank you and admit that I love writing shorts. And I'd give her a hug. A big hug. (My eyes are puddling)

So, during the months that I took time away from my writing (moreorless), I polished (yet again) my memoirs, sent out five queries, submitted some short stories, and read at a poetry and prose event. I cleared and cleaned my desk. Even went through my files! I uncovered some material that I’d forgotten—notes for an ongoing novel, and some scribbled musings for upcoming columns. Oh yes, my monthly column. Taking time away from my writing only refers to my fiction writing. Writing for First Monday was ongoing.

The other day someone asked if I wrote a few columns in advance. I wish. Some work better under pressure. I don’t. Yet, seldom are columns lined up waiting for deadline. It’s always my intention, but there are distractions.

As an example, when I came to the office this morning, my first objective was to draft out a column. After checking emails and facebook, I had an urge to write this blog post. When I looked at my blog, I realized I was still using the old graphics for Crime Writers of Canada. I downloaded the new image. Then I saw that I’d neglected to update the site with my columns from the last several months. I did that, too.

My desk did not remain cleared for long. It’s untidy with notes about old crones and pagan rituals. Background for the column. But also an intriguing idea for a short story. A thriller, perhaps.

It was a good call to break away from my routine for the summer. I’m refreshed and excited. WRITE ON! 

My Summer Vacation

Hubby suggested I take the summer off. Enjoy the outdoors and relax. Forget about writing the novel, editing short stories, and entering contests. He’s right. Cloistered in my downstairs office, I miss the beauty of summer.

 

SO FAR IT'S GREAT! Enjoying my early morning coffee on the deck. Meandering around the yard. Listening to the birds. Who knew they could be this noisy?! Going on fishing excursions. Sipping a cold beer in the shade. All good stuff. And since I can check facebook and PM friends on my tablet, I don’t need my laptop.

 

I admit I did experience writers’ withdrawal. Rather than prolong the suffering, I reached for my special journal…I say special because no one will read it until I’m…you know…gone.

 

Now retired, my husband’s taken over all the outdoor chores. He loves doing yard work. He even commandeered my flower gardens. He’s doing a great job.

 

Seventeen years ago, our property was a blank canvas. We planted hundreds of trees and bushes and built flower gardens—sun gardens. The trees have since grown. Only one true sun garden remains and the  vegetable garden is shrinking. Soooo…major reconstruction in progress. Each time I hear the buzz of the chainsaw I get a twinge of sadness as large sun-loving bushes are put out of their misery. Forsythias, nine bark diablos, purple leaf sand cherry, burning bush…gone. But  in their place, I see a variety of hostas, ferns, oak leaf hydrangea, and colourful perennial shade flowers.

 

And Marv’s quite content to work without my able-bodied assistance this time around. Or maybe I’m not as able-bodied as the old days when we worked side by side. I grunt more when lifting fountain basins and patio pots. I’ve traded the cut-offs and work boots for orthopedic runners and floppy cotton sunhats. ( Just kidding about the orthopedic runners but I admit the sunhat is not very flattering.) Whatever… He prefers to putter on his own. It could be that he simply prefers peace and quiet. I’m not all that quiet.

This morning I had an urge to slink down to my office and…OH MY GOSH, I thought a gigantic bee was next to my ear but it was a precious hummingbird. Wow…where was I? Oh yes, I had the urge to write a blog post.

My husband said to enjoy the sunshine. I’m doing that as I write, though I could read the screen better in the shade of the Linden or under a Maple. A little rain umbrella helps somewhat.

 

Well, I think that does it. I’ll post this entry, pour another coffee, and grab my pruning shears. There are two ailing standard pines destined for the fire pit. Maybe I can make them look well enough to grace our front steps for another year.