Five Hundred New Fairy Tales

Guardian Books tweeted this link today, and I have to say, I'm very excited. Apparently five hundred new fairy tales, locked away for over one hundred and fifty years, have been discovered in an archive in Regensburg, Germany. The collection was gathered by a local historian named Franz Xaver von Schonwerth. (Awesome name, am I right? Whatever happened to four word names?)

The reason this is so exciting is because I love fairy tales. Old ones. Not the disney versions, but the dark, twisted real versions. I once read the German version of Snow White and do you want to know what happened to her wicked stepmother in that one? They made her dance to death on hot coals. Twisted, just as it should be. And now, there are five hundred new ones. FIVE HUNDRED. That's a lot of fairy tales.

I've always wanted to create my own fairy tales, but it's surprisingly difficult. Every time I try they just end up as a new version of an old one. This must be why so many of the old story tellers took drugs. It's probably a lot easier to imagine trolls and dragons when you think they're wandering around your living room. Anyway, I'm getting off topic. (Nothing new there). The point I'm trying to make is that a discovery like this is special. The world needs stories, and when we discover ones that were lost, it's pretty amazing. Not to mention, we can never have enough fairy tales. I don't think there's an English translation of the stories yet, but I encourage you all to read the article. It's pretty neat.

A Tribute to Alice Kuipers, Writer Extraordinaire

On Thursday night I attended the launch of Alice Kuiper's new book, 40 THINGS I WANT TO TELL YOU at McNally Robinson. It was fabulous! I had SUCH a good time. The place was packed with friends and fans, with the staff having to scramble to bring out more chairs. It's not a surprise though, because not only is Alice an exceptionally talented writer, but she's also an exceptional human being. If you want the truth, here it is: Alice Kuipers is my hero.

In December of 2010, I sent her an email while she was working as the Writer in Residence at the public library. I was nervous about coming in. I'd been thinking about writing for a long time, considering whether or not it was a possible to do it professionally, and I suffered from a supreme lack of confidence. Alice encouraged me to come in and bring some of my work. And with a little convincing, I did. It was one of the best things I've ever done.

Going to meet with her was positively nerve wracking. I remember sitting in the chair outside her office, feeling queasy and embarrassed. I so desperately wanted to hear that there was hope for me, but at the same time I was positive she was going to gently break the news that dreams of professional writing were unrealistic. After all, my entire life I'd wanted to be a writer, but everyone had always told me it was a pipe dream - like wanting to become a movie star. When I was twelve, an auntie once broke out laughing when I told her and reminded me through giggles that writers don't make any money. Defeated, I'd stopped telling people. Instead, I followed other paths, but none of them ever left me feeling fulfilled or happy. I hated every job I tried.

The first thing Alice did when I met her, was sit me down and ask me questions. Why did I want to be writer? What kind of writer did I want to be? What was I working on now? It was amazing. I sat there, flabbergasted, unsure of what to say or how to answer. She was asking me real questions. She was taking me seriously. There wasn't a trace of amusement on her face. She wasn't humoring me. She really wanted to know. And so it began. I saw her every month for her entire residency, each time sending her my work to critique. I took classes she was teaching and grew a lot as a writer. Granted, I still have a long way to go and plenty more to learn (I don't think anyone ever stops learning), but Alice Kuipers was the first person to ever take me seriously. She made me believe it was possible.

And so, as I sit here on a quiet Saturday afternoon, enjoying my signed copy of her latest book (which you should all run out and buy, it's fantastic!) I think about how Alice Kuipers took the time to talk to me, to help me, and most importantly, to take me seriously. It is because of her help that I am working at my dream, and I know I'm not alone. Alice Kuipers, not only are you a fabulous writer, you are an amazing person. THANK YOU.

*If you'd like to learn more about Alice Kuipers and her books, visit www.alicekuipers.com

Feeling Crafty (But Not Evil)

This post could also have been titled "Pinterest, What Have You Done to Me?" because I'm holding them entirely responsible for my recent voyage into the world of crafts.

I can't help it. Lately, I've felt the need to make pretty things, even if those things are slightly useless. The other night I sat down and spent the entire evening making bookmarks. Why? Because they're pretty. And as I was assembling them and realized I was out of glue, I looked up a recipe for glue online and made some. Why? Because I couldn't stand the thought of waiting until the next day to finish them.

The day after that? Homemade envelopes. That's right. I made my own envelopes. And I was so excited about it that I sat down and wrote a letter just to use one. And why did I do this? You guessed it. Because they're pretty.

I don't know if it's an abundance of creative energy or a hatred of this still unending winter, but every time I see a beautiful craft on pinterest I can't resist. Who knows what I'll end up making tomorrow? As long as it's pretty it could be anything.

Although on the bright side, I am watching less television.

*Now, for your amusement I've included a few pictures to show off the fruits of my crafty labours. If you would like to learn how to make your own bookmarks click here, if you'd like to learn how to make your own adorable envelopes click here. Enjoy!

Oh The Horror!

I turn the knob, stomach filled with dread. The door swings open in front of me, almost as though it has a mind of its own. I cover my nose at the putrid stench, gagging in dismay. I don't even know how to enter, the floor is a maze of shin-banging, foot-piercing mayhem. It is ... my office.

Yes, like most people I have that one room in my house where all the clutter seems to accumulate, and that room is the office. It's become the dumping ground for all things without a home and an utterly unuseable mess.

Don't want the dog to get into the garbage? Put it in the office. Have useless old furniture you're not ready to get rid of? Put it in the office. Have no idea what to do with this random object? Office. Important looking papers? Office. Recycling? Office. Art supplies? Office. Sanity? Definitely not in the office. This is no place for sanity, just pure dreariness.

When we first moved in I had such high hopes for that grotesque horror of a second bedroom. It was supposed to be my writing retreat, my fortress of solitude. (Superman reference. Solid). I had visions of a distinguished desk and library, complete with rich burgundy/red walls. Unfortunately, with only one window the burgundy/red makes it less of a fortress of solitude and more like the bat cave (that's right, I went there), by which I mean cold, dark and musty. The desk is overruled by papers badly in need of filing and an ancient desktop computer so unwieldy that any attempt to use the internet results in total shut down. The whole room is a disaster.

But not anymore. I've decided to challenge the beast. I will clean my office, paint it and turn it into the writing retreat I've always dreamed of. Because I'm awesome.

This will not be an easy task. That room has been the bane of my existence since we moved in over three years ago. But I am determined. And strong. And awesome. I will keep you posted on my progress, possibly even posting some before and after pictures if I'm feeling brave enough. Stay tuned!

Bride of New France - A Book Review

I'm happy to report that I spent this weekend exactly as I wanted to. I caught up on laundry, cleaned the house, slept like a bear and read a great book.

I started BRIDE OF NEW FRANCE on Friday, and couldn't put it down until this afternoon when I finished it. BRIDE OF NEW FRANCE, by Suzanne Desrochers is about a girl named Laure living in Paris in the 1600s. Taken from her parents at the age of eight, Laure is brought to the Salpetriere, an infirmary for downtrodden women and girls. It is actually more of a prison, brought on by King Louis XIV's promise to rid the streets of Paris of beggars, children and prostitutes. She grows up there, learning to make lace with her only friend Madeleine, dreaming of a day when maybe she can become a seamstress. Unfortunately these dreams are dashed when she is chosen to be sent to Canada to become a wife for one of the settlers there. It is a fate some believe to be worse than death. And although she survives the journey to the new world, she realizes it is nothing like she expected and that it brings all new challenges that will threaten her survival.

Not hard to believe that I couldn't put it down, am I right? BRIDE OF NEW FRANCE is such a rich book, filled with terror, excitement and tribulation. It was such a welcome change to the last book I read, which was rather dry and boring. It took me almost a month to read the last one, and I devoured BRIDE OF NEW FRANCE in a weekend. What a difference. Part of what made this book so good (aside from the excellent writing and story telling) was Laure herself. She was such a perfect character. She was full of dreams and hope, but realistic enough to realize the truth of her situation. She was flawed, scarred by the experiences of her troubled life, but had a deep seated will to survive. It was fantastic.

So, if you're looking for a good book to devour next weekend, I suggest you give BRIDE OF NEW FRANCE a try. I found it to be the perfect weekend read.

It's Possible I Might Be A Little Stressed

I've never been more ready for the weekend. This week, although short due to the previous long weekend, was still too long. And the funny thing is, I had no idea how stressed I've been all week until this morning.

Last night I went to bed especially early, hoping to get a good night's sleep. Alas, sleep alluded me and I woke up several times throughout the night. This morning I found myself running late as I tried to get ready and didn't make it out the door until I was already five minutes late. If that wasn't bad enough, even though I'd let my car run for a good fifteen minutes while I was getting ready, it still refused to shift out of park when I got inside. I sat there in the car, getting more and more irritated as I watched the minutes tick by. Soon I was ten minutes, then I was fifteen minutes late. It was around this point that I'd had enough. I'm ashamed to admit I had a full on hissy fit in the car, beating the dashboard with my fists as I howled in frustration. I even sobbed a little. A few minutes passed and I was finally allowed to escape my parking spot. It didn't matter that my bosses are away and they wouldn't have minded anyway that I was a few minutes late. I was just so frustrated that I couldn't take it anymore. And if you'd asked me when I got up that morning if I thought I might break down into a hissy fit today, I would have told you that you were crazy.

I was in a foul mood when I got to work, to say the least. And as I sat at my desk, quietly waiting for my frustration and fury to recede into a more pleasant demeanor, I couldn't help but admit I needed this weekend. Last weekend - the long weekend - was supposed to be my restorative weekend. The one where I got my house cleaned, my laundry done and took care of all things me. Unfortunately, I caught a hideous cold and spent the entire weekend in abject misery and returned to work on Tuesday more tired than before.

So, I have big plans for this weekend. And they all revolve around me. It may be selfish, but as my coworkers will attest, it's necessary.

Keep Literature Sacred

There are authors I admire, both for their talent and their business prowess. It's not easy to get published, and it's even harder for that published material to become a success. I will admit to looking at their glossy book covers with just a twinge of envy, hopeful that one day it will be my turn. And then, there are those other books. The ones that make you want scream and pull your hair out.

I'm talking about bestsellers written by celebrities. And not worthwhile celebrities who have a lifetime of unique experiences to share. I'm talking about those trashy autobiographies by celebrities whose only claim to fame is that they're famous. Like Snooki or the Kardashians. Whenever I ask people why they're famous, no one has any idea. And yet they've climbed to the height of fame and are deemed somehow worthy of something that fantastic and evocative writers may never see. And that just pisses me off.

What really irritated me today was when I heard that Justin Bieber will be releasing a second book. Really? A SECOND book? I highly doubt there was enough material to fill the first. He's a child singer with a mushroom cut. What's to know? And yet, it sold millions of copies. And now there will be a sequel. It's enough to make you hang your head and cry.

We live in a society that idolizes celebrity. I know that. But please, I'm begging you, don't let trashy, shallow vessels of fame and fortune pollute something as precious as literature. Becoming a successful author is a long and difficult road, and that's a good thing. It builds character and crafts skill. Handing a contract to trashy celebrities spits in the face of everything books represent. Enough is enough. They can have our television but not our books!

You Golf, I Sit

Today turned out to be a really great day. Today was Family Day (at least in Canada anyway), so we did just that. My husband and I joined the rest of my family at a golf simulator and played a virtual round of golf. It was a blast. The weather was great, there were no mosquitos, and there were no long walks from hole to hole. In fact, between shots we lounged and chatted in big comfy club chairs. Yep, if I have to play golf, that's the way I like to play.

I think what I enjoyed most was how different it was. We got out of the house, did something fairly active and it was an entirely new experience for me. Not only have I never played virtual golf, I've never played real golf. What a refreshing way to spend the day. If I'd stayed home, my day would have been a marathon of TV watching that left me with a headache and a feeling of regret. Instead, I went out, spent time with the family, and tried something new.

And I learned one thing: I suck at golf. Seriously, it was pathetic. I will admit to having a few semi-decent shots here and there, but overall I was terrible. Which was fine. I've never been especially athletic and I'm okay with that. I'm not a competitive person (usually), so I don't mind being the hopeless one in the group. Unfortunately, my family - being the group of thoughtful, sweethearts that they are - were worried I was feeling rather defeated. So they decided to cheer me on and try to make me feel better every time I made a bad shot. Which was a lot. Now, don't get me wrong. I appreciate that they care whether or not I'm having a good time. But the more they attempted to cheer me up, the more pathetic I felt. Because they must have thought I was doing pretty terrible to try so hard to cheer me up.

My husband was the worst. Not only did he try the hardest to cheer me up, at one point he started rubbing my shoulders and trying to get me to 'relax'. Eventually I had to shoo him away, telling him to shut up before we had a care bear moment. I was worried that at any moment he'd drop down on one knee and start explaining that everyone is good at something and we're all special in our own way.

In conclusion, I had a great time. Despite how bad I am at golfing, I enjoyed giving it a try. But next time, I think I'll spend more time lounging in a nice comfy club chair and less time swinging repeatedly at a golf ball without ever actually hitting it. Although on the plus side, I did relieve a lot of stress.

Feeling Maternal, Or Should I Say Bunny-ternal

You hear a lot about women and their biological clock. How many times have you heard someone make the remark that their biological clock is ticking? When I include TV, movies and friends, the number is pretty high. And even if you don't consider the biological clock, there are women who are just meant to be mothers. Women who hear a baby cry and start lactating (perhaps not literally, but close). Whereas there's me. When I hear a baby cry, there's just a cloud of dust following behind as I run frantically in the other direction.

Some women can't wait to have children. They count down the days until they can start popping out babies and raising a family. And God forbid the two of us cross paths. These women also seem hell bent on convincing those of that aren't maternally inclined to forgo our instincts and procreate. But I'm just not that kind of girl. I don't want kids. Never have. But recently I have been feeling a certain kind of maternal longing. No, not for children. For bunnies.

As some of you may recall, my rabbit of nearly five years, George, passed away on Christmas Day. And since she's (yes, she was a girl) been gone, there's been a hole I just can't fill. I miss my fuzzy little angel. Recently I joined pinterest and have been pinning up a storm. A lot of it is beautiful home decor, exotic and beautiful locations and of course, pictures that inspire me creatively. But there is another board that I've started. I've called it my adorable animal picture board, and although it includes all species of animal cuteness (except babies, they do nothing for my cute-o-meter), I can't help but pin every available cute rabbit picture I can find. I can't get enough of them. And every time I look at them, I feel a pull inside that hasn't gone away. Even before George passed away, I'd been thinking about getting another rabbit to keep her company and also because I wanted another one. I miss having a bunny around, and I think soon I might have to give in and get another one.

I won't be able to get another one right now, my husband is still opposed to the idea (a minor obstacle, but still) and I want to wait a little longer out of respect to my dear, departed George. I don't want a new rabbit companion to be her replacement. I was thinking I might wait until after Easter. A lot of people buy their kids rabbits as an Easter present and then realize that they take way more care than a child is capable of (not to mention the stupid kids get bored with them) and they drop them off at the SPCA. This is unpardonable in my eyes. Not only is it incredibly irresponsible, but it's heartless. So, I might take it upon myself to rescue some rabbits this spring. Just as soon as I can convince my husband.

Still need convincing of the cuteness of bunnies? Check these pictures out. (Warning: if your heart doesn't melt, you just might be a robot)

I Hate You, Grocery Store

I hate the grocery store. It's dumb, but I do. First of all, I hate the crowds. Putting a bunch of strangers in a building, each with unwieldy carts, each with a list of necessities, most of which they can't seem to find anywhere, is just a recipe for disaster. No matter how good my mood is when I enter, it's an unholy state of foul when I leave.

I do my best to compensate. I try to only go for groceries at odd hours, like really early on a Sunday morning or late on a Friday night. But even with my precautions, I can't seem to get through a grocery trip without turning into a man-eating hobgoblin. The last time I went, it was quiet. There were very few people about, and most of the time they were spaced out enough that they didn't get in my way too much. (Those of you that park your cart directly across from someone else, barring any movement past you: you've been warned). And there weren't too many of those dreaded family carts. I will never understand the need for some families to all go for groceries together. Why does mom and dad and the three children under eight all have to be in the grocery store? Isn't that why there are two of you? So one of you can stay home with the kids?

No, I actually held it together pretty good... that is until it came time to go through the checkout. The checkout is an especially trying time in any shopping experience. At this point, everyone ahead of and behind you are in a bad mood, as is the cashier for obvious reasons. The woman ahead of me was - to put it politely - a moron. She kept questioning prices and forgetting to mention discounts and when it came time to pay she could not figure out the incredibly simple debit machine. The woman behind me was just plain rude. She started loading her groceries onto the conveyor belt before I'd even finished with mine. I resisted the urge to turn around and tear her head off, despite my desire to ask how she thought that would speed things up, and to demand that she wait for her own damn turn. And of course, the cashier did what every cashier does. I don't care when they're cold, or rude, I get it, their life sucks and they're utterly miserable. Who wouldn't be? No, what drives me crazy is when they sling my easily damaged groceries around as though they're boxes of cereal. Stop dropping my oranges. Do not hurl my bread down the conveyor belt like it's a softball, and stop man handling my vegetables! I took great care in picking out the best you had to offer in the picked over selection that results from shopping at the end of the day and now it may as well have been from the bottom of the pile. Stop bruising my produce!

By the time I'd bagged my groceries and loaded them into the car I was in a mood fit to scare serial killers. I had to talk myself down before shifting into drive so I wouldn't bring my rage with me onto the road. And sadly, it's like that every time. So, if you ever come over and notice that the cupboards are particularly bare, just remember, I'm doing it for the safety of others and my own mental health. Because going any more than is absolutely necessary is a very bad idea.

Happy Valentine's Day

Happy Valentine's Day to one and all! I've never celebrated it myself, but I enjoy the frivolity of sending thoughtful notes, giving out candy and flowers, and telling those you love how much you care. My day was not one of frivolity, instead I went into work early so I could leave for a funeral. It was sad, but sweet. It's nice to hear someone's life celebrated, see how they touched the lives of others, in ways they probably never even knew about. In a way, it was the perfect Valentine's. I was part of a community of people gathering around loved ones in a time of need. Valentine's Day is a day to show that you care, and that's what I did for a good friend of mine.

But that doesn't mean that the rest of you should be down. I hope you all took the time to spread a little love today. Whether it was at the office with some cute valentines and candy, or if it was with a special someone, or if it was with yourself; taking the time to show how much you love and appreciate yourself with a good bottle of wine, maybe some shopping, or a relaxing massage. It's all good. No matter how you decided to spend today, I hope it made you smile. And to keep the smiles coming, I've taken the liberty of writing you all a fun little Valentine's limerick. Enjoy! (You've been warned: The following is corny and silly).


There once was a valentine that had too much candy
At first she was good, but then not too dandy.
She ate and she ate
and gained too much weight
And now her lover's not feeling too randy.

Happy Valentine's Day!!

The Questions of Mortality

I'm not someone that often ponders the bigger questions in life. I don't like it when things get deep, or spiritual. But every once in a while, I - like all people - am struck by my own mortality. Something will happen to remind me that I'm mortal, as are all those I love, and one day we will all die.

Generally, when these questions arise, I do all I can to push them away. Denial, denial, denial. That's my way. Why? Because there are no answers to those big questions. Where do we go? What happens to us when we die? There is no definitive way of knowing what happens until our own time comes, and I'd rather not think about it. I don't want to think about the possibilities, or the lack thereof. It's depressing, terrifying and sometimes rather nauseating. I like to think that I'll see all my loved ones again, that we'll meet again on the other side. Is it wishful thinking? Yes, and possibly no. I don't know.

Recent events have reminded me of all these questions, questions I'd rather shove to the bottom of a pit inside me. There are those that say death makes them feel more alive, but for me I only become intensely aware of my own mortality, and the mortality of those I love. I don't ever want to lose those closest to me, and yet I know that some day I will. It's a hard realization to swallow, despite my having known it all along.

I guess that's why they say you should live each day as though it were your last, never take the people and time you have for granted. This is very true, and I try to take it to heart, but I'd rather enjoy my loved ones without the morbid cloud of doom. And so, I return to my favourite coping mechanism. Denial. Denial. Denial. Perhaps it's not the best method, but it's mine.

The Truth About Friendship

If they gave awards for extreme awesomeness in the field of friendship, my best friend would win them all. She'd have trophy rooms full to bursting, walls lined with shelves upon shelves of shiny plaques and giant trophies, drawers heavy with ridiculously ornate medals trumpeting her awesomeness as a friend. Between the two of us, the truth is clear: she is a far better friend.

I've never been able to keep up with her in the field of friendship. I'm the selfish one, always busy and slightly neglectful. I don't call as regularly, don't do thoughtful gestures anywhere near as often.

She's the type to show up in a heartbeat. If you need her, she's there. No matter how inconvenient, no matter what else she has going on. She's the type to drive an hour and a half in from out of town when you're in the hospital with possible appendicitis. The kind of friend that's always on your side, always there when you need a shoulder to cry on.

Not only is she the world's greatest friend, she's also the most fun. She's gorgeous, stylish and classy. She's creative and unique. She's funny and thoughtful, a trendsetter in every way. She is an individual, never afraid to be herself. She is my hero.

And so, the time has come when she needs me. And goddammit I'm going to rise to the occassion. A friend like this - nay, a person like this - comes along once in a lifetime. I may not be (and probably never will be) as good of a friend as she is, but for her I'm going to try.

The truth is, I'm glad she sets the bar so high on what it means to be a good friend. Striving to attain her level of loyalty and compassion makes me a better person. And I'm eternally grateful.

Feelin' Burnt Out

I'd hoped I was adapting to my new, regular work schedule but it appears I'm not quite there yet. I'm in my 3rd week at my new job (which I still love - make no mistake about that!) and I'm still exhausted at the end of the day.

Everything seems to fall by the wayside in the wake of my excessive tiredness. I've been lazy with the dishes and walking the dog (poor Maddie!) and I haven't been writing as much. I've been feeling the crush on my creative juices as well. I'm less inclined to create new stories, I feel as though I have fewer ideas.

Part of me thinks I should just give myself a kick in the butt, tired or not, and I should just force myself to get up, clean the house and walk the dog. Chances are, if I just got up and did the work, got out in the fresh air, I'd feel better and more energized.

The other half of me - the tired half - thinks I need to just give in. That if I just spent a few days with my brain shut off, catching up on sleep, resting, reading a good book, then I'll feel better. Renewed.

The problem is that the two sides are in battle with each other. I don't have the time to listen to my tired side, and my tired side is making it hard for me to listen to my butt-kicking side. Overall, I'd really like to just inject caffeine directly into my brain. I suppose it would help if I drank coffee. Too bad I can't stand the stuff.
In the meantime, I'm just going to keep plodding along until one side is declared the winner.

You're Too Helpful

Sorry for posting a little late this time. I meant to blog last night but I was just too exhausted when I got home from work. I don't know how many of you have ever started at a new job, only to find that someone you work with feels the need to give you constant advice. It happened to me at retail and it's happening now at my office job. And I'm not talking about the person responsible for training you, I'm talking about another random employee that feels the need to divulge their 'bountiful' wisdom.

It's frustrating. It doesn't usually come from a bad place, instead from a desire to help, or in some cases a need to feel important. The hard part is being the new guy and trying to navigate the many pitfalls of turning down that help. Yesterday, for instance, the receptionist at my job kept trying to get me to start on payroll. I don't know how to do payroll (at least at the time I didn't - now I'm prostar!), and I really didn't want her training me on it. She doesn't know it very well, and I knew the way she did it wouldn't be the way my boss wanted me to do it. Not to mention, my boss is a MUCH better teacher. So, I wanted to wait for her. It was crazy hard trying to tell her to step off, especially since she's always so nice and helpful.

After payroll was done, and my boss had once again stepped out of the office, she kept inserting herself into my work, trying to correct my mistakes or make me more efficient. It was positively irritating!! A lot of the corrections she'd insisted on were, of course, wrong, and at this stage I wasn't concerned about efficiency. I was concerned about being thorough and getting it right.

In my experience, the best way to handle it is with patience (although that was difficult yesterday, I was SO grumpy). If you just smile, nod and go to your happy place, they'll usually leave you alone and you can go back and redo your work in the way you'd rather do it. But, you will come home exhausted and unwilling to do anything but sleep, eat and watch TV.

The Weekend has Arrived

So far, my weekend is off to a great start. I've already done two loads of laundry, I slept in this morning and I've gotten started on some writing and it's not even noon yet. I suppose most people wouldn't find that very exciting, or possibly not even that great. But enjoying myself this weekend, catching up on sleep and getting some work done are all I really want out of a weekend, and besides, it's bound to be better than last weekend.

Last weekend was the first actual weekend I've had in a very, very long time. Having been a massage therapist and worked at two different retail stores, I've never really got weekends before. I always worked Saturday, and usually Sunday too. I didn't mind it though. In fact, I liked it. I hate going out on weekends. I always try to get all my running around done on weekdays while everyone else is at work. I hate crowds of any sort. And having to go into a grocery store or mall on a Saturday is a big No-No on my list.

Anyway, with the start of my new Monday-Friday job, last weekend was my first regular person weekend. And I hated it. Even though I managed to stay away from crowds by doing errands at obscene hours (I went grocery shopping at 7:00 in the morning), I just couldn't stop being grumpy all weekend long. Both Saturday and Sunday, random things would just set me off and no matter how hard I tried to shake it, I was a pill to be around. At first, I couldn't understand it. I'd avoided the crowds, so there was no reason for me to be annoyed. And then it hit me. I'd spent the last six years working on weekends, and at jobs I didn't like. I'd been conditioned to be miserable on weekends! It didn't matter that I wasn't at work, my brain still thought I was supposed to be pissy. It made me laugh, and all week I've been preparing myself to be in a good mood for this weekend. And so far? Success! I feel great. Granted, I have yet to emerge from my house and face the outside world, but I'm confident I can remain happy and relaxed. And hey, who says I have to go out at all? It's my weekend. (Smug patting of my own shoulder). What are your plans for this weekend?

I Like My Musicals Dark and Twisted

On Tuesday night I went with my sister to see the musical, Beauty and the Beast. It was a last minute thing, her original date having fallen ill the night before. In general, I don't usually go for musicals, whether they be on screen or stage, but why let a free ticket go to waste?

Overall, the production was very well done. The set and costumes were spectacular and several of the musical numbers were brilliantly choreographed and performed. But in between those numbers I found myself a little bored. It was a Disney production, made for children (as it should be), so it was very juvenile. There was a lot of slapstick comedy and necessary overacting. And I realized something. It wasn't just how child-friendly the production was, it was also too bright and cheery. I guess I was looking for something a little darker, a deeper look into the horror of being transformed into a hideous beast, the terror of becoming the beast's prisoner. The anguish, the torment, which is then conquered by love. Obviously, you're not going to get that in a Disney production. (Although I still maintain that Beauty and the Beast was one of Disney's least sexist productions. Think about it. It's about a girl that's considered odd by the rest of the village because she reads and has a mind of her own. She's not deceived by the shallow charms of the gorgeous Gaston, like the other girls, and instead finds the inner beauty in an ugly beast. Positive messages all around. Read books, be an individual, don't be shallow and use your brain!)

When I think back to previous musicals that I've liked, one stands above the others. It was in October at the Persephone Theatre in Saskatoon. It was a musical based on the life of Edgar Allan Poe and it was phenomenal. It was incredibly dark and twisted, unexpected and surprisingly whimsical (in a dark and twisted way). The music was thrilling and the production was great. It was the kind of production that draws hidden feelings and imaginings up from your subconscious. And I loved it.

Therefore, I think I need to revise my previous belief that I don't care for musicals. Apparently, I do. They just need to be dark and twisted.

Feeling Ambitious

This week, I'm feeling ambitious. I've already submitted my piece for the week, but I think I'm going to go for the gold. I'm going to submit again before the week is done. No, this will not be my new standard. That would be too hard to maintain for the rest of my life. BUT, there are a number of deadlines cropping up for several places I'd like to submit to. AND, since I'm feeling mildly energetic this week, I figure might as well go for it.
It's definitely been a challenge to produce as much material that's required for my weekly submission goal, but I"m also having a lot of fun with it. Having a reason to be creative helps get me to sit down in front of the computer and write. Not everything is my best stuff, but that's not the point right now. I'm just building a habit, getting in the rhythm of putting words down on figurative paper.

Sidebar: still loving my new job. My boss and her husband bring their dog to work with them every day. I love it. There's no better way to shake off a bad mood (or even just slip away for a small break) than having a friendly pooch waiting for affection. Today when I pulled up she kept trying to follow the car (making it difficult to pull in) because she was so excited to see me. And when I left? Even harder to pull out of a parking stall when the dog remains less than two feet from the side of your car, walking alongside it. I was worried she'd try to follow me out of the parking lot. I think she just enjoys having someone pay her a ridiculous amount of attention. It's mostly men where I work, and they usually just ignore her and well, work. Not me. I've always got time for a stream of baby talk and a tummy rub. And in return, she brightens my day, every day. Yep. This sure beats customer service

Why is There a Naked Man on my TV?

Synchronizing - although great in theory - often comes with a downside. A little over a year ago, my husband decided he wanted to switch over to Apple. He wanted an iPhone, a Mac laptop and an Apple TV.
"It's amazing, Mel," he'd say. "They'll all automatically synch up with each other. I can control the TV with my phone!"

I'd shrug and smile, not really getting the appeal. Who cares if you can control the TV with your phone? I can do the same thing - with the remote. I didn't really understand why he'd want everything to synch up either, but there are some things that aren't worth arguing about. I kind of figured he'd get over the idea and move on to something else within a month or two, but he didn't. He didn't let it go and eventually he got his Apple trio: the phone, the laptop and the Apple TV.

I will admit, the laptop is nice. And the Apple TV is nifty. The iPhone is understandable if you're really busy and need access to the web on a near continual basis. All in all, he was happy and I was happy that he was happy.

The only times his new toys annoy him are when they're too synchronized. For instance, if he's using his laptop in the family room and I use the Apple TV remote, it also causes things to pop up on his computer. Mildly irritating, I'll admit. The other day, however, we realized the major downside to a phone that synchronizes with the TV.

My husband uses his iPhone to take pictures, which is great. The picture quality is good, and due to the wonders of synchronization, all of our photos have become a slide show for when the Apple TV is asleep. However, it doesn't just import photos that he's taken. It takes whatever photos are stored on his phone. So, when he was at work a few days ago and sent a truly disgusting photo of a naked man to one of his coworkers as a joke, he didn't realize the other repercussions. He forgot to delete the picture off his phone before he came home, and without his say-so, the phone synchronized with the Apple TV. And now, unfortunately, every once in a while, in the midst of our family photos, a picture of a naked man with an obscene amount of piercings through his testicles and an even weirder tattoo on his thighs and buttocks appears on the screen. We have since deleted the photo from his computer and phone, but have yet to figure out how to remove it from the photo stream on the TV. (Did I mention that my husband and I are not technically proficient? That's part of why my husband wanted the Apple stuff. No set up required).
Yep, can't wait to have my parents over. It'll be a great conversation starter. And of course, we should probably invite some neighbourhood children over. Might as well get the emotional scars over with early, right? I never thought I'd have to close the blinds for a photo stream.

And that, my friends, is why synchronization is not always as convenient as they'd have you (or your husband) believe. Because the Apple stuff is great, but I'm not enjoying playing Jack in the Box with a picture of a naked man in a photo stream. Every picture switch makes me cringe.

It's Friday

Well, it's Friday and I'm officially wiped out. I've never had a Monday to Friday job before, and I think it's going to take some getting used to. Working regular hours is new to me.

It's been a tough go this week. I've managed to write every day but not as much as I wanted to, and I'm leaving it until tomorrow to make my weekly submission. I'm too tired to give a piece my full attention. I'm going to get a good night's sleep and get it turned in tomorrow. Trying to submit every week does not mean turning in shoddy work, after all.

I love my new job, but I can't believe how tired I am when I get home every day. I start looking at the clock, wishing for bed, at 7:30. I'm sure part of that is because it's winter (I require an obscene amount of sleep in winter) but I think the rest of it is because I'm finally doing something all day.

When I was working retail, there were always long periods of inactivity, stretches of time filled with boredom and trying to look busy. At my new job, I have tasks to work on all day. And I love it. But man am I ever tired. I'm hoping this weekend will restore me, as well as allow me to catch up on my writing. I've fallen behind on a few projects, and if I don't catch up now I'll just keep falling further and further behind. The hard part is being productive when all I want to do is watch tv and sleep.

Writing in the Dark

Do you like my title? It's an homage to "Dancing in the Dark" by Dev. It's also literal. I have most of the lights off because I was at the optometrist this evening and he dilated my pupils. For most people, this gets done every couple of appointments. For me, it gets done every time. My retina is really thin in my right eye so they have to check and make sure it's not torn or damaged every time I come in. The result? My eyes feel like they're a little too big for my eye sockets and typing is slightly difficult. I just want to shut my eyes and go to sleep, but there's too much to do. Also, it's only 7:30 in the evening, and as much as I love sleep, going to bed now would make me feel a little sad.

Instead, I'm staying awake, writing (and dancing) in the dark. I've managed to keep my new year's resolutions so far, now twenty three days in. This Friday will mark the fourth Friday in a row that I've submitted a piece of writing and I'm excited about that. I didn't do as much work as I would have liked to on my novel on Monday evening, but other than that I'm feeling pretty good. It's definitely a little more difficult now that I work full time, regular hours. I know, you'd think it'd be easier having a set schedule, but when you don't know when you'll get more time to write, you tend to take advantage of whatever time you can get. With this job, I know exactly how much time I have every day. It takes the urgency out of it just a little. It'll be an interesting adjustment, but I think in the long run it'll be for the best.

I leave you now with Dancing in the Dark. The video is stupid but the song is infectious. Enjoy!

My First Day at the New Job

Today was my first day at my new job and I know you're all at the edge of your seats waiting to find out how it went. (And if you aren't I don't care, you're going to hear about it anyway).

Honestly? It was fantastic! My brain hurts from the amount of stuff I'm going to have to learn, but finally I have a nice, quiet desk job. My days of customer service related hell are over. It's going to take some time to master the various tasks I'll be responsible for, but once I do I think this new job is going to be exactly what I'm looking for. That might sound inconsequential to you, but having worked three previous jobs that I couldn't stand, I have to tell you that it's not. It's HUGE.

My favourite highlight of the day? The company I'm working for is adding on some extra office space and when they're finished I'll have my own office! I'm so excited! I've never had a desk job before and I was already so delighted that I'd have a work space to call my own, a desk I could decorate with pictures and what not. And now, I'll have my very own office! I can't tell you what that means to a hermit like myself!
In conclusion, my first day was great. Everyone was super nice, the work is challenging but definitely doable and - knock on wood - I think this is a job I could stick with and enjoy for a long time. Hooray!

The Birth House

Yesterday I read The Birth House by Ami McKay from cover to cover. And it was ridiculously good. I loved every last bit of it and I have to say, I had the hardest time putting it down. I would read a few chapters, go put in a load of laundry and come right back. When I could force myself to put it down again, I would write for a while, and then I'd get sucked right back in. I just couldn't stay away from it. What a fantastic read.

Ami McKay has a new one out too. It's called The Virgin Cure, and I can't wait to run out and buy it. The depth of research she puts into her work is astounding. She makes everything so real, so accurate; without feeling like you're reading a textbook. Basically, you just feel as though you're there.  Her characters are so vivid, so perfectly real. The Birth House was a real work of literary art and I know The Virgin Cure will be too.If you're looking for another good read, for the love of God pick it up!

Winter Reading

Winter. The weather outside is indeed frightful, and it's true, the fire really is delightful. I'm not the biggest fan of winter, but it has its high points. For one, it's eerily beautiful outside; with thick, foggy steam rising from every available chimney, the entire world blanketed in white. From the warmth of indoors, the frosty exterior is truly lovely to behold. Especially in the morning, when dawn casts everything in a shade of pink and the air is thick with fog.

Yes, winter makes me poetic. Winter has a great many effects on me, from my intense need for sleep and comfort food to my voracious reading habits. Over the past couple of weeks I've gobbled my way through a staggering amount of books. It was only today, when I ran out of books to read and had to make a trip to the bookstore that I realized how many I'd gone through. Santa had been good to me this year in the book department, and having run out after only nineteen days was a little surprising. So, I've decided to give you the highlights of all the best I've read so far this year. Winter is definitely a time for reading, so grab a soft blanket, pull your chair up close to the fire and get ready for some good reads.

The Secret Lives of Dresses by Erin McKean
A girlfriend suggested this one to me, and I'm so glad she did. It was lovely. It tells the story of Dora, a young woman unable to make up her mind on what she wants out of life. When her grandmother (who raised her when her parents died), Mimi, has a stroke, Dora drops everything and drives home to see her. She ends up taking over her grandmother's vintage clothing store while she's in the hospital, and discovers a whole new side to herself when she indulges her grandmother's longest wish - for her to wear vintage. She discovers a whole new side of her grandmother as well, when she finds out that Mimi has been writing stories to go along with the dresses she sells.
It's a wonderful tale, full of the power of vintage and guaranteed to get you perusing vintage shops. Seriously, not long after reading this book I found myself shopping on websites for vintage dresses. There's nothing more enticing than old school glamour.

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender
I'd wanted to read this one for a very long time, so I was extra excited to find it under the tree for me this year. This novel tells the story of Rose, who on her ninth birthday discovers she can taste people's emotions in the food they make. Unfortunately, it has a rather eye opening effect, and Rose discovers that her mother, who seemed happy and content, is actually rather hollow and unfulfilled. Her gift reveals a world of secrets to Rose, secrets she's not so sure she wants to know.
This book was written in a very unique style, with no quotation marks around spoken words. It was a little confusing at times, but gave a nice flow to the story. It was such an interesting idea, I really couldn't put it down. It's the kind of book you'll think about for days afterward. Not to mention, it really makes you hungry for lemon cake with chocolate icing.

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern
I first heard about this book while I was competing in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). The author had written a pep talk for those competing, in which she described her own trials while working on The Night Circus. She had several mysterious characters doing mysterious things very mysteriously, but it wasn't going anywhere. So, to shake things up, she took all her characters and put them in a circus, just to see what would happen. And what happened was a masterpiece. It is a book so intoxicating to read that you never want it to end. It's so visual and stimulating, so imaginative and fantastical. I really can't say enough good things about this book, but since I refuse to give anything away, I'll have to leave it at that.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs
Filled with strange and disturbing old photographs, the story itself is just as strange. It tells the story of Jacob, who goes on a search for answers after the horrific death of his grandfather. It turns out that the fantastical tales his grandfather told him about his childhood are true, as are the dark, nightmarish monsters that had hunted him all his life. And those same monsters are now hunting Jacob.
I loved the sheer strangeness of this book, particularly the photos. It was such a creative idea, with a new take on the idea of mutants and strange abilities. I had a really hard time putting this one down.

And there you have it. These are the best of what my winter reading olympics have so far had to offer. I hope they offer you many a comfy and cozy evening of reading, inside by the fire. Spring will come one day, but until then, there's always good books.

It's Freezing

There's something about the icy cold of winter that makes me extra lazy. Keeping my new year's resolutions has become doubly difficult now that the weather has descended into a frozen, icy hell. I'm chilly constantly. All I want to do is crawl under my down duvet and sleep until days are a normal length and I no longer have the compulsion to wear long johns. Unfortunately, that is many months away and I have work to do. Important work. Work that may one day allow me to stay home in my comfy jammies during the winter while the rest of you shiver in near frozen vehicles on your way to work.

I haven't faltered yet, though. And I don't plan to either. I'm just moving a little slow these days. The cold has frozen some of my creativity and ambition. But I just have to keep persevering, at least until it gets warmer or I've slept enough to do a hibernating bear justice.

Tomorrow is submission day, and I have a piece all ready to go. Yes, I might be moving a little slower, but I'm still moving. And I'm not going to stop.

Three Days to Go...

I just realized something when I went to write my blog post today. I never told you that I quit my job. That's right, my days at the makeup counter are numbered. To three. I have just three days left starting tomorrow. Thursday will be my final day and on Monday I begin my new job.

Now that I only have a few days left, I thought it would be a good time to reflect on my experiences working there.

There were definitely some perks. I know I'll miss the free products from my counters more than anything, not to mention the discount. And I did become rather fond of several of the girls I worked with, but it was definitely the right decision.

For one, the money sucked. FYI to anyone out there who's thinking of applying to a Beauty Advisor position, if it isn't one of the main counters (Lancome, Estee Lauder, MAC, Clinique), it isn't worth it. It's retail, so your base pay will be horrendously cheap, and unless you work for one of the heavy hitters, your commission will amount to nothing. Which mine did.

It didn't help that I had to pay for parking. That's right. The department store where I worked was in a mall downtown and we got absolutely no discount on parking. Which meant $12.00 a day during the regular season and $25.00 a day during Christmas (and by Christmas, I mean November 1st - February 28th). So, in order to make any money at all, I've had to beg loved ones for rides to and from work for the entire winter season.

The other problem with working downtown was the clientele. Downtown is basically the hub of activity for weirdos, hookers, drug addicts and shoplifters. Despite seven months - almost to the day - of working there, I just couldn't get used to drug addicts and hookers shamelessly trying to put their makeup on at our counters. I wasn't a big fan of chasing them away either. That seemed like more of security's responsibility, not mine.
In conclusion, obviously this job wasn't for me. There was just no way I was ever going to be a lifer. I worked with some women who are, and I just don't get it. But what do I know? Maybe it's their calling. Maybe it's what makes them happy. Not me.

I'm very excited about starting my new job. Sadly, it's not a writing job, but I don't mind. It pays a lot better than retail, and I won't have to deal with customers on a regular basis. That's right. I found myself an office job. I know this means I probably won't have as many funny stories for you, but I'm looking forward to a little more peace and quiet. I've always enjoyed working on my own, putting my head down and just losing myself in the zen of a repetitive task. For me, it's like meditation. I've never appreciated having my thoughts disrupted by customers.

I promise I'll give you the run down of my new job after my first day next Monday, but in the meantime I plan to soak in all the weird my makeup counter has left to offer. Just in case I'm low on writing material one day.

Maddie the Unsung Hero

I've been trying to get around to writing this blog post all day and the problem I seem to be having is this: I've got nothing to say. Nothing interesting has happened to me over the past two days. I haven't been wrestling with any of the universe's mind bending questions, I've had no issues that needed resolving. If you want a sum up of the last two days, here it is: bad tv and ridiculous amounts of sleep. That doesn't add up to much of a blog post.
I haven't done too much professionally speaking either. Yesterday was submission day, so I spent the day finishing my edits and submitting the piece I was working on earlier this week. That's two weeks in a row so far, so I will admit I'm proud of that. I even picked out an old short story I will be editing this coming week and turning in this coming Friday. And of course I've continued to work on my HerStory stuff, trying to get it all finished and turned in before I have to go back to work. Which got me to thinking about my dog, Maddie.
I know what you're thinking. How does a publication dedicated to praising the accomplishments of Canadian women remind me of my dog? Well, the other day I was working on a profile of a woman, and I honestly wasn't that impressed. Not that she hadn't accomplished a lot, but it just wasn't as comparable to some of the previous women we've done. It didn't help that it was an especially frustrating profile to put together, and at the time I was rather annoyed. As I thought about her accomplishments, I began to compare them to one of my sisters. My sister is an accomplished athlete that counsels young people with eating disorders. I couldn't see what made my subject any more worthwhile. The more annoyed I got, the more I started to compare her to others. Until I even compared her to Maddie. And I decided that not only does my sister deserve a place, but Maddie does too. After all, Maddie is Canadian and female (maybe not human but let's not get too picky), and in my opinion, she's accomplished a lot in her short three years of life.
First of all, Maddie is very active in making her community safer. She participates in the neighbourhood watch, always looking out the window and loudly pointing out suspicious looking strangers. Sure, some of them are children and women with strollers, but really what's more suspicious than unaccompanied children or a women and a mysterious stroller? Her dedication to safety doesn't end there. When we're on walks in the winter, Maddie insists on scratching icy surfaces with her claws, trying to create traction for other pedestrians and cars. My girl always has safety on the brain! But that's not all. Maddie is especially dedicated to the protection of women. Whenever a woman is getting attacked on the tv, Maddie becomes outraged and starts snarling at the screen. So, let's sum up. Community watch, pedestrian safety, protector of women. I think my Maddie has a shot at the history books, don't you?
Okay, I know. I need to get out more. I promise to lead a more interesting life so you won't have to read any more blasphemous comparisons of my dog to heroic Canadian women. But in the meantime, you have to admit, she's pretty accomplished for three. What were you doing at her age? That's right, nothing.

A New Chapter

Today is a momentous day. Today I started writing a new novel. I'm proud of that. I've been dancing around it for a couple of months, unwilling to take the plunge. I'm not sure why, maybe I'm a little gun shy after the plot problems with my last one. I haven't been keen on the idea of all the editing that will await me when I finish either, but that's counting my chickens before they're hatched. I've been avoiding starting, trying to fool myself that I'm just busy working on other projects but you can't lie to yourself. There's always time, no matter how small.
I told myself that I'd start in the new year, and I finally sat down and did. Granted, I've only written twenty five words, but for me the hardest part is just getting started. Getting those words down was like turning on the faucet. Now that I've started, the rest becomes a lot easier. Of course I'll still have my hiccups and snags, but today I'm celebrating my victory. I've started a new book.

The Search for Passion

I wouldn't say I always have the best of luck, but in a lot of ways I do. I'm particularly lucky to have a loving husband, an adorable dog and a house I will one day own. I'm also lucky enough to know what I want to do with my life. Writing is not yet my day job, it's something I do on the side, and it's not always easy or entirely pleasant, but I know that it's my passion; not everyone knows what their dream job is. Writing is mine.
That said, I'm still refining my idea of writing as my ideal job. I've learned that I'm not a journalist, nor do I enjoy phone interviews or really any interviews for that matter. I'm just not as fascinated by articles as I am by fiction. Novels will always thrill and delight me in ways nothing else can. I've also learned about new areas in writing that I didn't realize I'd enjoy. I love blogging and personal essays, opinion pieces and columns. (Not that this should come as a shock, I am, after all, pretty self centered). My ideas about writing and how it will function as my future day job are always evolving, but my passion remains the same.
Others are not so fortunate. The road to one's dream job is rarely an easy one, but I think it's harder when you don't know what your passion is, when you're still trying to figure out what you're good at (or could be good at). It doesn't always hit you over the head like a bag full of bricks. It's not always obvious. It can take a lot of inward reflection, or happen completely by accident. However we find it, I think it's important that we do. No job will be perfect, there will always be aspects of it that we hate, but it needs to be worth it. I'm not a big fan of editing or the overwhelming sea of rejection that comes with putting your work out there, but it would never stop me from continuing. I love it too much. I'm a writer. Although I know I'll probably never be a journalist.

The Death of the New Year's Resolution

I read in a newspaper once that as few as two percent of those making new year's resolutions are able to meet their goals by the end of the year. In fact, I'd say the same figure probably matches those that make it past the first two weeks. What is it about new year's resolutions that make them so hard to keep?
Just two days ago I almost broke my new year's resolution to write at least 1500 words every day. I hadn't written a thing all day and it was late in the evening. I was exhausted. I got ready for bed, fully resigned to the idea that I would fail to write. I climbed into my big, soft bed, so warm and inviting. It called to me, offered me the utter bliss of sleep and I came to close to turning the light off and accepting. But I didn't. At the last moment, as I was reaching for the light switch, I realized what I was doing. I was failing. Already. Only six days into the new year and I was already giving up. I couldn't allow it. The light stayed on (much to my husband's dismay) and I wrote for the next hour or so, until I'd done my allotted words.
It could have been so easy - it is so easy - to just quit. All I had to do was just cut myself a break. After all, a girl needs sleep right? I did have to work the next day, so having a decent amount of shut eye was important. But as I went to switch off the light, to break my resolution, I felt ashamed. I was only six days in! How could I possibly give myself a break after just six days?! And so, I couldn't give in. But had it not been for that flicker of shame, I would be mumbling my excuses to you now. Which got me to thinking, why is it so hard to actually follow through on our resolutions?
Let's look at the setting. It's so grandiose isn't it? Only hours (or minutes) before midnight, we write down our list. The list of everything that will be different this year, everything we're going to do better. As the seconds tick down, we wait for that transforming moment, when we shed our old, ragged year for a brilliant new one. When we become new. I always believe that somehow I'll feel different. That I'll feel stronger, more powerful, that suddenly I'll be wiser and I'll see clearly what I need to do. But that's not how it works. I won't be any different in the new year. How will I have become a completely new person in just a few hours? How does switching out the old calendar for a new one make me any different? It doesn't.
I think the whole point of the resolution is not for a dramatic change in a single moment. The stroke of midnight won't turn me into a brilliant writer, capable of producing fantastic tales with the flick of a wrist. But working to keep my resolutions might. Keeping our resolutions is what creates the change. Slowly, day by day we evolve, our resolutions become habits. We don't even realize it's happening until we've looked back months from now and realize how far we've come.
But how do we get there? My experience on Friday was very enlightening as to how easy it is to quit. All it takes is one day when you're tired, when you're stressed, when you just feel like taking a break. Just for one day. And BAM, it's next new year's eve and you're writing the same resolutions down all over again. I think the most important thing is to make it through the first two months. It's easiest to quit in the beginning, but once things become habit it takes a lot more conscious thought to quit. If we can make it through that first bit, the trial period, then I think it's safe to say our chances of success are far better. So what do you say? Shall we hold each other to it? This blog functions as a great way for me to stay true. Just the thought of having to admit failure was enough to keep me on the straight and narrow for now so benefit from my own bout of near quitting and hold yourself accountable. And if you've already quit, try again! You don't have to wait for next year to get back on the horse. There's no law against making goals the rest of the year.
New year's resolutions may (more often than not) be doomed to fail, but if I must go down, I'm going down swinging. Are you?

Writing Advice

There's a lot of writing advice out there, and I do mean a lot. From books to blogs to conventions to websites, if you're looking for advice, you'll find it. Some of it is good, some of it is bad. Hell, some of it is bat shit crazy, but I guess that depends on the person. We all need to figure out what works for us, and I do mean what works for us, not what we like.
Personally, I like numbing my brain with hour upon hour of television, but that isn't going to get a successful writing career off the ground. I like giving myself excuses for not get anything done, to let myself off the hook constantly and to plain out go into denial mode when there's something I don't want to do. But again, that's not going to get me very far.
The point of this seeming abundance of writing advice is to try it out. Picture yourself in a clothing store trying on different kinds of pants. There are some you assume will fit, and instead they make your butt look big or show a truly indecent amount of crack every time you bend over to tie your shoe or pick up your purse (if you aren't checking for this before you buy a pair of pants, you really should. You'd be doing the rest of the world a big favour. I don't care how cute your butt is, I don't want to see it hanging out of your pants. It's not sexy, it's disturbing). And then of course, there are those God-awful, make you laugh out loud parachute pants that you would never in a million years try on, but you should. You never know how something's going to work until you give it a try. (Although please stay away from parachute pants... and spandex... and ankle biters). I for one, am not a big fan of the more hippie-esque techniques sometimes boasted about in books and magazines. But every once in a while, those techniques are just what I need to loosen me up and get me writing again.
Now, conversely, you also have to realize when some techniques aren't working for you. Maybe you thought that mapping out your entire novel before you began was a good idea, but six months later your "map" looks more like a disfigured Jackson Pollock and you have no idea how to actually write the thing and therefore never get around to it. Or perhaps you thought the fly by the seat of your pants style, where you allow the novel to evolve as you write sounded ideal, but you're so busy letting it evolve that it goes nowhere, because you have no idea what your story is actually about.
So, here's my advice. (Oh come on, you knew I'd get around to it eventually). You can take it or leave it, I'm not a guru and I don't claim to be an expert on anything except maybe on being judgmental, but here it is. Be open minded, try anything and everything that sounds interesting at least once, and be willing to recognize when something isn't working. No one's going to find their perfect method on the first try, there will be many hiccups and adventures along the way. Write first and worry about getting the rest right later.

Back to Work

These past three days have been absolutely wonderful. I've had the time and the energy to get a lot done and its given me a glimpse into the kind of life I want. A life in which I write full time, when my time is my own to use as I see fit. I used to wonder if I'd be up to the challenge of writing full time, if I'd be able to get anything done at all. Sometimes it's a lot easier to write in small constraints of time, in stolen hours between work and sleep then it is when you have the full day stretching ahead of you, seemingly endless, as though you have all the time in the world.
But these past three days I've surprised myself. Instead of pushing my work away and numbing my brain with hour after hour of television, I've jumped into my work each day. Sure, I've also spent a few hours watching tv, reading my book, walking the dog and etc, but I've accomplished a fair bit.
I have to go back to work tomorrow, and I'm not looking forward to it. When I think of all the wasted hours spent looking busy when I could have been at home being busy, it makes me frustrated. True, I've found a lot of inspiration in working at a makeup counter, seen more than a few interesting and flat out weird characters, but I'm ready for my hours to be filled with writing, not watching. Unfortunately, I still need to eat, so that won't be happening for sometime. Not until I either establish myself enough to live solely off my writing, or find a way to transform pure sunshine into energy within my body like a plant. (I'm working on both).
In the meantime, I'll have to get used to writing within stolen hours again, instead of waiting for inspiration to strike and taking breaks when necessary. I'll have to fit it in when I can. There's no option of waiting for inspiration. The choice is only to find it and use it, or just begin writing and keep going till it finds you. Not a bad habit to get into, I'll admit. But I will miss waking up on my terms, instead of an alarm's.

It's Not a Sprint, It's a Marathon

I know you're all hanging on the edge of your seats, dying to know if I've been able to keep up my New Year's Resolutions so far, so I won't keep you in the dark any longer. Yes. It's been three days and so far I've written every day, at least 1500 words, and I'm grooming a piece to submit by the end of the week.
Which reminds me, how long does it take to make something a habit? Is it two straight weeks without fail? Or is it two months? Either way I have a long way to go before I can hold my head high and proclaim my resolutions habits. I have faith though. After all, I have managed to turn my skin care routine into a habit. I literally can't go to bed without washing my face and applying the various concoctions and creams that will hopefully keep me young forever. Can't do it. Can't even put my head down on the pillow. Same thing happens in the morning. I step out of the shower, dry my face and then absolutely must apply toner, various serums, moisturizer and eye cream. Won't leave the bathroom without it. And I have to brag, my skin is very appreciative. I get compliments all the time.
My point? It sure as hell isn't easy to take that extra time for my skin care routine when I'm exhausted and desperate to climb into bed, but I do it. I think if I can hold that same standard with my writing, I will have turned my resolutions into habits in no time. Or, more precisely, in the amount of time this sort of thing takes.
How are you all doing with your resolutions? Are you off to a smashing start or are you pressing the snooze button on getting going? Trust me, as irritating as it may be to get started, it's better than sputtering out before you've even begun. And those of you off to a roaring start? Remember, don't let yourself off the hook even once. Then the habit making begins from scratch again. We must be as vigilant as we are determined. And that's my rousing pep talk for today.

Happy New Year

It's here. A brand new year, and I'm both daunted and excited. Last year was an especially good one, although I have to admit I cheat a little when I say that. You see, I count December 2010 as part of last year. I guess because I didn't seriously start thinking about a career as a writer until the beginning of that December, when I met Alice (my Wizard of Oz) for the first time. I'm proud to say that the twelve months that followed were incredibly productive. I wrote two novels (mere manuscripts, but still), got employment as a local food writer, graduated up to writing for HerStory Calendar - for which I contribute only a small part but it's published nationally, as well as taking four writing classes to help improve my technique. That's a pretty good year, and that's also why I include the previous December. So I've decided to call 2011 my thirteen month year.
Anyway, with such a good year under my belt I'm a little daunted about starting a new one. Mostly, because I'd like to do even better in 2012 than I did last year. And that means setting some pretty ambitious writing goals, which I will now share both for your amusement and because I'm hoping that announcing them publicly will shame me into keeping them longer than two weeks. Here goes.
1. Write a personal essay once a week
2. Pitch/Submit something once a week
3. Write every day, at least 1500 words
4. Write a new novel
5. Take more writing classes, if possible attend a conference or workshop
6. Edit old works aggressively for re-submission
8. Enjoy every minute of it.
What do you think friends? Can I do it? Only time will tell... (by the way, was that 1500 words? Doubtful. Very doubtful...)

George

Well, it was a weird Christmas this year. Christmas itself was good, but unfortunately my rabbit, George passed away on Christmas Day. I won't bore you with the details of my consequent complete falling apart, or expect you to understand why a rabbit would mean so much to me, but she did. And yes, George was a girl. (Who says a female rabbit can't be named George?)
The reason I'm telling you any of this is so you'll understand why I haven't posted in a while. The truth is, I'm depressed. I miss my faithful rabbit companion. I realize I didn't talk about her as much as I talk about Maddie, but they were equal in my affection, and now she's gone. So, if you're wondering if I've forgotten about all of you, I haven't. I just haven't felt up to posting. But I will again soon, so don't worry.

Twins Continued

Well, I couldn't put Her Fearful Symmetry down last night, so I finished it.
It was ... interesting, Honestly? I found the ending rather disturbing. Which, isn't necessarily a bad thing, sometimes that's what makes a book great - its ability to completely shock you with its ending. In this case however, I felt kind of robbed. I'll try to explain why without giving anything away.
About a week ago I was reading an article in Writer's Digest about creating suspense in your novel (a very good article by the way). One of their suggestions was to make promises to your readers. Not literal promises such as, 'I promise this book is going to knock your socks off', but in your story. You need to hint at things, perhaps at dark secrets, or quietly foreshadow big events to come. You need to lock your reader in with the promise of intrigue and possible catastrophe so that they can't put the book down. Now, in Her Fearful Symmetry Audrey Niffenegger did this very well, I obviously couldn't put the book down. Where I was disappointed was in the fulfillment of those promises. According to the article, it's important to make big promises, but it's equally important to keep those promises. I didn't feel that she did. The secrets she'd hinted at from the very beginning of the novel were indeed brought to light, but they had absolutely no effect on the outcome of the novel. Which made me wonder why they were there, and why the twins worked so hard to discover them if they had nothing to do with the outcome. I felt that way about pretty much everything. It was as though the beginning had nothing in common with the ending, and as I lay in bed trying to sleep after I finished, I found I couldn't. I just kept tossing and turning, questioning everything I'd just read and found I couldn't come to any kind of happy conclusion. She'd started the book off with all these different threads, and by the end they should have tied together so that each minute detail you'd forgotten to pay attention to had in fact been important to the story and led toward its end. I should have been slapping myself in the forehead moaning 'of course!', not scratching my head wondering 'what? How did that happen?'
And so, my verdict is this. It was, in fact, a very good read. It had me turning the pages from start to finish, unable to put it down. Unfortunately, the ending did not live up to the promises that I felt she'd made and I was therefore disappointed (and actually a little upset) by the ending. I encourage you all to give it a read and let me know your thoughts. I'm anxious to debate over its merits and shortcomings!

Twins

I think I've said enough about Christmas now to last until next year, so today I've decided to delight you with an entirely new topic. And no, I won't just be complaining, despite that being one of my favourite activities.
Today, I want to talk about twins. For those of you who don't know, I am one. I'm an identical twin, meaning my sister and I were once a single egg that split. It also means we look a lot alike, which can be both hilarious and frustrating; but that's another topic.
I don't often have much to say on the subject, most of my time spent talking about being a twin is in refuting old wives tales. No, we can't read each other's minds. No, when one of us eats the other doesn't get full. But the reason I've been thinking a lot about my 'twin-ness', is because I'm reading Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger. The novel centers around a pair of mirror twins named Valentina and Julia, who inherit their aunt's flat in London. Mirror twins are identical twins who are an exact mirror image of the other. So, for example, a mole that would be on the right cheek of one, will be on the left of the other.
Anyway, the book is great. I'm just over half way through and I can barely stand to put it down. Even now, I can't help but look down at it hungrily, anxious to devour the rest of it. One of the reasons it's so interesting is due to the relationship between the twins. One wants to have her independence from the other, and the other wants them to remain together and exactly the same forever. She insists that they dress in matching outfits and believes that they must have the same job, something they can do together.
Honestly, as a twin myself, it's positively terrifying. I can't imagine what life would have been like if either of us had been that way. I'm lucky my sister and I managed to remain so close without trying to re-envelope each other and become one person again. I can't wait to find out if the twins are able to find their individuality, not to mention uncover the various mysterious secrets hinted at in the book.
It's always interesting to read about characters that are twins, especially by authors who aren't twins themselves. I think there's a bit of mysteriousness to it, a longing to understand what that kind of closeness is like. Sarah Pekkanen also wrote about twins in her first novel, The Opposite of Me, another fabulous book. However, in Her Fearful Symmetry, although it's a great book and I'm loving every minute of it, I do find her depiction of these particular twins slightly inaccurate. My experience of being a twin, and knowing several others, has been of a mutual longing for identity. Yes, we all love being twins and appreciate the close relationship that develops, but oftentimes we still struggle to be different, to set ourselves apart from the other and be known, not as half of a whole, but as our own person. It will be interesting to see what develops between the two sisters as the book progresses, and how their relationship changes as they find their individuality. If you're looking for a good read, by all means pick it up!
That's my twin perspective on a book on twins.

The Christmas Spirit Lives at my Mother's House

"Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright." (The Christmas Song)

That maybe true, but Christmas ceased being one of my favourite holidays when I got married. Not by any fault of my husband, who goes to great lengths to spoil me every year, or his family, who are always kind and welcoming. But from the moment I got married, Christmas began to dwindle from a pleasure to a chore, more and more so each year.

These days, the thought of decorating – which once filled me with glee- now leaves me exhausted. I no longer picture a twinkling tree adorned with glittering ornaments, I picture the struggle of finagling it into its stand and the tedium of rewrapping all the decorations and putting them away for another year. Why bother?

Christmas itself has become a tedium of errands, with my husband and I spending both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day running from house to house to celebrate with both sides of our respective families. I used to look forward to the time off to celebrate and then spend the next few days sleeping and binge eating leftover turkey and cookies. Christmas is no longer a time of rest and binge eating, with all the running around we have to do, most of the food is picked over by the time we get to each place and by the end of the day I'm exhausted and starving.

So this year my husband really shouldn't have been shocked when I broached the topic of not decorating or getting a tree.

“I just want to pretend that Christmas isn't happening this year. We could just pretend it's an unusually full weekend of family obligations with presents and then move on.”

My husband of course, thought I needed an infusion of Christmas spirit, and fought for a tree. Not wanting to be Captain Scrooge McKillJoy, I relented and my husband brought home a lovely little tree. It looks beautiful, and I appreciate his attempt to keep my Christmas spirit alive, but every time I look at it, all I can think about is what a pain in the ass it's going to be to take it down.

There is only one place on this Earth, where the Christmas spirit can still be summoned up from the depths of my holiday blackened soul, and that's at my mother's house.

Now, the Christmas spirit at my mother's house has itself taken a beating over the years, one of my sisters is now Jewish and understandably, various changes have been made to accommodate the difference in spiritual beliefs. Personally, I'm all for it. I'm not a church goer or bible pusher, I don't care if it's called Christmas or The Holiday Festival of Trees and Lights. (I actually prefer the second one, despite its making shouting holiday greetings a little more complex). Christmas was never about the birth of Christ for me, so getting rid of the title is something I can get behind. (Of course, this isn't for everyone and you won't see me trying to push this through Congress. But in our house, it makes perfect sense). Never the less, Christmas at my mother's house has stayed unrelentingly joyful.

There's something about being in that house, specifically about being around my mother that stokes the fires in my heart. The other night I went over to help her wrap presents (that's one of the few good things about working in retail – I've perfected the art of present wrapping), and within twenty minutes of being there, I was mindlessly humming Christmas tunes as I wrapped and curled ribbons. I was like an elf in Santa's workshop.

My mother is a powerful being. Within her lies the true spirit of Christmas, whatever that is. But I like to think of it as family, and pure, unbridled joy. God bless my mother in law and all her family, but they just can't embody it the way she does. My mother in law tries too hard, insisting that we must be joyful every minute, pushing games and chatter at us as though we'll never have another happy moment again. There's nothing pushy about my mom, and her house at Christmas. It's warm and tender, at moments punctuated with squeals of delight and peels of laughter, at others calm and peaceful. There is no frenzied push for perfect holiday memories, filling every moment with games and activity. Instead, there's an enjoyment of each moment as it happens, whether its the calm and quiet of a stolen nap, curled up on the couch with my husband beneath a blanket, or the excitement of watching someone open the perfect gift.

Maybe as time goes on, my Christmas spirit will decay to the extent that I can no longer appreciate it, but I hope for the opposite. I hope I can learn the secret of my mother's spirit, and the joy that resides at her house on Christmas. I hope I can learn to stand above the tedium of far too much family in far too small of a time frame and find a space for peace and joy for my husband and I, a special place within the chaos that can make it all bearable. Either that, or we'll have to start a new tradition – Hawaii!

A Necessary Increase In Politeness

As the holiday season grows ever closer, and we find ourselves continuously caught in overcrowded malls and grocery stores, I feel it is important to remind ourselves of the unquestionable need for politeness. Yes, it's undeniable that this time of year can work itself on your very last nerve. I myself have often fantasized about the gruesome murder of the person ahead of me in line that A) refuses to wear deodorant and B) still thinks he should be able to pay with a cheque, but it's important to remember that we can positively change our surroundings.
Despite my passionate desire to bowl over everyone in my way and get the hell out of there, I realize that I must not only restrain myself, but do a complete 180 and go out of my to be nice. Think about it. If everyone gives in to their desire to be rude, pushy and completely self involved (and they often do), what does that lead to? The current climate of every mall, store and drugstore available.
BUT, picture this. You're in an overcrowded mall, and yet no one is trying to zigzag through the crowd to get around the older, slower patrons. Everyone is perfectly aware that at this time of year long lines and waits are unavoidable, and instead of getting pissed off, they accept it, take a deep breath and just relax. No one budges, and if an unavoidable bump occurs, the offending party apologizes. Customers greet cashiers and sales associates with a smile and a greeting, instead of immediately demanding their merchandise. The cashiers and sales associates can relax and focus on doing an efficient and friendly job, instead of worrying about fending off verbal attacks and abuse. People smile and greet each other, make way for each other and are generally conscious of each other. Sounds nice, yes?
Of course, not everyone can be counted on to be polite. But every time we smile instead of scowl, show patience instead of losing our temper and are just generally thoughtful, we improve the climate of those stifling malls and maybe even make someone feel a little better. Which brings me to my point. I'm calling on all of us, myself included, to make an effort this holiday season. Go out of your way to be polite. You'll be surprised by how much better you feel when you finally make it home.

I Hate Christmas

All I want to do is get through this month. December has turned out to be way more expensive than I initially estimated. Our home insurance is due at the end of the month, my husband just had to take his car in and I need two fillings at the dentist. Tie that in with regular Christmas shopping and expenses and I'm Broke with a capital B.
Not to mention, my HerStory Calendar deadline came and went at the end of November and I'm still not done. Now, I'm the type of person that very strictly observes deadlines. I'm all about punctuality. Being late in any form stresses me out. The other day I was five minutes late to work and my hands shook for half an hour. So, to be nearly half way into December and still not done is not okay with me. Honestly, the main problem has been my sources. Getting responses to emails and phone calls has been horrible. It's put me completely behind.
I just need to make it until the new year. Maybe the freshness of a clean calendar year will revive me. But honestly, I just hate Christmas. I never used to, but being married changes things. Christmas is now a harried rush from family to family; not to mention it seems to be the time of year for shit to hit the fan financially. Every year it's the same story, we spend the entire year trying to pay down debt and bulk up savings (making good headway too) and after Christmas we're not just back where we started, we're further behind. Sometimes I wish we could just skip Christmas.
There. I've had my tirade. Now I can get back to work.

The Creative Juices are Flowing

It's so strange. I thought for sure that once I was done NaNoWriMo I'd be burnt out and need to take some time off, and yet I'm feeling pretty good. Not just pretty good, I'm feeling creative and inspired. After all, I wrote an entire book in 30 days. Granted, it was not a very good book. BUT, if I had a good, well thought out idea, there's no reason why I couldn't draft another novel in a similar time frame. Which is pretty exciting.
So, of course I've been pondering new story lines. It's fun. This stage, where creative thoughts are spinning but you haven't yet committed to anything, is rather intoxicating. Anything is possible. The hard part is settling in and starting. At the same time, I don't want to push it. I have a few meager creative thoughts bouncing around in my head. I want to let them alone for a bit, let them germinate and see if something really intriguing comes up. And if not, I've always found my own life to be a major source of inspiration. Working in retail is a strange animal all on its own.
I'm also trying to be careful not to take on too much with Christmas on the horizon. Sigh. I hate Christmas. I hate December. If I could just go to sleep and wake up in January I'd be so relieved. I find this time of year so stressful and depressing. So, maybe I need this. Maybe a new story could give me what I need to get through this time of year. I'll have to wait and see what happens. Maybe the magic of Christmas is just what I need to get started again, or send me into a spiral of despair. You know, either way.

And the Winner is....

Not me. Yes, if you've been sitting on the edge of your seat, chewing your nails in frustration as you waited to hear the results of my epic NaNoWriMo challenge, I'm afraid my news is slightly sour.
Did I make it? Not officially. Last night when I got home from work I had 6500 words to go. Stationing myself at my computer I wrote like a demon, not stopping for a moment until I reached the end of my novel. That's right. I finished it. Unfortunately, my novel was incontrovertibly finished with 1400 words to go. Refusing to give up, I bull-shitted my way to 50,004, although I'll admit that those 1400 words had absolutely nothing to do with the story. There was just nothing more to add. There were two minutes left until midnight when I uploaded my novel onto the website and submitted it to their word counter, which came back saying I'd written only 49,373 words. What? There wasn't time to do anything more about it, and I definitely couldn't have come up with another 700 words of bull shit, so I gave up and went to bed, pretty disappointed.
Today, however, I feel pretty good. I may not have earned an official badge from the website (although I will admit I feel a little ripped off there, I did after all write over 50,000 words), but I did finish writing an entire novel, start to finish in just thirty days. That's pretty cool. So, although I have no official badge, I've decided to declare myself a winner. I wrote an entire novel in a month, while working a full time job and attempting to carry on a normal life. I'm positively exhausted, but I'm proud of myself. I declare my first attempt at NaNoWriMo a nearly complete success!