Author Archives: Autumn

Foiled!

We dropped the boy off at his grandma’s, picked up coffee, fueled up the car, and we were off.

Bank, to deposit cheques and other wondrous and unexpected amounts of money that showed up last night; post office, to mail off a parcel; a quick stop in to the pharmacy; and then we were off to the book store.

Piles of books, mostly for others, one or two tucked into the stack for ourselves. A train turntable for Liam. An unexpected and wonderful meeting with Jteethy, Pasley, and Tallis.

Home. HRH goes off to his work holiday party. I set out to wrap all the gifts.

Do we have paper? Check.

Do we have ribbon, and bows? Check.

Do we have tags?

Er, no.

We have blank white stickers, though. I could find a little stamp and stamp an image on them and write people’s names next to it. Or better still, I could find the linen paper I have somewhere and tear it artfully into rectangle-ish shapes and punch a hole in the corner and string then onto the gifts with ribbon!

I locate the little unused stamp set that’s been hiding in various stationary boxes for over ten years. I finally locate the linen paper… which has all of two sheets left. It’s enough.

No stamp pads.

That’s all right; I have a whole set of stamp ink felt pens, which are used to colour the stamps! I know exactly where they are; they are in my wooden art box!

… which is nowhere to be found.

I give up. After chasing various things around for an hour and a half, things are wrapped, and currently tagged with sticky notes. HRH is coming home around three, and we’re going back out to our second round of shopping before collecting the boy; I’ll pick tags up while we’re out.

Hope: ‘a desire with an expectation of accomplishment’

It may come as a surprise to learn that I have never submitted unsolicited writing before today. I’ve always sold partials for my non-fiction, the idea for a book based on a detailed outline, sell sheet, and writing samples.

I mailed off my first YA novel this morning. I wanted it out of my hands before Christmas, even though it will be stuck in the mail over next week and then will likely sit on an editor’s desk unopened until early January. I printed it out on Wednesday in twenty-page increments, watching it to make sure it didn’t go haywire somewhere along the way. The cover letter was finished and as good as I could get it. I checked and double-checked the submission guidelines and squared it all neatly, slipping an elastic band around the inch-high stack of paper.

This morning I bought a padded envelope, slipped it all in, addressed it, and mailed it off. Twelve dollars’ worth of postage. One customs form: just paper of no monetary value, only immense sentimental value. Also, lots of hope. It’s a good thing hope doesn’t weigh very much. Here is your tracking number, good only until the envelope itself is delivered, no further for the manuscript itself as it makes it way through various piles on various desks. The SASE must make do for the beginning of that journey, and beyond this, darkness and the unknown.

I’ve mailed proofs and manuscripts back and forth with my NF publisher before, so a lot of this was mechanical. Nonetheless, I was almost paralysed with anxiety as I wrote the sender’s and recipient’s addresses, despite knowing that the things I was worrying about — presentation, am I doing things the right way, can ‘send cover letter with plot synopsis’ be any more vague? — didn’t really matter as much as I felt they did. What matters is the writing. And still, as I was sealing the envelope I was thinking, It’s not too late to take it home and shred it because it is awkward and clumsy and dull in places and I think my message is too pedantic and did I mention clumsy?

But I didn’t. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I made a promise to myself this past January that I would get this novel out, come what may. And I did.

I like that the first day of its journey takes place on the day of the longest night. From here, it only gets brighter. A nice symbolism, I think, and completely unplanned. Consciously, at least.

And so it is gone. Have a safe journey, little YA novel. And a successful one.

Grateful

That outstanding cheque?

It arrived in this morning’s mail.

It is astonishing, and also somewhat sad, that I feel so much less stressed about life in general now. Even after making a day-by-day schedule with HRH last night that shoves everything we need to do before our Yule observation and Christmas into Friday. (Perhaps the lack of associated schedule-stress is related to the fact that Blade brought down a bottle of Talisker to share not long after we made the schedule and began watching The Nightmare Before Christmas last night. It was a good night indeed.)

Five Things

1. The scent of fresh pine in the house.

2. Making homemade bread.

3. Surprise money in the mail. (The gods provide.)

4. The MS currently printing out, in prep for submission. I love you, little YA novel. (Also: no printing foul-ups so far!)

5. Waking up at oh-gods o’clock last night to pull the notebook into bed and write the final scene of the Pandora book. (Now I just need to write the missing climax of the novel. Details, details…)

Following Up

The liquid brine was a success, but in a very different way than the dry-brining is. I’m going to adjust the recipe for less sugar and more salt.

The tree has settled into shape, and it’s lovely and full and the branches are remarkably well-angled up and away from the floor. Even the weight of our ornaments won’t pull them down, I think. It’s still undecorated; HRH and I will start it tonight, barring unforeseen circumstances. The boy keeps asking if we can bring it with us when we go out.

Christmas is next Tuesday. Ack! Even more of a surprise: Solstice is this Saturday. Ack to the power of two! Where did December go?

Revenge of the Argh: In Which She Gnashes About Traffic

Feel free to move along; I’m whinging. Most local people were probably affected by these same problems.

Liam and I spent a total of six hours in the car yesterday, most of it not going very fast at all. The only time we spent at home was the forty-five minute wind-down to a two-hour nap.

We wanted the car yesterday so that we could go visit the Preston-LeBlancs, and HRH had a reno job out in west Kirkland. So we drove him out, then drove back through traffic into the city for our (now-brief by necessity) visit, then went home for the nap (2-4 PM). Then, at 4:20, we left to go pick HRH up. What should have taken twenty minutes took an hour and fifteen minutes. And then it took three hours to get home. We pulled off and had cheeseburgers at 6:00, and it was a good plan, too, because if we’d waited till we got home at 8:20 PM Liam would have been ballistic. As it was, a half-hour off the road in Harvey’s was a huge adventure for Liam, and fun for us too as we watched him enjoy his first eat-in burger experience. And this ludicrous travel time was clocked taking the Lakeshore to avoid the horrifying traffic on the eastbound 20 that was backed up to the Dorval Circle.

We were at a loss to explain the traffic everywhere, in all directions. There was snow falling, sure, but it was nothing compared to what had fallen before. There were no obvious accidents; the roads were mostly clear-ish of snow and all lanes were open. (Although looking it up in the news, there were a couple of accidents that affected the eastern parts of the highway system, which may have affected the volume of traffic further west.) We kept as calm as possible; there was no point in blowing up. But we were tired, and achy, and bored, and irritated, and there was a two and a half year old in the back seat who couldn’t understand that we couldn’t just “ready, set, GO!” when he commanded us to, or why there was no more milk, or no more crackers, or why he couldn’t get out of the seat to curl up with someone. We pretended it was a relaxed drive to look at the Christmas lights along the river.

So, the plan for Thursday has been redacted: Liam and I are staying home instead of shopping, because otherwise we’d have to drop HRH off again and there’s no way we’re battling theoretical traffic there and back twice. This means HRH and I have to shoehorn everything in on Friday morning after dropping the boy at his grandma’s, and before HRH goes to the office holiday party. We’ve reassigned the essential gift-buying so that everything comes from two stores, which simplifies matters somewhat. I have a couple of little things for Liam tucked away in my office cupboard for rainy days, so those will be his gifts; with the things he’s getting from grandparents he’ll never know we didn’t get him something more substantial. He’s still young enough that we can get away with it.

I received an e-mail from the accounting staffperson I spoke with yesterday, confirming that my cheque had been written and sent out this morning. That was pleasant news. Depending on the volume of holiday mail I may even get it Friday, or Monday. And today’s mail yielded a surprise cheque from my dear grandmother, as well as a little parcel for Liam.

I hate being this behind on gifts and general Christmas preparation. I like to be done weeks before the insanity hits.

Possibly Less Argh

And blessings be also upon the head of Rosy, who has talked me through a business problem. It’s nice when Accounting offers to call you to confirm that your cheque has been written and mailed out. I won’t get it before Christmas — not that it matters overmuch now, as it’s too late to use it for clearing the credit card in order to do the on-line shopping that needed to be done a week ago — but if all goes well I should at least have it in time for next month’s rent.

If there’s something I hate more than worrying about money, it’s worrying about money when both HRH and I are theoretically working — money I should already have, and don’t. It throws the budget way, way out of whack.