Category Archives: Writing

Hmm

Who has our Merlin soundtrack CD?

I ask because I’m currently listening to a King Arthur opus on Saturday Afternoon At The Opera, and I don’t want words while I write, but now I’m on an Arthurian music kick. And, stunningly enough, we don’t own any Arthurian-related music. Except – that’s right – the Merlin soundtrack.

Only it’s not here. And I vaguely remember lending it to someone over a year ago.

Was it you?

(Note to self: Update ye olde Wishe Liste…)

Last Notes

Well, that’s it; we’re off to pick up the van, then catch a quick nap, and then away we go.

Just to keep you all going while I’m away, though, you can think about the telephone call I just had with the acquisitions editor at that US publishing company, where we felt each other out, decided we were friends and were equally enthusiastic about the project. We talked about availability, what the position would entail, and so forth. Come Monday when I’m back, we’ll be speaking again to hopefully finalise things since she’ll have actual numbers and projected dates and such.

I’m pretty stunned. Mind you, so is she. Her publishing editor told her she’d never find anyone with publishing experience. Not only did I fit that prerequisite, I also have the educational background for review and analysis, and I’m knowledgeable about the field the series would cover. Both of us are rather impressed that this has fallen into place.

This truly feels slightly unreal.

Lost In Files

Digging through my files for driving directions to our campsite in Pennsylvania (give me a break, we only do this once a year, okay?), I found two things that made me smile.

The first:

Scribbled on the manila envelope where I put last year’s info (complete with all the exits leading to Friendly’s restaurants) I found my Highway Haiku:

Ontario First
New York: Three Giant Ravens
Pennsylvania Ho

Bridge May Be Icy
Buckle Up For Safety Please
Right Lane Closed Ahead

(Yeah, that last one is composed entirely of road signs. And I’d completely forgotten about the three humungous raven statues in the field just over the border, on the west side of I-81.)

The second:

A white envelope that only had my name on it. I opened it and pulled out three print-outs of submission requirements to three major publishers. On top was a sheet of paper with huge letters on it:

A,
If you
make it,
they will
come.

The sign was a colleague’s gag at work a couple of years ago, when we were joking about possessed hardware after our network was set up and from the back office he could fool around with printer that sat next to my work station. But it made me smile, because I found it in with those manuscript submission guidelines.

If I make it, they will come, indeed.

Right Idea, Wrong Time

Somewhere in the murky depths of my muzzy psyche (made thicker by adjusting to new medication) I realised that I accidentally ended the Great Canadian Novel a month or so ago, four chapters before I ought to have ended it. By having my protagonist conquer a life-long obstacle, I really can’t go any further; everything would be anti-climactic.

This explains my complete and utter disinterest in the storyline for the past while. Now that I’ve figured it out, I can move the Significant Triumph out of the narrative and into a file marked “Grand Finale”, and get on with creating four new chapters exploring other things leading up to it. I had the right idea, just at the wrong time.

Speaking of timing… maybe I ought not to be reading biographies of crippled and/or unstable artists and writers as I come out of a stretch of working with an osteopath to make friends with my spine again and trying to pull things together after a burn-out. Dash it all, though, Frida Kahlo and Virginia Woolf are just so fascinating.

As The Dust Settles

Well… I believe that the domestic upheaval has finally come to an end: the dust has settled, and all the scratches on the floor have been touched up with orange oil.

The original plans I had for today got tossed out the back door when the plumber showed up this morning to remove the radiators from our 1940s-era building. It was a two-step process: the plumber and our concierge had to move furniture with me so that the radiators were accessible, in order to cut the old pipes and unscrew them from the floors. Then I had to wait two hours for the scrap guys to come in with their dolly to remove the cast iron behemoths from where they lay scattered over my nice clean floors, one by one.

When it was all over, I surveyed the damage. Gaping holes in the walls where heat and time have eaten away the plaster and tar paper. Huge holes in the floor. Scratches along our lovely hardwood from stones in the dolly wheels and where they dragged the radiators to the dolly. Filthy footprints everywhere, and handprints to match.

Things have finally been set back to rights. I’ve swept up the dirt of countless past tenants from where it had been wedged behind the radiators (including rocks, balls, and a dog toy), washed the floors, wiped the walls, rearranged what furniture I could on my own. I found the cats in their creative hiding spots. (Did you know that the kittens have found a way to get into our box spring?) Then I had a shower to clean the grime off my hands and bare feet. Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it: somewhere between now and October, electric baseboard heaters have to be installed.

The good news is that while I was caught at home, I wrote a short story. At least I used my time well.

Recap

Hurrah, it’s finally raining! Which means, of course, that the mild sinus headache I’ve had all day has blossomed into what threatens to become a migraine.

So, the quick entry: Had a terrific evening of cider and relaxation with girlfriends at the local pub on Friday night; I ended up going home early because of a headache brought on by who knows what. Saturday I led an experimental meditation workshop on the weekend which by all acounts was a success. So successful, in fact, that instead of lunching together afterwards we all went our separate ways, drowsy and warm fuzzy-like. Sunday was wine and cheese with friends, and the joys of using the remote for my camera for the first time in four years (I kid you not).

I have an important idea brewing in my head concerning my future. It’s not quite fully formed yet; still vague. It seems important, though. I’ll let it incubate for a while longer.