Monthly Archives: February 2004

Concert Tomorrow!

Just got back from our chamber orchestra dress rehearsal, and damn, we’re good!

The music we’re playing this time around is so pretty and bright (except for the Adagio by Albinoni, but it’s dramatic, so it provides a good contrast to the rest!), and it’s just what people need in February, after yet another dump of snow. The church we’re playing in — St Paul’s Anglican on 44th Ave in Lachine — is an arched church done in warm panelled wood, and stone, with beautiful windows and lighting. And — get this — it has a carpet. It’s a good thing I wore a t-shirt and a cardigan today, because when I arrived I realised it was too warm for a sweater. Such a nice change from the cold, echoey church we usually play in during the winter! The sound is phenomenal, too — nice and rich. All in all, it’s the ideal setting for a winter night of chamber music.

I brought tea along with me this morning in my shiny thermal mug, and I picked up a granola bar on the way. “Can you eat and play cello at the same time?” my stand partner asked. “Sure,” I said perkily. “I can multi-task. Got my tea, got my breakfast, got my Haydn. What more could I want?” I adore Haydn, and today’s rendition of the London Symphony no. 104 made me smile the whole way through. In fact, most of the pieces we’re playing make me smile. I have to curtail my foot-tapping and bouncing to the music, I think; it’s just that I’m enjoying myself so much that I can’t help it. It’s nice to see other musicians reacting the same way as well. A performance is always enhanced indescribably when the performers have a good time. I’d love to play regularly on a Saturday morning. The people are so much more relaxed. Mind you, I think the wonderful place we played in had something to do with that as well. The school auditorium we rehearse in is grey and cold, and we’re all tired after a day of work. Today had a very different vibe. I really think the environment has a lot to do with it. Warm colors, warm air, cheerful decor; such a nice change from the auditorium, and the concrete of the Valois church.

I love chamber orchestra because we actually play Baroque and early classical music, two of my favourite periods. This time, we have two stellar oboeists (not one, but two!) who are playing the Albinoni Double Oboe Concerto. I adore this concerto — mind you, I love most Baroque concetos, but you so rarely hear oboes! However, to my disappointment, our conductor regretfully cut three-quarters of the orchestra out of it this morning. The church is so wonderful acoustically that the enriches sound, and as a result the orchestra — even when playing pianissimo — was drowing out the oboes. So we reluctantly turned to concertino style, and only the first two musicians of each section are playing accompaniment. As disappointed as I am, I have to admit it sounds phenomenal.

It’s going to be a fantastic evening! And it’s closer and much easier to get to than the other church in Valois. The 191 bus from Lionel-Groulx stops right on the corner of Broadway and 44th, and the church is a block and a half up on the west side. I used to take the 191 all the time, and the bus ride to this venue is less than half an hour. (Yes, that link takes you to the schedules. On Sunday night, the 191 leaves Lionel-Groulx at 7 pm exactly, and you’ll get to the church for about 7:20.) Or, you could always wheedle a lift out of someone with a vehicle. The more people you fit in a car, the more people could split the cost of a ticket for the driver as a thank-you.

For an evening of excellent music in a beautiful setting, the travel time and only ten dollars are a small price to pay. If you missed the last one, don’t miss this one! If you’ve never experienced the Lakeshore Chamber Orchestra in performance, this is the concert to catch as a brilliant introduction. Check the Performing section of the righthand sidebar for address and programme details.

Still Fragile, Less Functional

The migraine is back. It was lurking.

Just sent off those chapters, and I’m taking a good long break before looking at the next ones. I currently have an aromatherapy jar with lavender oil going right in front of my keyboard, both for the headache and to counteract the smell of burnt eggs that’s been hanging around since a neighbour got off to a bad start this morning.

My cello strings still haven’t arrived, so I’ll have to play this weekend’s concert with my old ones. Not great, but not the end of the world; it’s the Beethoven next weekend I’m more worried about.

Fragile But Functional

After a migraine which removed me from the end of our weekly afternoon writing jam, and prevented me from the much-anticipated Changeling game last evening, I feel bruised all over this morning. Migraines creep up on me; they masquerade as regular headaches until about four hours later I realise that the multiples of Advil I’ve taken have done absolutely no good, sound is bothering me, and light is hurting my eyes. At that point there’s nothing to do but curl up in a dark, dark, quiet room and sleep it off.

Ceri, your pizza was fabulous, and just what I needed when I woke up from a nightmare of being attacked and unable to breathe or swallow. It seems that I fell asleep on my stomach and turned my face into the pillow at some point.

I had a warm bath with lavendar oil after I ate, and that helped a bit too. (That and drinking over a liter of water; but I digress.) Cricket ended up walking around the edge of the tub when I got out. She made one careful tour, and I complimented her on her elegance and dexterity and told her to get down. Naturally, being a cat, she ignored me, and started round again. Three-quarters of the way through, she slipped and fell into the four inches of water left in the draining tub. Being quick of mind, I slammed the bathroom door shut and grabbed her with a towel. I started to dry her, but she was a squirmit and insisted on being let down. I set her on the bathmat where she calmly licked all the wet parts I hadn’t dried off. She wasn’t freaked out, which makes sense; Cricket’s the one who flips the drinking dish to play in the water on the kitchen floor. She was probably more annoyed at breaking her tub-walking record than anything else.

So I’m fragile but functional this morning, which is a good thing because I only got thirty pages into the set of chapters I have to have edited by this afternoon, and there’s still ninety-six pages to go. I don’t know what it is with this author — it almost seems as if this is an old draft, because I know we’ve fixed some of this stuff before…

*Snap*

I truly dislike photo shoots. The one that I have just suffered through was, in fact, relatively painless. Probably because my husband was the photographer.

Why did I force myself through this dreadful process? Because, dear readers, it’s in my contract that the Publisher has the right to use my name and likeness to promote the new series. Hence the need for a likeness to send down.

We used two alternating cameras, just as extra insurance. Different hairstyles, different clothes, different poses. Glasses off, glasses on.

Now we have three rolls of film to develop (yes, there was one in our camera already, and no, I have no earthly idea what’s on it — oh, wait, Elim (muah-hah-hah), and various Yule celebrations, including the now-traditional shot of myself and Roo. Right.)

I’ll get them same-day processed, then HRH and I will pore over the various shots to choose the three best, and I’ll have them enlarged to 8 x 10 formats. Then I’ll Purolate them down to Boston, accompanied by the signed contracts that arrived in today’s mail.

If nothing else, I’ll have piles of photos to send to my grandmother and my parents and such.

Time Flies

As of today, my imprint specialist contract should be in the mail. I’ll get it next week, sign it, and then somewhere along the next four weeks get a tidy US check to sink into my bank account to help chase away the winter blues. Half will go onto my Visa; the rest will sit and gather interest. And then, then I will go out and look at sewing machines. And a filing cabinet.

I took a look at the first date I scribbled down in my notebook that’s reserved for work with this publisher. On August 6 I had the first phone conversation with my contact, where we began to throw ideas back and forth and the position of series editor was brought up.

On Friday, it will have been six months since that day. I didn’t sign an official contract until October, but I started working with them before that.

Six months. Half a year.

Wow.

Editors and Writers

Ceri has been talking about submitting short fiction to magazines, and I’ve been talking about pitching this non-fic anthology series to my publisher, and I’ve only just had the realisation dawn upon me.

If this goes through, I’ll be the one sending rejection letters.

Ouch.

Also on the subject of selecting stories: I’ve been having trouble nailing down the specific selection criteria in this proposal. Stories must feel sincere; check. Stories must involve original, out-of-the-ordinary situations; check. Stories must have appeal; check. Stories must be in sympathy with the theme of the anthology in question; check. My publisher wants me to expand upon the criteria I already have.

Other than that, what do I say? How am I going to choose the stories? Honestly, writing down that I’m basically going to be using the Force and trusting my intuition in the process of story selection and approval is going to get me and my proposal laughed out of the office.

So help me out, dear readers. When you read an anthology, and one story or chapter sticks out (for positive or negative reasons), can you describe why? How do you put that je ne sais quoi into words? What makes a certain piece of writing special, and the others flat? Why does one succeed, and others fail?

Deja Vu

After another hour-long marathon conversation with my publisher, during which we discussed my late-February/early-March trip down to pitch this anthology series, I made a startling connection.

I’ve done this before. It was my thesis defence.

You write something, people read it, and have their own opinions. You show up in person before a scary panel of those stony-faced people, re-present your arguments with confidence and style, and then field questions in order to convince them that your conclusions are sound, and they should not only give you a degree, but hail you as a new light in the academic sky.

In this case, the only difference is that the something I’m writing is a six-page detailed proposal for an anthology series, and that they won’t give me a piece of paper to hang on my wall if I convince them; they’ll give me a contract and money instead. (You know – all those things that a degree doesn’t automatically do, but we all wish they did.)

So no, it’s not a glitch in the Matrix. It’s one of those moments where I’m relieved, because I now have an experience to which I can equate the current situation; I’m no longer working in a vacuum. It’s also a moment where I now can have genuine mini-nervous-breakdowns, because now I have a memory to build on and make even bigger and scarier when I envision delivering the pitch in a boardroom south of Boston.

Kind of good; kind of bad.

Mind you, I did kick ass during my thesis defence. I take comfort from this fact.