My Meandering Muse

The muse limps back

2010-08-18T20:55:00.000-07:00

My muse has been on an extended hiatus. For awhile I tried to force it to return, to show up on the page, but just like a rebellious teenaged daughter, the harder I pushed, the more stubborn and insolent it became. Eventually I got fed up and decided to just let it go, told it to do 'whatever the heck it pleased,' and surprisingly, (just like the teenaged daughter,) when it didn't have to fight to prove its independence, it eventually began to show interest in re-establishing our relationship.

Some people would call this 'writer's block'. When on the author speaking circuit, inevitable someone will ask me how I, the author, handle writer's block. Depending on my mood I answer in one of two ways.

1. Writer's block doesn't exist. It's just a myth, an excuse writers use when the writing is hard. Who ever heard of 'teacher's block'? Or 'nurses block'? Obviously there are days when teachers and nurses and every other working person on the planet arrive at work and don't feel inspired, the work is just too hard, but they show up anyway, roll up their sleeves and dig in. Inevitably their reason for doing the work in the first place returns and they find the motivation to keep at it, even deriving great satisfaction from it. It's the same with writers. We need to just show up, force ourselves to write, write anything, and eventually the flow of words/creative ideas will return.

Or....

2. I face writer's block every single morning. No matter how well the writing was going when I quit the previous day, it takes awhile to warm up to the task again. As it is with runners who need a kilometre or two to find the 'zone' to start enjoying the run, so it is with writers. The warm-up can take a long time, it can be hard to rediscover that 'zone' again, that place where the words just flow, but it will happen if we just arrive at the page.

Either of these answers can be true, given the writer and the particular day, but my muse's hiatus has been a somewhat different experience. My muse has been, literally, numb since October 31, 2009. We all have different ways of coping with life's toughest situations. Some of us find relief by working harder, some sleep more, others turn to various mind-numbing drugs. My experience has been the involuntary shutting down of my muse.

The muse is limping back. This week I wrote the the cliff-hanger scene of a novel I've been working on for years. I've resisted writing this particular scene, even though the whole book has been leading up to it forever. I thought it was just too hard emotionally. I hold the hands of each of my characters and go through every emotion they go through, living their lives with them, so when I'm struggling in my own life, it's just too hard to add the additional whammy of dealing with the emotions of fictional characters. It's also too hard to post blog entries about things that seem trivial in the big picture given the terribly sad events that those I love are struggling with every minute of every day.

I used to enjoy blog writing, using this forum to try to articulate things I was thinking about, and needing the structure of writing to really understand what it was I was feeling. I'm hoping that the time is now right to start doing that again.

Cartoon credit: http://www.cartoonstock.com/newscartoons/cartoonists/pwe/lowres/pwen182l.jpg

A funny thing happened on a BC ferry ~

2009-10-31T20:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, maybe it wasn't so funny at the time. In fact, at first it seemed like a minor disaster, but the way things unfolded, it actually became an event that confirmed my faith in humankind.

Returning to my car after travelling to Victoria on a BC ferry, my dear friend and I noticed that one of the tires on my car had become flat during the the crossing. Feeling panicky, we asked a BC ferry employee if they had any kind of a pump on board that we could use to inflate the tire enough for us to at least drive off the ferry and find a service station. The ferry worker couldn't help us, the ferry was docking and he was in charge of that. We returned to my car to stare, forlornly, at the flat tire. Out of the blue a motorcyclist appeared at my side. In hindsight I realize he must have overheard our discussion with the ferry employee and he wanted to help. He said that if we could drive off of the ferry and pull to the side of the highway, he'd assist us in changing our tire.

For a brief moment I swear I saw a halo floating above this man's head. You see, the sad truth is, I've never had to change a tire. My dear friend felt she could muddle her way through the procedure, but it wouldn't be easy.

Sure enough, we followed the motorcyclist down the highway until he pulled over. He had my tire changed in just minutes, despite the huge semi's zooming past, practically sucking us under the wheels of their rigs. We asked this wonderful angel of a man if we could buy him lunch in Victoria, anything to repay him, but he wouldn't hear of it, just asked us to be kind to a stranger in the near future. I wanted to hug him, but, well, he was a stranger. We settled on a handshake. The poor man. His hand was covered in grease from changing my tire.

My spare tire is a pathetic thing. It looks more like a bicycle tire. The good Samaritan motorcyclist suggested we get the tire fixed much sooner than later so we stopped at the nearest garage. A wonderful mechanic agreed to fix it and put it back on the car. In the meantime, he suggested, we might want to join the crowd gathered at the corner and watch as the Olympic torch was being exchanged right there, only a short time after our arrival. We did, and it was quite the spectacle. I've never seen so many RCMP officers in one place. We decided there had to be over 100 of them.

The new torch was lit, the crowd cheered, the 100+ RCMP moved on and I collected my car from the mechanic.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked.

"It's on the house," he said.

I'm sure I did a double-take. What could have been a really difficult situation for me had turned out so beautifully. Two good Samaritans to the rescue, and stumbling across the Olympic torch relay at the same time, well, that was just a bonus.

The world is full of generous souls. I have been blessed.

Is it just me....

2009-09-29T17:06:00.001-07:00

...or has anyone else detected a shift toward greater compassion in our collective consciousness? As well, focusing on our personal and spiritual growth seems to have become much more mainstream. The Dalai Lama's visit to Vancouver has certainly brought this shift into clearer focus in our city, prompting the Vancouver Sun to run a column where readers sent in their personal stories of kindness. How refreshing to read these wonderful anecdotes! Some were very small kindnesses, some much greater, but regardless, if we could balance our hard news stories each morning with an equal number of stories of kindness, how quickly our whole collective mindset could change, and if our mindset could change, then so, too, would our behaviour change.

(In a global community sense, Paul Hawken sums up this changing collective consciousness in this powerful video.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NzMPUKAXM7U

About a year ago I was browsing in a bookstore and spotted the title, Me to We, Finding Meaning in a Material World. Liking the title, I bought the book on impulse but never got around to reading it. Then, a couple of weeks ago, my daughter came home from highschool with the news that she was attending a Me to We conference in Vancouver where speakers such as the Dalai Lama, Jane Goodall and many others were being featured. I pulled the book off the shelf and wondered at the coincidence. Coincidence? Maybe not.

The Daily Om reminds us that when we focus on our own personal and spiritual growth, we can't help but influence those around us. "Everything we do or say has the potential to affect not only the individuals we live, work, and play with but also those we’ve just met. Though we may never know the impact we have had or the scope of our influence, accepting and understanding that our attitudes and choices will affect others can help us remember to conduct ourselves with grace at all times. When we seek always to be friendly, helpful, and responsive, we effortlessly create an atmosphere around ourselves that is both uplifting and inspiring."

With this is mind, and with the Me to We conference still fresh in one daughter's experience, all three daughters and I have challenged each other to practise random acts of kindness each day. It doesn't matter how small the act of kindness is, each act will make a difference, and all these small differences... well, you know where I'm going. By sharing our stories at the end of each day, we hope to keep the compassion/kindness movement rolling forward....

Will you join us?

Ruffled feathers

2009-09-06T17:51:00.001-07:00

A wise teacher told the following story as we held a pose in a Yin yoga class. I believe she credited the story to Eckhart Tolle, but I'm not 100% sure.

Imagine, she said, a quiet duck pond. Suddenly two ducks get into a squabble. There's a lot of squawking, wing flapping and splashing. What a show they put on! Then, just as suddenly as it began, the two ducks turn and float away in opposite directions. They may ruffle up their feathers one last time, give a tail flick, but that's the end of it. The incident is over. Fini.

Now, consider two humans in a squabble, our teacher suggested. There are raised voices, fist shaking, aggressive body language. Suddenly the humans turn and stomp away from one another. But is it over? Oh no. In each of those human minds there are voices still raised in anger .... "Can you believe she said that?" "The nerve of him!" "She'll never get away with that!" "He is such an idiot!"

The human mind finds it so hard to simply 'let go'.

Oh, the things we can learn from ducks.

I found it!

2009-09-05T17:31:00.000-07:00

I think many of us feel that the 'real' New Year begins each fall when school resumes after the long summer break. Even those of us who no longer attend school find ourselves using this season as a chance for fresh starts.

This year, as the summer days began to get shorter, I found myself poring through the fall leisure guides and night school pamphlets looking for something new to to study or explore. Absolutely nothing was jumping out at me. I didn't feel like learning a new language, fly-tying or contract bridge. I veer away from anything that sounds like Boot Camp though I did tend to return to the pages that advertised various adult dance classes, but somehow Zumba Fit or Bollywood Workout didn't sound like a good fit for me. Thinking I might just be a big chicken I went to a workshop called Cultivating Your Courage, hoping to learn how to better step out of my comfort zone. I consulted a Life Coach and I even had a psychic reading, but I was still unsure of what it was I wanted to delve into. I just knew I wanted something.

Yoga has been a constant in my life for the past two years, and today my yoga studio was offering a one-day workshop called Nia. Nia is a practise that combines yoga, the martial arts and dance. I'd heard that it gives both your body and mind a workout. It's done barefoot to music and is supposed to enhance the mind-body-spirit connection. The trouble is, even though I secretly long to dance, I'm very ungraceful and excruciatingly self-conscious about it.

Well, I decided I had nothing to lose except my dignity, so I showed up at the studio this morning feeling awkward and without any real idea of what to expect. The teacher gave a brief history of the practise, then turned on the music and we were off. She led us through some high-energy dance steps which were not too difficult, even for a klutz like me. The dance steps took on some martial arts movements and eventually we moved into some yoga stretches and balances and, just as in yoga, the teacher had some powerful messages to share.

I haven't had so much fun in a long time! I also worked up a good sweat, and when the session ended I overheard another participant saying she felt calm and joyous, all at once. I knew exactly what she meant.

I have found exactly what I was looking for, and better yet, the classes that are being offered fit perfectly into my weekly schedule.

Happy New Year!

The above image is found at http://barefootstudio.info/NIA_K_1.gif

Birth, death, and everything in-between

2009-07-09T20:01:00.000-07:00

This is not my daughter, but it could be. She passed her driver's test today and she's one 'happy camper'.

Watching the joy cross her face when the examiner told her she'd passed reminded me of what a huge milestone this is in a young person's life. One step closer to true adulthood, which they think brings them so many freedoms.

Talking to her about the importance of this achievement reminded me of an assignment I did in university. We were given long scrolls of paper and asked to draw a line from one end to the other. At the far left point of the line we drew a mark and labelled it "birth". At the the other end of the line, we placed a mark and labelled it "death". The assignment was to draw peaks in the line for all the major events that had happened in our lives to date, and those we saw in the future. We were given about 45 minutes to complete this, so were expected to put in a lot of peaks!

We set to work. Some of us put in peaks for learning to crawl, learning to walk, entering kindergarten. A lot happened in the first 5 years. Then some of us skipped ahead to getting our driver's licenses, part-time jobs and highschool graduation. We all drew a peak for university entrance, but after that, our lives were up to our imaginations. Most of us put in peaks for starting our careers, getting married, having children, buying cars and homes. Some of us even thought to put in peaks for our children's achievements (crawling, walking, school) and this took us to about mid-span on our lines. A few of us noted retirement, and some might have imagined travel, but for the most part, our lines were rather 'peakless' after about the age of 40.

I did a lot of assignments in university, but this is one of the few I still remember. At the end of the allotted time, the professor asked us where most of our 'peaks' were clustered. He asked where the least were clustered. We discussed the reason for this. Of course, most of us could not even imagine reaching middle age, so we didn't concern ourselves too much with the flat lines after that point, but the image stuck with me. The professor pointed out that, typically, there are less 'peaks' after after middle age, other than giving up our driver's licences and, maybe, moving to carehomes. (And it could be argued that those are not 'peaks' but dips'.)

But now I'm there. Past the midlife point. I have reached those 'peakless' years that I once imagined. But does it have to be that way? I am healthy and fit. There are many things I can still learn and experience. I can imagine many more published books. Peak peak peak. I can imagine grandchildren. I can imagine new friends and relationships. I can imagine new activities. Adventures. Peak Peak.

We all have a choice. We can allow the second half of our life-lines to remain flat, or we can find ways to continue living, and maintain peaks. I've talked about taking up piano again, and I recently climbed back into a kayak. As I get better at the things I still do, I'll imagine them as peaks, (though they may, actually, look more like foothills.)

At our celebration lunch today, I thought of telling my daughter about this assignment, and how passing the driver's test may be one of those major peaks in her life. But I didn't. Instead, I outlined the rules about driving, about sharing my car, and the consequences for breaking the rules. In short, I lectured. Afterall, she's too young to care about life lines, and clusters of peaks. She's too busy living.

And that's what I intend to do too.

Image from: http://images46.fotki.com/v1482/photos/2/1489162/7369540/_lg_teen_with_car_keys_in_hand-vi.jpg

Cover Art

2009-07-04T21:54:00.001-07:00

Isn't this a stunning photo?

I stumbled across it among my daughter's photos when I was looking for something else. At first I thought it was a photo she'd taken, but then I realized that those are her legs. Not too likely that she posed and took the shot. She's flexible, but.... even she has limits.

The image has stayed with me, I guess because it's such an unusual subject, the ballet slippers against the backdrop of a chain-link fence in an industrial area.

Then I remembered that the novel I'm working on features a dancer. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could use this photo on the cover of the book? It would be so perfect to have my daughter as the model. And this is exactly the kind of photo that my last two books have featured, photos that show only one part of the body, the part that suggests what the theme of the book might be... Maybe if I rewrite the setting into a more industrial area....

Okay, I just gave my head a serious shake. I am getting way ahead of myself. The book is only half written. I haven't signed a contract. I may never get it finished and even if I do, chances are that it won't be publishable. And even if I do get it finished and someone agrees to publish it, the publisher always determines what the cover art will be. I've rarely heard of an author having any say on what goes on the front of their books. Their job is to write the story. It is someone else's job to design the book.

But I can dream. And it IS a stunning photo. And I AM a proud mother.

Aging Gracefully

2009-06-26T20:36:00.000-07:00

Is there such a thing for women?

Yes, I guess there is. Those women I know who truly are aging gracefully are the ones who never carry on about their fading beauty, their new-found wrinkles, the sagging eyelids, their double-chins. And I do know women like this. They are the women who simply get up in the morning and get on with living a fulfilling life. But it's not easy. Everywhere we look we're bombarded with ads for anti-aging creams, teeth whitening products, hair colouring/replacement formulas. The media tells us, insists, really, that we should fight the signs of aging ~ at all costs!

This has really hit home for me in the past few years. I keep a website, and teacher-librarians often check this site before inviting me to their schools and libraries to do presentations. I have not bothered to update my author photo in about 10 years. The old one was a good photo, taken by my local newspaper, but really, I don't look like that anymore. I guess I simply didn't want to admit that to myself.

I met a lovely author in Whitehorse this spring, Shyam Selvadurai, who I only knew through his author photo. Once we met and got acquainted, I teased him about his publicity pictures, and how I'd expected to meet someone about 12 years old. He shook his head and said it was just sheer laziness that kept him from making updates.

I guess that was part of it for me, too, (laziness) but I suspect there was more to it. I say that I never take a good photo, but to be honest, it's not the photo, it's the subject. She's growing old. (See previous post.) There have been clues, loud ones, that it was time to update my on-line presence. In recent months (and years, if I'm being honest), when I've arrived at schools and libraries to do those presentations, the teacher or librarian would often do a double-take. They'd say, "Shelley? Is that you?" I could see them scanning my face, trying to find the similarities to the book-jacket photos they'd seen.

"Yes." I'd say, and smile innocently.

They try to hide their shock, and say things like, "Oh, I was expecting someone with dark hair, or someone taller, or....."

"Or someone younger?" I'd ask.

They always look sheepish, and I can only laugh. Of course they expected someone younger. My publicity photos show someone MUCH younger.

So today was the day. Daughter #2, Cara, photographer extraordinaire, took about 1000 head shots of me. I knew I would hate most of them, and I did. But there were a couple that were okay. Better than okay. Flattering, actually. I may be older, but is that character I'm seeing in that older face? And those lines around my eyes... laugh lines?

I have a new web designer and in a week or two those old author photos will be history, replaced with the new ones, and in the future, I will will try to be like my beautiful friends, the ones who accept the aging process, who don't spend ridiculous amounts of time and money to fight the inevitable. And I will not wait 10 years to replace the publicity photos. I will hire a good photographer (hopefully, Cara) and expect a few flattering shots. I will look at the aging face, and know that if I'm living a good life, it will be well-etched into my features and I hope to feel acceptance of that

In the meantime... posted are a few of Cara's photos. Didn't she do a great job?

Diva Down

2009-06-15T20:36:00.001-07:00

I recently spent a long weekend in Vegas with 15 other women. How did this happen? There are dozens of places I'd choose to visit before Vegas.

Call it peer pressure. Call it a weak moment, but The-Book-Club-plus friends-that-likes-to-travel-together decided it was a great idea, and being a member of this group, I signed on. Maybe it was time for a little frivolous fun in my life.

Well. Day #1 was a most extraordinary day, and far from frivolous. The book-club- plus-friends is made up of remarkable women and one of these women was celebrating her 60th birthday. We knew that this occasion needed to be marked in a significant way, so we rose early, (after retiring late), climbed into two vans and drove out to the desert. I could not believe that such spectacular natural beauty could be found rubbing up so close to a city of such unlimited pretension.

We parked the cars at the epicenter of Red Rock Canyon and hiked one of the trails. Once we were immersed in the canyon, another one of our most remarkable women led us in a poignant ritual that marked the decades of the birthday gal's life. No matter how skeptical some of us had been at the start of the ritual, we were each moved to tears by the end as we reflected on our own life journeys' to date. The calling in of the directions, (North, South, East, West, above and below) and the smudging for purification all felt odd, but it set the tone for the ritual, and as a group we moved into a spiritual place that was most profound.

The ritual came to a beautiful end, the birthday girl wore her crown of dessert flowers and we piled back into the vans to return to Sin City, a jarring experience.

Our amazing organizers had thought to pre-order tickets to see Bette Midler that evening. Not being a Midler fan, I didn't have any expectations, good or bad. We'd each brought a boa to wear to the show to honour Bette's poster where she wears nothing but boas to advertize her show. Arriving as a pack of middle-aged women in gaudy boas (see above photo) someone in the theatre took notice and our seats were upgraded from the cheap seats to middle-of-the-road ones.

The moment she came on stage I became a true-blue Midler fan. Such energy! Such charisma. She confesses to doing the same show for 40 years, but you'd never know it. The way she engages with the audience is heartwarming. Part of her shtick was poking fun at how the (old) showgirl must go on. Many of her routines made light of the aging process, and at one point she fell onto her back and moaned, "Diva Down!" It became our mantra for the rest of the weekend.

It seemed uncanny that we could start the day reflecting on our life journey (and growing old) in such a beautiful and profound way, and end the day laughing so hard at the same life journey in a totally opposite kind of setting. Bette is a remarkable performer. No wonder she has such lasting power. After all these years she still appreciates her audience and shows beautiful humility at her continued popularity.

The day had come full circle, from heartfelt reflection to tears of laughter. Two different ways of looking at the aging process, and both equally as valuable.

The rest of the weekend was a more typical Vegas experience, but I will always remember the joy of that first day, for the beauty of the canyons, the rituals, and the growing old Diva who simply won't quit.

One of our lovely organizers sent the above picture to the local paper as they publish photos of locals travelling the world and holding up editions of their newspaper. Our picture was printed, but it was so small no one would have been able to recognize the faces. Kerry Henderson, writer extraordinaire, and with tongue planted firmly in cheek wrote to our Vegas group to share the following.

"I just received a visit in my classroom from both the editor of the North Shore News and Izzy Asper himself, CEO of CanWest Global and newspaper mogul.
They wished to sincerely apologize, in person, for the somewhat smallish and murky picture of the 16 of us in Las Vegas.
I believe their exact words were, "There is no size of photo that could ever be reproduced in the pages of a newspaper that would adequately capture AND reflect the colourful personalities and large hearts of such a group of beautiful ladies".
Of course, I had to agree with them, and accepted their heartfelt apologies on our collective behalf."

Thank you Kerry. You said it perfectly.

Self-Sabotage

2009-06-07T21:48:00.000-07:00

My dear friend (DF) recently asked if I'd been doing much writing.
"No," I replied.
"Practising yoga?" she asked.
"No," I replied.
"Hiking?"
"No."
She just looked at me, eyebrows raised. She knows those three things are my major passions, aside from friends and family.
I opened my mouth, about to launch into my many excuses. All legit. But then I didn't. Instead, I threw the same questions back at her.
"Have you been painting?"
"No."
"Practising yoga?"
"No."
"Meditating?"
"Yes." She grinned, knowing she was one up on me.

But the questions hung in the air between us. Why aren't we doing those other things? We know they are good for us. We know they bring us satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment. In short, they make us happy. We've been busy all our lives but in the past we still managed to carve out time for them.

With a sigh, DF and I agreed that staying on track with our passions is like staying on track with anything else. Routine is essential. As with exercise, or a diet, it just takes a few days of breaking the routine and the chances of falling off the wagon increases tenfold. We are creatures of habit, and we have to be diligent in making sure our habits are healthy ones. Ones that bring us pleasure. Ones that help us grow into our best selves. It's hard for me to get started each day on my writing projects, but once I'm warmed up, (like with exercise) it begins to feel good and I don't want to stop. It's just getting myself started, facing that blank page, or getting myself to the yoga studio or to the trailhead that is the hard part. I can't explain why, it just is.

Tomorrow is the start of a new week. There are still boxes to unpack, my mother to take care of and a to-do list a mile long but I think I'll start the day with a sun-rise yoga class. The natural high I experience from practising yoga will stay with me for at least a few hours, helping me accomplish many other tasks. I'll ask one of my daughters to walk the dog and my mother is stable enough to manage a day without a visit. So, after yoga I'll dust off the novel-in-progress. I'll face that blank page. And I'll do it again the next day, and the next. The page won't stay blank for long. I'll be a happier person for it, and the people in my life will benefit as well. Good energy begets good energy.

I know this to be so.

Feeling Blessed

2009-05-08T18:34:00.001-07:00

From the DailyOM: Part of the joy of friendship is the feeling that we are accepted just the way we are, with no need to change. It is a gift friends give us, and one we can give back every day. Ultimately, we choose friends because they make us feel good about ourselves and life. Through tears and difficulties, friends help us find the laughter. When we find those special people who offer us that perfect combination of comfort and stimulus to grow, we are very fortunate. Friends, those wonderful companions that walk with us through life, help us define and refine who we are and who we choose to be every day. http://www.dailyom.com/cgi-bin/userinfo/settings.cgi?subscribe=1

My life is rich with amazing friends. I was reminded of this once again when I was invited to Leslie's for dinner last night. There was supposed to be 4 of us, very close friends. I should have been suspicious because Leslie doesn't like to cook. She has the local Chinese Take-out phone # memorized. But she said she wanted to try something new, and I fell for it. Some would call me thick. I guess I am. I arrived to a large gathering of many of my friends, all there to celebrate my nomination for the White Pine Book Award which will be awarded next week. I think I went into a state of shock, and when Leslie toasted the nomination with the loveliest of speeches, I was too overwhelmed to say anything coherent, let alone gracious. I'm still feeling dumbstruck.

I may be the first author, ever, who was thrown a party for an award nomination, but that's the kind of friends I have. When I moved recently, the offers of help poured in. I have friends who listen endlessly to my worries about my mother's declining health. I have friends who have helped me through the huge transitions in my life. My daughters have become my friends. My sister is my 'oldest' friend of all. Some of my friends I rarely see, even though we are practically neighbours, but we keep in touch through email. Sometimes months or years go by, and I think I may have lost touch with a friend, but then we'll reconnect and I'm reminded of the special bond we once had and enjoy the rekindling of it. Some of my friends I know through common interests, like bookclub, and I enjoy getting to know them as we discuss how books move us (or not).

I have always made it clear that I never want to be the recipient of a surprise party. I'm most uncomfortable being the center of attention at any event. But seeing so many friends gathered together last night ~ well, it was truly heartwarming. Thank you, Leslie, for being you, for believing that this was an occasion that was party-worthy, and for all your kind words. (I almost felt like I was at my own funeral.) (note to self: make a request in my will to have Leslie give my eulogy.) Thank you to your co-conspirator, Jennifer, for the many ways you celebrate women and encourage us to reach our potential. You are both women that truly deserve to be celebrated.

And I'd like to thank all my other friends, near and far, the ones I know well, the ones I am just getting to know, the ones I rarely see, the ones I see daily. Each of you enriches my life in so many ways. I am truly blessed.

Image from www.whimsicalplanet.com/pages/cats.html

Letting Go

2009-03-26T12:30:00.000-07:00

I am moving. I am also moving on.

Deciding what to take with me, and what to leave behind or give away was feeling like an enormous burden until I read a column called Clearing a Space for Change in the on-line OM column I subscribe to. (Register here for free OM newsletter.)

In this particular column I was reminded that it’s easy to... "convince ourselves that unused possessions might come in handy someday or that parting with them will cause us emotional pain." So true. I have souvenirs from long-ago holidays that are simply collecting dust, and clothes that I keep 'in case' I lose 10 lbs, and the drawers in my desk and kitchen are overflowing with trinkets that I simply haven't been able to part with. Each one of these objects has a special memory attached to it, and until now, I felt unable to let them go.

But the OM goes on to say that ... "when your personal space is filled with objects, there is no room for anything new to enter and stay in your life. Your collection of belongings may “protect” you from the uncertainties of an unknown future while keeping you stuck in the past. Holding on to unnecessary possessions often goes hand in hand with holding on to pain, anger, and resentment, and letting go of your material possessions may help you release emotional baggage. When you make a conscious decision to fill your personal space with only the objects that you need or bring you joy, your energy level will soar. Clearing your personal space can lead to mental clarity and an improved memory. As you learn to have a more practical and temporary relationship to objects, positive changes will happen, and you’ll have space to create the life that you desire."

Okay, it won't be easy, but as I pack up the belonging that I truly need and are still useful to me, I will try my hardest to leave behind those possessions that no longer serve a purpose in my life. After all, who doesn't need improved mental clarity and improved memory?

Back to packing...

photo credit: www.janicemarinerward.com/

Why read?

2009-03-03T20:56:00.000-08:00

I once sat on a panel of children's literature book enthusiasts at a conference. One of the questions that came from the audience, and it was clearly facetious, was "why is it so important that kids read anyway?"

It was an interesting question, and one that forced those of us on the panel to articulate a concept that seemed so obvious to us, yet one we'd never put into words. "Why," the audience member continued, "is it not good enough that kids just watch TV or movies? They get stories in those mediums too."

My pat answer was to rattle off yet another quote. "I've never met a bigot who was, as a child, a reader." (author unknown)

The other panel members had more thorough answers. First of all we established the fact that we use and challenge a different part of our brain while reading as opposed to viewing TV or movies. Very important. Then we reiterated that it is only through reading that we learn what it feels like to live in someone else's skin, in their circumstances. Through reading we develop empathy and understanding. The more widely we read, the greater understanding we gain of the world outside of our own little lives. We learn what it feels like to be the opposite sex, to live in a different country, a different era, a different political system, with a different set of values. In short, we learn tolerance. And bigots, of course, are anything but tolerant.

In my last post Leslie named the book that turned her onto a reader as a young girl. The Girl of the Limberlost. The book I most vividly remember as a young girl was Harriet the Spy.

What was it for you?

photo credit: http://lowe.lib.wv.us/read01.jpg

Luring Children to Books

2009-02-23T12:24:00.000-08:00

I was recently asked to compose a piece of promotional work titled Meet the Author. The instructions were to keep it short and chatty. This is what I came up with.

In Shelley Hrdlitschka’s childhood home, the children had a choice ~ pitch in with the housework or read a book. Shelley, of course, chose the latter and became an avid reader early in life. (She still tends to read when she should be doing housework, it’s a learned behaviour.) She rediscovered her love for children’s literature when she began teaching school in the 80’s and went on to write books while on a parenting leave. Now that she has her own children, she encourages them to do the housework so that she can continue to read books. Needless to say, she lives in a rather untidy house.

That may be rather tongue-in-cheek, but there is an element of truth to it. Why do some children become avid readers, while others don't? Last Friday my friend Diane Tullson and I presented at a Literary Conference for teachers. Part of our presentation was on reaching 'reluctant readers'. I began by reciting this quote by Orville Prescott. "Few children learn to love books for themselves. Someone has to lure them into the wonderful world of the written word: someone has to show them the way."

This is so true. Teacher's, librarians, parents, booksellers, aunts, uncles, friends, writers... we have to keep luring children in... showing them the magic of stories. And we have to provide time to read, as my mother did in her own funny way. I'm delighted to see that high schools are going back to providing school-wide silent reading time.

The picture is of a young friend who, I'm told, discovered books after reading my novel, Dancing Naked. Here she sits on a BC ferry reading Gotcha! I believe there is a magic book for every child, one that will turn them on to reading. We just have to help each child find that book.

Free Hugs!

2009-02-15T10:20:00.001-08:00

My dear friend (DF) and I were sitting in the restaurant of the Sylvia Hotel having lunch on Valentine's Day. We had a window table which looked out over English Bay. It was fascinating to watch the pedestrian traffic on the seawall, people of all ages out enjoying what felt like a glorious spring day.

Part way through lunch I noticed a group of about a dozen young people gathered on the grassy strip which runs alongside the seawall. They were each carrying colourful posters with "FREE HUGS" written on them. As strangers approached them on the seawall, the 'huggers' rushed up to them with their arms outstretched, hoping to find enthusiastic 'huggees'.

DF and I had a wonderful time watching the reactions of the people passing by. I decided that this had to be a Unitarian Youth Group who'd decided to celebrate Valentine's Day by giving out hugs. (I once worked with a Unitarian Youth Group and this was exactly the kind of activity they might do.) DF thought it could be a Psych 101 class conducting an experiment and if we looked closely we'd spot other young people sitting on park benches, taking notes on the reaction of strangers to the huggers.

The reactions were fascinating. Many people saw the crowd of poster-carrying youth in advance and gave them a wide berth. Others were caught by surprise and found themselves in an unexpected embrace. Many seized the moment for what it was, a way of spreading good-will, and enthusiatically embraced the huggers. Everyone watching the event, including DF and myself, felt happy just viewing the fun. I think that was the whole point.

It wasn't until later that I realized that this 'free hug' activity wasn't new. I remember seeing a youtube video of a man named Juann Mann (One Man) in Sydney who started the phenomena.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4

Unfortunately, the huggers had moved on by the time DF and I had finished our lunches, or I would have been out there receiving my free hug, too.

To all you hugging youth ~

Warm Hugs!! from me.

My love affair...

2009-02-02T16:04:00.000-08:00

... with the librarians and teacher-librarians in Ontario is hot hot hot. (Ha! Got you with that title, didn't I Leslie!)

But seriously, I just love the way those librarians in Ontario support my work. Over the years four of my books have been nominated for the Ontario-based White Pine Award (a reader's choice award) and Dancing Naked actually won it the first year it was awarded . Gotcha! has been nominated for it this year, 2009, and Sun Signs and Kat's Fall each had their years, too. Kat's Fall was an honour book, or runner-up in its year. Today I found out that Gotcha! is one of the YA fiction selections on the Ontario Library Association’s (OLA) 2008 Best Bets Lists for Children and for Young Adults (top 10 Canadian books of the year in various categories). What's not to love about those wonderful librarians? They have such good taste in books. :)

My love affair with the organizers of the Surrey International Writer's Festival is hot too. This past fall I was the recipient of the 2008 Surrey Board of Trade Special Achievement Award, which honours a writer who has made a significant achievement in their writing career during the past year. I felt truly honoured to be recognized for this award.

When I think back to my early days of writing, all I ever wanted was to get a book published. Once I did have a published book, the stakes went up. I wanted to write a book worthy of being nominated for an award. Once that happened, I wanted to write a book worthy of actually winning an award, or being put on a notable list such as the one Gotcha! has just been added to. That said, I have been a juror for numerous book awards myself, and I know first hand how subjective the final decision can be. Simply receiving an award nomination is a huge honour. In most cases, any one of the nominated books is award-worthy.

Author Orville Prescott wrote: "Few children learn to love books for themselves. Someone has to lure them into the wonderful world of the written word: someone has to show them the way." I want to publicly thank librarians and teacher-librarians everywhere for being the ones to 'lure children to books', for showing them the way (especially the librarians in Ontario!). Without them, writers of children's books would be without work.

The Beauty of the Book Discussion Group

2009-01-20T16:12:00.000-08:00

In my last post I defined a Satsang, and how a book group can be considered one if the members gather together to 'inspire one another and tell the truth."

One of my book groups met last night to discuss Mary Lawson's The Other Side of the Bridge. We started the discussion by going around the circle and assigning the book a score out of ten. I think I gave in an 8.5 as I'd really enjoyed it.

About an hour later, following a lively discussion, we again went around the circle, and gave the book a new score out of 10. My score went up to 9.5, and I was tempted to give it a 10. Many of the other member's scores went up as well.

This is the beauty of the book group. No matter how much we enjoy reading, it's only through discussion that we can fully appreciate a book. Other readers bring their insights to the story, allowing us to see it from different points of view. In the case of The Other Side of the Bridge, the more we discussed the various themes, the tangled relationships, character motivation etc., the more I marvelled at the complexity of the story, and how beautifully it was told.

Towards the end of the meeting, one of the members asked if I thought the author would have had the entire story mapped out before she began writing it, or if she 'made it up as she went along'. I can only guess, but I suspect she would have the basic story line (or skeleton) in place before she began writing, but added the 'flesh' during the writing process as she grew to know the characters better. She certainly created a story that engaged us in a thoughtful discussion, one that 'inspired' me to think deeper, and to find the 'truth' in the story.

The Book Group is definitely a Satsang.

Gathering For Truth

2009-01-11T20:35:00.000-08:00

I've always been drawn to groups of people that inspire me. My various book clubs, meditation group, writer's group, yoga class,the Unitarian church and my author's group (Cwill BC) all fall into that category.

Just recently I discovered a word that describes these groups. 'Satsang'. According to the 'Daily OM', an on-line newsletter that I subscribe to, Satsang is a Sanskrit word combining 'satya' meaning 'truth' and 'sangha' meaning 'group'. It describes a gathering of people for the purpose of spiritual truth, and it is traditionally used to refer to a meeting with a guru or spiritual mentor. However, the word Satsang can also be used more loosely, and describe any group that meets to inspire one another. A Satsang can even be a group gathered to sing together, or a support group, as long as the intention is to inspire one another and tell the truth.

As described in the 'Daily Om' newsletter, "any occasion we are gathered with people who understand and support us can be a spiritual experience. While gatherings with the intention of communing with spirit are undoubtedly powerful and inspiring, getting together with people that uplift us by their presence alone is also vital to our well-being."

How true that is. An evening spent with special friends, like the one I had last night, is good for the soul. My life is blessed with people who truly do uplift me with their presence alone.

It's a new year....

2009-01-03T09:51:00.001-08:00

... and a good time for reflecting on the past and planning for the future.

The topic of 'New Year's Resolutions' came up at my yoga class yesterday. We agreed that in yoga, we set 'intentions' each time we practise, and these feel way more useful than a once-a-year resolution that requires will-power that we may or may not have. With resolutions, we often set ourselves up for failure. That said, the New Year can be a useful time for letting go of behaviours that have been harmful to us, or are no longer useful in our lives. It can be a time to renew our intentions to live the best life we are capable of.

In some Unitarian churches the attendees write down things they'd like to 'release' from the past year, like sorrows, resentments, feelings of guilt. Then they have a ceremony and burn these pieces of paper. By doing this, they are not relying on will-power to make changes in their lives, but are opening up space to allow new experiences to come in.

The above photo is of my three daughters kicking up their heels in joy. It seems to me that joy is one of those things most easily found when we have 'let go' of those troubling emotions that may be holding us back.

"May your New year unfold rich in meaning, creative challenge and loving connections." (author unknown)

Love & light.
Shelley

Celebrating the Winter Solstice

2008-12-16T11:03:00.000-08:00

My banana tree finally succumbed to the cold weather. Until a couple days ago it held out, still standing tall, large dark leaves stretching skyward, as if in prayer. Overnight the leaves grew limp and drooped down. Now it looks forlorn, but I know, come spring, new leaves will push through and unravel where the old ones have died off.

The rest of the garden lies dormant now too and the days are so short. I got caught walking the dog along a forest trail yesterday, in the dark. It seemed the daylight disappeared suddenly. Light enough to see the trail one minute, pitch dark the next. Thank goodness for all the Christmas lights at this time of year to brighten the long nights. And this week's full moon in the clear, cold skies ~ spectacular!

The shortest day of the year is fast approaching and then, thank goodness, the days will gradually start to grow longer again. In just weeks, in this part of the world, the magic will begin. The crocuses will stir, under the soil, and soon their heads will poke through the earth, followed by daffodils and other early spring flowers. The natural world has needed these long nights and cold days to rest, to rejuvenate, before we are once again blessed with spring, which happens so gradually we hardly notice until it is upon us. Suddenly the cherry blossoms burst into bloom, shiny new leaves will flutter in the breeze and we sigh with relief, enjoying longer daylight hours again.

To mark the solstice one year a group of us hiked out to Quarry Rock to watch the sunrise. Another group did the same thing and then sang songs that had to do with sunshine... Here Comes The Sun, Sunshine on my Shoulders, Morning Has Broken etc. Very fitting, I thought.

In some quiet but significant way, I'll mark the occassion again this year. To me the Solstice feels more significant than Christmas, or birthdays. Without these short days/long nights, we wouldn't appreciate the next season, the bountiful, lush, light one. How grateful I am for that.

Dear Anonymous ~

2008-11-28T17:49:00.000-08:00

~ you left a comment for me on my last post, suggesting it was time for a new one.

Thank you for that. It's nice to think someone wants to read anything I have to say.

I've been doing some thinking about this blogging business, Anonymous, and I realize that my motivation for posting has changed since I first began in July 2007. At that time I'd was advised to keep a blog, mainly for self-promotion purposes. It seemed like a good plan as my website is always years out of date so I decided to give it a whirl. I kept it light at first, thinking that it would be read by teen readers who would find it. Not so. It seems that those of us who blog read each other's posts, and occasionally I receive comments from complete strangers, but most of us don't have large readerships. I then began to use this blog as more of a journal, writing only when I had something on my mind. It's been good practise, and cathartic for me to write short pieces that try to make some sense of a subject. I sort things out best when I write about them, and I've really enjoyed it, but lately I've wondered about the point in all this navel-gazing...

Each of the blogs I follow has a different purpose. Some are to keep family members updated about growing children. Others are used by travellers to share their journey as they go. Some have a publishing focus, others are like mine, random thoughts about life and some are mostly self-promotion. I enjoy them all, and especially like the ones with lots of photos. (A picture tells a thousand words.)

I realize that my blog, Anonymous, is mostly navel-gazing. Admittedly, one of the blogs I follow and love is by Jann Arden, who is such a funny lady onstage, but her blog posts are really stream of consciousness navel-gazing too. Yet she is so poetic, so profound at times. She sucks me right into her prose.

I like my posts to have a point, to share something that I've learned on my journey. Problem is, Anonymous, life has been slow this past month. No new insights, or none that I'm ready to articulate yet. Oh, I know they're coming, life always throws new challenges our way, but the latest battles haven't moved into the arena of 'wisdom' yet. They will, and no doubt I'll be moved to write about them, but as far as the point of this post, Anonymous,well, I don't think there is one.

So Anonymous, thank you for checking in occasionally. The time will come when I feel I have something to say and I'll enjoy articulating it here. I hope I don't keep you waiting too long, and that you don't find my musings too self-absorbed. I'll try to keep my eye on that fine line....

Until then, warm hugs, whoever you are ~

(The above photo comes from logotreedesigns.blogspot.com/)

In the fall of our lives....

2008-11-02T21:19:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure why, but for some reason I've enjoyed this season more than I ever remember enjoying fall before. Perhaps it's because I have a new waterproof raincoat and I'm out on the mountain trails more regularly, but I have found the colours, the smells and the light to be especially remarkable this year. Today, for example, Winston, my loyal canine companion and I hit the trails late in the afternoon. It had rained most of the day, but now the sun was low in the sky and the way the light slanted through the branches and captured the colours of the remaining leaves on the trees ~ well, it was simply breathtaking. I had to stop dead in my tracks and just stare at the wondrous shimmer and slashes of light. The trail was covered in a thick blanket of leaves, you could not see the ground beneath it, and the musty, earthy smell was intoxicating. As we wandered along I gave a silent thanks to Mother Nature for giving us such a spectacular afternoon. Even on the rainiest of days Winston and I have headed out, and after the first few minutes we stop noticing the wet and simply enjoy the stillness and beauty of the forest.

Many years ago a beloved Unitarian minister helped me discover the beauty in the winter months, too, when the fall colours have long turned to a dull brown and the branches of the trees are stark. He reminded me that Mother Nature is simply resting, gaining strength, preparing for spring when the world will once again be blessed with a burst of new life/energy. The winter forest may look bare, but beneath the surface new life is already stirring, preparing for the longer days and warmth of the new season. Like the forest, the minister said, we too need downtime, to rest and recharge. Our inner seasons may not coincide with the outer seasons, but there is much to learn from the cycle of Mother Nature.

A friend recently suggested that we are in the 'fall' of our lives. This notion didn't sit well with me as I realized the truth of her words, but today's walk was a reminder of what a beautiful season this is. As well, my dear friend Leslie pointed out that there has been a sudden flutter of posts on my blog. Could it be that my biological season is fall, but my internal rhythm is now in early spring, where the writing juices are beginning to flow again, waiting to burst into a flurry of novel chapters? I have two mini-writing retreats planned for the next month so I hope this blogging is simply a warm-up to the bigger work that's waiting.

Jane Goodall or Madonna?

2008-10-30T23:11:00.000-07:00

There were 2 shows in town tonight. Jane Goodall at The Centre and Madonna at GM Place. You could not find two women who are more disparate in what they represent.

I went to see Jane Goodall. It was a most inspirational night.

The moment Dr. Goodall walked onto the stage the entire audience stood and gave her a standing ovation. She hadn’t said a word. Goosebumps ran down my spine. I imagine Madonna also received a standing ovation upon her entrance. Hmmm.

When Jane began to speak the entire audience leaned forward, captivated by her stories of living among the chimpanzees in Gombe. In her soft British accent she spoke of the destruction of the habitat in Africa, as well as around the world. She said, “We have lost our wisdom… there has been a disconnect between the head and the heart.”

A disconnect. How profoundly true.

Perhaps there has been a disconnect in the values of society. When a glitzy yet ultimately shallow ‘superstar’ like Madonna draws a much larger crowd (and hence, personal riches) than an inspirational speaker whose work and love for the planet and the creatures on it are tireless, and the money she earns goes back to the planet and creatures on it … well, yes, we have lost our wisdom. There has been a disconnect.

Jane’s presentation was serious but not gloomy. She feels that when humans have their back up against the wall, as we do right now where the health of Mother Earth is concerned, we will be forced to think creatively, and we will find the means to implement those creative solutions needed to restore the planet. She says the environment is ultimately forgiving, and although it will never be the pristine planet it once was, it can be restored to a healthy place. She feels that each and every one of us can make a difference by making informed choices…ie. the food that we purchase… could we have made a better choice for the environment? She believes that if each of us continues to make more and more choices in the planet’s favour, we will turn things around. All the small things add up to make a big difference.

As she spoke I wondered what was happening at the Madonna concert. I thought about how Madonna represents nothing of value to me and how Jane Goodall represents so much. I thought about the media attention that Madonna received compared to what Jane’s visit received. Yet what will each of these women ultimately contribute to the future of mankind?

Disconnect. I couldn’t have said it better.

Celebrating Life

2008-10-30T15:57:00.000-07:00

At my father's memorial service (about 17 years ago) I remember being jarred when the minister commenced the service by saying that we were gathered to celebrate the life of Robert Frampton. I'm sure my head snapped up in horror. I wasn't there to celebrate anything! I was there to grieve my father's death.

Since then I've discovered that many memorial services start the same way and now I better understand the spirit of a memorial. Often the people gathered are asked to share memories or stories of our deceased friend/relative. As I listen to the reflections, I often wish that the person who has passed away could hear these stories. I feel that somehow we are sharing them too late.

I've heard of terminally ill people who help plan their own service, requesting certain pieces of music, deciding who should speak, even what kind of flowers they'd like there. They may even leave a letter that they wish read to their gathered friends. This really appeals to me. Just recently I heard of a women who is very ill with cancer. She decided to throw herself a big birthday bash, and her friends and family were determined to make it an especially meaningful event. One of her daughters performed a dance for her mother. Another read a poem she'd written for and about her. Many of the guests told stories of special times they'd had together. In the end, it was like a memorial service but the woman was actually able to hear the wonderful things people had to say about her. What a beautiful way to take your leave.

Another friend recently shared with me a letter she'd written to her daughter who was celebrating a significant birthday. In the letter the mother outlined the many lessons she'd gleaned from her own life, and wanted to pass on. It was almost like a personal philosophy. I was allowed to read the letter, and was very touched by the gift that it was. How many of us get to know our parents that way? And how often do we, as parents, sit down and write out what we feel are the most important values to live by, and give them to our children and yet, what better gift could we give them? They don't have to agree with the values, but at least they would know what they are, and who we are.

Once, when I was going through a difficult time with one of my own daughters, I told a friend that I was going to give up lecturing, and that I was simply going to live the best life that I could, and hope that my children would learn through example. I've discovered that that's a tough pedestal to balance on. Now I think it's more important to let our children know, clearly, what we value in life. When we're gone, they won't be able to ask us. As well, I'm going to engage them in sharing family stories, swapping memories of things we've experienced together, and possibly what we learned from those occassions. I've discovered that often our memories of the same occassion can be quite different. What I take away from an event is often very different from what they take away from it. Discovering what the other remembers can be very revealing.

I am setting myself the task of telling all the wonderful people in my life that I love them and why they are special to me. They might as well know now. It may take awhile to get to them all, but better late than never. I'd rather celebrate life and the people in mine while they are living.

The picture is of my mother and my daughters who are all very much alive!

Working on the Cruise Ship

2008-10-13T21:45:00.000-07:00

After 2 1/2 months we've finally received some pictures of daughter #2's adventures on the cruise ship where she is working for 8 months as an entertainer.

It looks like fun!

Celebrating!

2008-10-07T11:37:00.000-07:00

Sister Wife is officially out! Not officially launched, that will take place in November, but it is now available. I received my copies last week and I'm very pleased with the way it looks.

The most heartwarming part of this publishing process was the reaction to the book by my friend, Sue Gordon. I've 'blogged' about Sue previously, and how she's 'true-blue'. Although we rarely get together or even talk on the phone, it's like no time has passed when we do finally connect. She has stuck with me through thick and thin, always celebrating my new books in a meaningful way, and because her friendship is so special to me, I dedicated Sister Wife to her. In true Sue fashion, she was over-joyed with the gesture, which made me feel good all over again. I had hoped that Sue would see the dedication for what it is, a testimony to her friendship, but she totally surpassed my expectation! Thank you Sue!

Dave Jenkinson, editor of Canadian Materials Magazine read a review copy of Sister Wife and wrote to to me to say he thought it was a "wonderful read!" It's always nice when the first review is a good one, especially coming from someone as well respected in the field as him.Thank you, Dave!

And more about celebrations ~ at the end of August Rebecca Wigod of the Vancouver Sun wrote a fabulous column about my writing group as we celebrated our group's 20+ published books. http://www.canada.com/vancouversun/news/arts/story.html?id=93e6a443-815c-41bf-aa8b-3eecd42f5224 Thank you, Rebecca! As well, BC Bookworld featured the above picture with a brief note about our success as a group. Thank you, Alan Twigg.

It has been a good fall. I feel blessed.

Retreating ~

2008-09-03T22:01:00.000-07:00

Going on a retreat is one of those things that I've both yearned to do and feared simultaneously. I know that by their very nature - no matter what kind of retreat it is - you'll come back changed. Like typical holidays, retreats offer escape from your daily routine, but unlike most holidays, there is a focus, and time, lots of time, to really delve into your relationship with that focus, usually with like-minded people. Retreats are journeys of self-discovery.

I have faced many personal challenges in the past year, so in that spirit I decided to take the plunge and face those fears of self-discovery. In the last week of August I travelled by road and on 3 ferries for a total of 8 hours to participate in a writing retreat. I knew to expect wonderful organic vegetarian food, most of which was grown right on the the property. I knew yoga and meditation was offered daily. But it was the unknown factors that I feared and which I shared with my travel companion on our journey there.

"I'm afraid the workshop leader will assign those basic writing exercises that I was doing years ago in creative writing classes," I fretted. "Like... choose a character and write everything you know about him. What colour are his socks? Is he right or left handed?" I knew that those kinds of exercises would have little value for me at this point in my writing career. I also worried that we'd all have to sit in the same room and write for long periods of time. For some reason I thought that all that confinement would stifle me.

On the night of our arrival our group met and the leader outlined what we'd be doing for the next 5 days. There would be writing exercises and writing - altogether- in the same room, she told us. My heart sank. I may have packed up and gone home except that I didn't want to abandon my friend who was in a different workshop.

So.... with reluctance, I attended the first morning of the writing retreat. At least the location was magnificently spiritual, I thought. We met in a tee-pee shaped wooden building with stunning floor to ceiling windows and skylights at the top. This unique structure (a yurt?) was tucked in the forest, far off the beaten track.

And then the instructor assigned the 1st writing exercise. My previous fears were instantly assuaged, but I now had to confront some new ones. We were asked to share, in writing, the most dramatic moments of our lives. I almost chickened out, choosing instead to write about something less significant, but at the last moment I decided to go for it. After writing for 10 minutes we shared our stories. The next two writing exercises were just as revealing. By the end of the morning I'd shared the lowest and highest moments of my life with 8 complete strangers. And I'd heard their stories. We'd each opened our hearts and placed our trust in the group. The leader had the amazing skills necessary to keep this from becoming a therapy session, and helped us take those emotions we'd unearthed and use them in our writing.

Wow. From then on the workshop galloped ahead. We'd learned that the most powerful writing comes when you dig deep. And writing, all at the same time in that sacred-feeling building felt wonderful.

So yes, it was scary. But it was also one of the most enriching weeks of my life.
Will the next retreat be any less scary? No. It will be all new people, a different focus, a different setting. Will I take the next retreat opportunity that comes my way?

Absolutely.

Sister Wife

2008-08-14T12:21:00.001-07:00

It's done. I sent the proof pages for Sister Wife back to the publisher today. Next week it will go to the printer. There's no turning back now. It's going to get published and my name will be on the cover. I've written a story about polygamy. Am I out of my mind?

This is the 8th time I've been through this process. You'd think it would get easier with each book. It doesn't. Looking back at the issues in my books I have to wonder at myself. I've written about teen pregnancy, peer pressure, the dangers of the internet, self-inflicted injuries, dysfunctional families, abduction, adoption, abuse, divorce, cancer, ... I could go on. In fact I've probably tackled an issue for every letter of the alphabet. Why do I choose these topics? I have no answer, except that I always know that by writing these stories I will find myself pondering ideas in ways that I never would have if I hadn't tackled the subject matter.

Writing this book, as always, was a journey of discovery. I don't like to tell new writers this, but I was 3/4's of the way through the first draft, maybe more, before I knew how it was going to end. Actually, I knew exactly how it had to end, I just didn't know how to get my protagonist there.

I remember the exact moment it came to me. I was on a retreat with my writing group. We'd been brainstorming ideas. None of them felt right. Then we took a break from brainstorming to actually write.

That's when it came to me, fully formed. The protagonist could only reach that final destination one way. It was so obvious, but I hadn't seen it until I was almost there. She couldn't make the final leap for herself, but she could do it for someone else. It's a lesson I've learned in my own life, and I was able to apply that lesson to my character. It was a most satisfying writing experience.

That's all I can say without ruining the ending for prospective readers.

I think that I've treated the subject of polygamy fairly. By using three voices I've tried to show the various perspectives of a controversial religious principle. Nothing is ever black and white. I hope I've shown the grey.

If nothing ever changed there'd be no butterflies

2008-07-28T20:17:00.000-07:00

As parents we know that our children are only 'ours' for a short time. Our job is to do our best to guide them through their childhood, helping them learn the skills they'll need to live satisfying, productive lives as adults.

Khalil Gibran says it best:

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts. For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

Two of my three children have grown beautiful butterfly wings and have fluttered off in recent days and months. I am extremely proud of them both. I am also excited for them both. Their futures are bright and shiny. What more could a parent wish for a child?

And yet... change is hard for the ones left behind. My girls' chairs are noticeably empty at the dinner table. The chatter and banter of 3 young people living under one roof has disappeared. Brian Kiely, in a long-ago Unitarian sermon on "Centering" said, "... change may be exciting, but it may not always be entirely welcome, even when the change is for the better..... In spiritual terms, this yearning for the familiar translates into a desire for centeredness. It has many names: balance, groundedness, a sense of place, a sense of self, a sense of purpose, an ability to cope. What these terms all try to describe in their inadequate and merely human language is a feeling of well being, that all is right with the world, that we will, with no question at all, come through the latest challenge alright. Change may be exciting, but I believe that in the face of an uncertain world, most of us long for certainty. In the raging of the whirlwind we wish for the calm of the storm's center."

Daughter #3 and I have brainstormed ideas to adapt to these changes. There is now even more room at our table for interesting guests. Eating at restaurants is more affordable with just the two of us. Being vegetarians, we no longer need to cook meat for the others and can put more energy into cooking creative vegetarian meals. We've talked about offering up the empty bedrooms to young people who may temporarily be without a home. Perhaps we will find a new home where we can start new routines, new family rituals. The missing family members will always be missed, but we will make the most of our new situation. In fact, we will try to make our new situation one that will be an enriching one for us as well.

Continuity gives us roots; change gives us branches, letting us stretch and grow and reach new heights. ~Pauline R. Kezer

Leslie says it's time to post...

2008-07-08T13:52:00.000-07:00

...and from what I can tell, Leslie always gets what she wants. Trouble is, she may regret it this time for today's topic is the riveting one of Composting.

I can already hear Leslie yawning.

Okay Leslie, before you pass on reading this post, let me tell you that there is a very important lesson for writers hidden in the words, and you're a writer, whether you refer to yourself as one or not. So please, bear with me.

Once upon a time, in what seems like a previous life, my family was seriously into composting. By the time my children were preschoolers, they knew how to sort all our household recyclables, including compostable items. We took it so seriously that the girls, on their own initiative, brought home their apple cores and orange peels from kindergarten to put in the compost bin. They got as excited as I did about watching our kitchen scraps turn (magically) into beautiful soil. (Quit rolling your eyes, Leslie.)

But then we moved to a new community, one where bears, skunks, raccoons and yes, rats and mice frequented our backyard and I felt it was no longer wise to engage in backyard composting.

Well, last week I changed my mind. I miss composting. (Leslie, I said to quit rolling your eyes.) A little research convinced me that done properly, I could backyard compost without attracting the unwanted wildlife.

So, I brought home a compost bin made out of recycled plastic. Trouble is, it needed assembling and there were about 200 pieces. I asked my youngest daughter ~ the straight 'A' student ~ to build it for me as I have never been good at that sort of thing. She was indignant and asked why it was that her father and I always treat her like a boy, giving her the boy-type jobs. Clearly I've failed in my effort to raise a non-sexist daughter, but I swallowed and suggested we build it together. She agreed, reluctantly.

It was even harder than I imagined, but eventually we'd snapped all the plastic pieces together. All that was left to attach was the sliding door, but when we went to slide it into place we discovered that one of the very first pieces we'd assembled had been put in backwards, preventing the door from sliding shut. The entire thing had to be taken apart in order to correct the problem.

Well, disassembling the unit was even harder than assembling it, and very quickly my daughter bailed. I was left standing in the garden, gnashing my teeth, trying to pry apart the pieces, but they held fast. Daughter #1 made a surprise visit and found me there, cursing loudly as I tried to snap it apart. Building the composter had turned me into a monster. "Why can't anything be simple?" I wailed.

She advised me to take some deep breaths, and together, with a lot of effort, we disassembled and reassembled it. The composter was ready to start doing it's work.

Now to start retraining my daughters. Yesterday I found a banana skin in the garbage. THE GARBAGE! That delinquent daughter won't soon forget that we are now putting our compostables into a separate bucket.

Okay, Leslie, now that you've finished gagging, I'll tell you where the lesson for writers comes in. I'd like you to think of your brain as a compost bin. Hang on. It's not so bad. You see, just as our kitchen and yard scraps get thrown together on the heap, eventually turning into a beautiful rich garden material , so do all the random thoughts and ideas that we put into our brains turn into rich story material. One little idea alone does not turn into a beautiful, multi-layered story but the combination of ideas that we've been collecting for years do compost and turn into something new and fresh. When you begin to write your story, you don't need to worry about where the original ideas will come from because they've been composting in your brain for years, ready and waiting to nourish a new story.

So Leslie... pick up that pen and start writing.

With love,

Shelley

Practising What We Preach

2008-06-17T17:11:00.000-07:00

In my effort to become better acquainted with many of the classic movies that I missed or simply don't remember I recently watched Guess Who's Coming To Dinner starring Sidney Portier, Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy. In it, Spencer Tracy plays an upper-class liberal publisher who has raised his daughter to be 'colour-blind'. This comes back to haunt him when she falls desperately in love with a black man (Sydney Poitier) in a time when interracial marriage is still taboo. We watch as Spencer Tracy's character struggles to align his heart with what he preaches and what is happening in his own home.

It was, of course, a fabulous film and I identified with each of the characters: the smitten young woman, the mother who wants her daughter to be happy, but most of all, the parent whose child reminds us that we need to practise what we preach.

For me, recently, the lesson I preached that has come back to haunt me is how we treat homeless people. I taught my daughters that these are not people to be scorned, despised or feared. We have no idea of the circumstances that brought them to this place, and it could just as easily be us. They deserve our compassion and we need to be part of the effort to help them lead productive lives.

That said, a few years ago, my daughter, Cara, began taking dance classes at a studio downtown. She is often there until late at night, and I worried for her safety as she returned to her car which was parked in a dark lot in a back alley. On one of her first nights there she was struggling with the pay-parking meter. A homeless man approached her and showed her how it worked. She thanked him, and he promised to watch her car for her while she was dancing. Sure enough, when she returned to her car hours later, he was still there, keeping watch. She thanked him, a little unnerved, not sure what he was expecting in return, got into her car, and drove away.

The next night, the same man was there, and once again he offered to keep watch over her car. He introduced himself as Johnny. This went on week after week, and Cara learned she had nothing to fear from Johnny. He'd simply adopted this car lot as his own terrain, and he protected the cars parked there from car thieves. Cara began giving him loonies, and bringing him snacks. He was grateful for any little thing she gave him, but never actually asked for compensation. One time she gifted him with an umbrella as so many nights he patrolled the lot in the pouring rain. He was overjoyed with the gift. In the two years Cara has parked in that lot, 4-5 times a week, nothing has ever happened to her car. On the other hand, parked in safer neighbourhoods, like on our own street, at the local Superstore, and outside Cactus Club where she works, her car has been vandalized, trashed and backed into. Johnny really is doing a wonderful service for her.

At first I was skeptical of Johnny and worried that he might harm Cara but I grew to be grateful to him, even though we've never met. In this way I learned to practise what I preached

Last night Cara and her sister Dani were working at a charity event. At the end of the evening there was all kinds of food left over. They are both used to seeing food wasted as they each work in the restaurant business, but this time they decided to do something about it. They wrapped up a bunch of sandwiches and desserts and drove downtown to Johnny's parking lot. At first they couldn't find him so they distributed the food to other homeless people, but eventually Johnny showed up and to show his appreciation, he danced a dance of joy at their gift of food, knowing full well that dancing is Cara's passion. I was so proud of my daughters and their thoughtfulness. On the one hand I'd rather they stayed away from dark alleys and the people who lurk there, and yet I'm glad that they show compassion and generosity when it's safe to do so.

Cara may be leaving home soon to work as a dancer on a cruise ship. She will meet many many kinds of people on her travels. Not all of them will be the gentle souls that Johnny turned out to be, but I will pray that her heart remains open and compassionate while her brain remains alert to possible danger and trickery.

In rereading this post, I realize that Johnny, though homeless, is leading a productive life. Another lesson learned.

Blue Box Mystery

2008-06-01T21:59:00.000-07:00

I'm a radio talk-show junkie, but only once have I come close to actually phoning in to a program. On that occassion my very favourite talk-show host was complaining about the people who were driving down her street on garbage/recycling day and rummaging through her blue box to take the recyclables that could be returned for the deposit money. She felt it was some kind of impingement on her privacy or maybe - though I don't quite remember - she was bothered by the noise of the rummaging.

I was really bugged by this. First of all, I can't understand why anyone would put bottles and cans that can be returned for a deposit into the blue box in the first place. Granted, I have the space, but I always save these things for those kids who are doing bottle-drives and who come around to collect them. And besides, I think the 'rummagers' are industrious, hard-working people. They must really need the money so why would those who are recycling their returnables be bothered by this?

Lately I've noticed there are fewer and fewer bottle-drives being organized (in my neighbourhood anyway) so I tend to acquire a lot of 'returnables'. I've begun taking beer cans and wine bottles back to the liquor store when I am going there anyway and I give the deposit money to whatever charity is outide looking for donations. It's a win-win situations. I am, however, too lazy to haul back the juice/soft drink containers which collect as fast as the dust bunnies in this house yet I still won't put them in the blue box or, even worse, the garbage. Someone wants/needs the money that they can get by returning them. I decided to try a small experiment. A few months ago, on recycling day, I put a small, clear plastic bag with cans and bottles beside my blue box in hopes that one of the 'rummagers' would pass by and collect them before the recycling truck did. I hoped that because they weren't in the blue box, the truck wouldn't take them if they were still there.

It worked. At some point before the recycling truck arrived, I noted that the bag had disappeared.

For quite a few weeks now I've left a bag of returnable items next to my blue box. Each week they've disappeared before the truck arrives. Last week I got confused and put my garbage/recyclables out on the wrong day. The bag of returnables STILL disappeared! Hmmm. I began wondering if it was one of my neighbours that was taking them, but that would surprise me. Tonight I took the blue box out accompanied by a very large bag of returnables. I went back into the house to collect up the newspapers and by the time I made it back to the curb, the bag of returnables was already gone! 99% of me finds huge joy in this. The system is working. Those people who need the returnables are actually finding them before the recycling truck hauls them away. But tonight, 1% of me feels a little creeped out. Who is watching my curb so closely??

The Book Club With the Shopping Problem

2008-05-09T20:28:00.001-07:00

I've never been a good shopper. Oh, I've tried. As the mother of 3 daughters who all LOVE to shop, I've wanted to get into the spirit. I really have. But 5 or 10 minutes into the shopping adventure it always becomes an ordeal and I remember what I hate about the whole thing. Too many choices. Pushy salespeople. Loud, obnoxious music. Nothing that fits. Rampant commercialism. Ahhhh! Get me outta here a voice screams in my head.

In November I went to New York with The Book Club With The Shopping Problem. (TBCWTSP) I had The Most Wonderful Time but I was not converted. Fortunately there are a few other things to do in New York, people watching being my favourite.

Last week TBCWTSP were invited to spend the weekend in Birch Bay at the beautiful home of LT. When I accepted the invitation I had visions of long hours spent wandering the beach, cozy afternoons in front of the fire discussing books, evenings filled with games and laughter.

The evenings filled with games and laughter happened but Saturday dawned grey and drizzly. Beachcombing lost its appeal. The ladies of TBCWTSP split into groups, and somehow (I must have been abducted) I ended up in a car heading into Bellingham for a full day of shopping. I think it was a conspiracy. They wanted to turn me into one of them: a shopper.

Looking back on it, I realize their strategy was well thought out. Our first stop was at one of those horrific outlet stores. We walked in and all I could see were thousands of racks of clothes, all jammed together. There so many people and they were all rifling through the mishmash of merchandise. I tried to join in, but it was too much. I finally hid in a back corner (with a lot of lost husbands) until my friends had had their fill. Wanting to show that I was a good sport, I purchased 10 washcloths. I was hoping we could go home.

But oh no. We hadn't even hit Bellis Fair Mall yet. As we pulled up I noticed that the mall appeared to go on for miles and miles. I wondered how much cab fare back to Birch Bay would cost me. I figured I was in for the longest day of my life.

We started at Macy's. CN suggested that we meet in one hour. One hour?? For one store? Heavy sigh. I stepped into the store, and immediately my mood improved. The racks were spaced far apart. The store was mostly empty. There were no line-ups for the changerooms. The music was soft and sweet. The salepeople were present but not pushy. Each item of clothing came in a full range of sizes, and they were neatly organized from smallest to largest. I felt like I'd somehow ricocheted out of hell and landed in heaven!

I took stacks of clothes into the changeroom. One hour was not nearly enough! I needed a second hour! Before the afternoon was over I'd bought clothes at Macy's, kitchen dishes at Target and a lot of odds and sods in-between. And I was just getting started! This was fun! We agreed to come back to the mall and carry on the next day. I was ecstatic

After some tearful farewells in the morning, (we knew how blessed we were with such wonderful friendships and hated to go our separate ways) the 4 of us headed back to the mall, but the euphoria was gone. After 5-10 minutes I wanted to get the hell out. What had happened to me just the day before?? The only explanation I had was that the transition from the outlet store to Macy's was such a relief that I actually thought I was having a good time!!

Nonetheless, I love the ladies of TBCWTSP. All of them. Not everyone can make it on the trips but everyone is equally beloved in the group. And I'm grateful to the ladies who turned me into a shopper for one day. Man, was that fun! It may never happen again, but for 8 hours or so, I got it.

Love you all ~

postscript: the reason LT appears to be tottering on the edge and about to fall over in the picture is not because she's had too many Margarita's. The truth is, she set the camera on a timer and then had to jog across the yard on her new hip to get in the picture. Hurray for LT!!

True-blue friends

2008-04-21T21:35:00.000-07:00

I have been blessed with wonderful friendships throughout my adult life. There are the women that I met when my children were small. We formed a babysitting co-op and propped each other up through the many challenges of child-rearing. Then there are my friends in the writing community. The three of us in my small writing critique group are especially close, but I've also developed friendships in the larger community. The women in both my book groups are very special to me, and the friends I've made here in Deep Cove, through the school, children's activities and my own activities are like rare birds - I treasure each one. I only wish I had the time and energy to be the kind of friend I'd like to be - all of the time. I have wonderful men friends too, but the vast majority of my circle are women.

"I believe that these circles of women around us weave invisible nets of love that carry us when we are weak and sing with us when we are strong. Let's lean back and let the arms of women's friendships carry us and help us to know ourselves better, and live our lives together." Sark

There is one friend that has stuck by me since my early 20's. We met during her first year of teaching, I was in my second. We looked alike so the kids often mistook us for each other. We became fast friends, as did our husbands. We each gave birth to our first child within 3 weeks of each other - totally unplanned. Sue went back to teaching when her maternity leave was up, and I decided to leave teaching to pursue my passion for writing.

Life became busy with small children, careers, family and the daily grind. Long months would pass and we wouldn't see each other, but Sue never forgot a birthday, not mine, my husband's or one of the girls. There was always a card in the mail (on time) and/or a cheery phone call on the special day. I was not nearly as good at reciprocating, but Sue never pointed it out.

When we moved to North Vancouver it became even harder to connect as the distance was greater, but that didn't deter Sue. She is always willing to drive across town to have a visit. She supports my children with her presence at their special events, even though her own life is full to over-flowing.

As each one of my books has been launched, Sue has made a homemade, symbolic gift to mark the occasion. Last week she arrived at the book launch for Gotcha! with yet another thoughtful and beautiful keepsake to mark the occasion. On the way home from the launch my girls were discussing how special Sue's gifts are. I told them that Sue is a true-blue friend. "What's true-blue?" they asked. I told them true-blue is, " loyal, trustworthy, forgiving (very forgiving!), steadfast, honest, and there for the long-haul." I have been blessed to have Sue in my life. The posted pictures are of the gifts Sue's honoured me with, as well as the newest piece to my collection. The photos are by Cara Hrdlitschka (for some reason I have trouble posting pictures to this blog, and they never appear as wonderful as they are.)

Rebirth

2008-04-09T20:10:00.000-07:00

We did a breathing exercise in yoga today and the teacher suggested we imagine the deep inhale as breathing in new life, and the exhale as a cleansing, or a shedding of the old skin, as a snake does. In shedding the old skin we are reborn.

I hung on to this image all day. I've never before identified with snakes, (primates being my current obsession) but I like the image of shedding the old skin, of becoming new and fresh again. Snakes do it to allow for growth. I feel poised on the threshold of shedding my old skin, my old self, allowing for personal growth.

I did a little research and discovered that humans actually shed 1.5 million skin cells every hour with a new skin surface regenerating every 28 days (kinda gross when you think about all those skin cells floating around... sort of like the millions of dust mites that live on our mattress... okay, don't get me started.) So, we are shedding too, but this image of flaking skin isn't nearly as powerful as that of that snake, who loses the skin in one entire piece.

Apparently the stresses associated with shedding can be substantial. Sick snakes experience delayed and incomplete sheds. Also, shedding is a slow process, and I imagine there must be some discomfort. So it is with humans embarking on a rebirth. First we have to shed the old skin. Unhealthy humans, people who are emotionally, spiritually or physically ill will struggle more with the shedding. The changing of old routines, adjusting to losses, these are uncomfortable, but by maintaining our health and embracing new opportunities we can aid the shedding process that leads to our own rebirth.

Maybe I can identify with the snake afterall.

Namaste

How shall I live, knowing I shall die....

2008-04-07T22:04:00.000-07:00

Random Thoughts on my Spiritual Journey

I've recently returned to the Unitarian church after a 3-4 year absence. There is a new minister there, and he is everything I would hope for in a minister: wise, reflective, funny, humble, human, laid-back, well-rounded/grounded ... I could go on on on. I feel like I have found my way home after an extended trip away. It was at yesterday's service that someone (not the minister) posed the question ~ How shall I live, knowing that I shall die. I jotted the phrase down, realizing that it was extremely relevant to where I'm at in my life right now.

No no no, I'm not facing a life-threatening illness (that I know of) but I'm trying to become more fully aware of how I am living, and whether it's a meaningful life.

By coincidence, or maybe not, I walked into an art gallery in San Diego last month and found a book by Jane Goodall: Reason For Hope, A Spiritual Journey. Even though my to-read stack of books is a mile high, this book went to the top and I'm now half-way through it.

I've always known of Jane Goodall and her work with chimpanzee's and I've held her in the highest regard, but I've never actually read anything she's written. Now I feel like I've discovered a soul-mate. The questions she poses, the thoughts she's had... they speak directly to my own soul. I know I don't have the hardiness or character to do the kind of scientific work that she has done, but what she has learned from her life in the African wilderness speaks directly to me, and millions of others, I'm sure.

In the following passage, she reflects on her first trip to Gombe, when she was totally alone in the forest in Africa.

"Together the chimpanzees and the baboons and monkeys, the birds and insects, the teeming life of the vibrant forest, the stirrings of the never still waters of the great lake, and the uncountable stars and planets of the solar system formed one whole. All one, all part of the great mystery."

Ahhh. Lovely.

I haven't had the opportunity to be alone in the African wilderness, but I understand this feeling of being one part of the whole, of the great mystery.

Namaste

I fell in love during Spring Break

2008-04-02T12:58:00.000-07:00

Cinta, a young orangutan and Little Lucu, a siamang ape, have stolen my heart, lock, stock and barrel. My daughters had to drag me away from their exhibit at the San Diego Zoo. They were behaving - yes - just like little monkeys! Or small children. I was captivated by their antics - the teasing, the tackling, the swinging, the swaggering. Watching these magnificent young apes was like sitting on a bench at a playground, watching preschoolers romp. They were absolutely delightful, and seeing the patience and affection that the older apes had for the younger ones - well - it was simply stunning. Human parents could learn from them. One of my daughters, standing beside me at the glass wall that was all that separated us from the animals, commented... "I don't understand why some people don't believe in evolution."

My thoughts exactly.

Photos by the the enormously talented Cara Lee Hrdlitschka

Making way for the new...

2008-03-22T12:18:00.000-07:00

In the past I've complained about the way my daughters rarely listen to an entire piece of music. They switch radio stations or press 'forward' on their ipods after about 30 seconds of listening to a song. Until recently I couldn't understand this jumping about. Now I do.

As my life undergoes some major changes I'm learning to recreate my sense of self. I can no longer identify with the same labels that I did just 6 months ago.

I know this can be a healthy process if I remember to celebrate the opportunity for personal growth at the same time that I grieve the changes.

Julia Cameron, in her book The Artist's Way says, "Shifts in taste and perception frequently accompany shifts in identity. One of the clearest signals that something healthy is afoot is the impulse to weed out, sort through, and discard old clothes, papers, and belongings.... By tossing out the old and unworkable, we make way for the new and suitable. A closet stuffed with ratty old clothes does not invite new ones. A house overflowing with odds and ends and tidbits you've held on to for someday has no space for the things that might truly enhance today."

This I understand. I do feel the need to clean out the old to make way for the new, even though I have no idea of what that 'new' will look like.

What I didn't expect was a shift in my music tastes. On hikes with my own ipod I find myself behaving just like my daughters. My thumb is on the 'forward' switch as I skip past all the 'oldies' that once brought me such pleasure. Yesterday I found I couldn't even listen to old Beatles tunes, which I didn't think I'd ever tire of. I'm yearning for something new, music that that speaks to my heart and soul the way the old favourites used to. I know that as I open my mind to new artists, or artists that I never noticed before, I will discover the kind of music that fulfils the new me.

Namaste

Kill 'em with kindness

2008-03-09T20:53:00.000-07:00

I consider myself a good dog owner. I always scoop poop. I buy a dog license each year. I exercise my dog daily to keep him healthy and happy.

I also consider myself to be a good law-abiding citizen. My friends and family will vouch for me when I say that I am a lousy liar and that I always follow rules, sometimes to the extreme.

However, there is one bylaw I do occassionally break, and as a result there are some who would consider me to be an irresponsible dog-owner.

You see, I sometimes allow my dog to run off-leash.

(There, I've said it. What a relief.)

In the six years I've been breaking this bylaw I had yet to meet up with the dreaded 'dog police'. All that good luck came to an end last week.

It was one of those remarkably crisp, clear, early spring days. Winston and I headed down to the beach to stretch our legs and enjoy the break in the weather. We were wandering down the beach when we ran into another springer spaniel and her owner, who was an acquaintance from the neighbourhood.

The other dog-owner and I quickly engaged in conversation about the joys of owning springer spaniels. So engrossed were we in conversation that we didn't notice the dog police until after our dogs had run up and greeted them. Off-leash, of course.

I sighed deeply and reached out my hand to accept my ticket. I knew that we weren't allowed on the beach and that being off-leash was a no-no. I figured that I'd been lucky for 6 years, and that if I amortized all our leash-less walks over that time - well, it really only cost me pennies per walk.

My dog-walking friend, however, had a different take on the situation. He immediately started talking. "I'm so glad we ran into you," he said.

I tried not to look as startled as I felt. I waited to see where he was going with this.

"You see," he continued. "I've often wondered what the rules were for walking dogs on the beach."

I kept my eyes glued to the ground. Hadn't he noticed the signs all over the park telling us that dogs weren't allowed on the beach?

One of the dog-police patiently began to recite the law to him, while the other began filling out our tickets.

"Ohhh," my friend said, after having the law explained to him. "Thank you so much for letting me know! You guys are doing the community such a service. There are so many irresponsible dog-owners out here. I don't know what this park would look like if it weren't for you keeping all us dog-owners in line."

At this point I noticed the puzzled glance that the two dog-police exchanged. Then one reached over and checked the tag on Winston's collar. "2006," he noted.

"I have a 2008 tag, honestly," I told him, sheepishly. And I do. "But it's still sitting on my desk. Right beside the 2007 one."

The dog-police person turned to my friend with raised eyebrows. "And you?" he asked, his nod noting Ruby's lack of any tag.

"Oh dear," my friend says, shoulders sagging. "You see, we have four collars for Ruby. Every time she gets wet we change her collar. But we only have one dog license. Hey," he says, looking brighter, "do you think I could order extra dog licenses next year?"

"No," Dog Police #1 says. "May I suggest you keep Ruby's license with your car keys from now on. Then you will always have it with you."

"Great idea!" my friend says.

The dog-police turned to me again. "Please put your dog on leash," one of them says. As I lean over to clip Winston to his leash I wonder what my friend will do. I'd noted that he didn't even have a leash with him, but when I stood back up, I saw that Ruby was now attached to the end of a leather leash.

As I pondered the miraculous appearance of the leash, my friend continued to chat away about how wonderful the dog-police were, and how he appreciated how hard they worked. He might even have mentioned how good-looking they were. Eventually the one with the pad of tickets stuck them in his back pocket. "We're going to let you off with just a warning today," he said. "But please remember not to allow your dogs to run free on the beach again. And get those dog licenses on them."

"Thank you so much," my friend says, shaking their hands effusively. As we walk away, he says, quietly, "My pants are about to fall down."

"Huh?"

It's then that I notice that Ruby's leash is not really a leash at all. It's her owner's belt. I hadn't even noticed my friend slide it off, and clearly the dog-police hadn't either. Between bellows of laughter I asked whether Ruby really had 4 collars. "Are you kidding?" he said. "Ruby's never even been licensed."

"You just have to kill 'em with kindness," he explained. It works every time."

Shelley

Postscript ~ the moral of this story is not that lying and breaking laws is recommended but in this incident, everyone got what they wanted. My dog now proudly wears his 2008 license. I will no longer be walking him on the beach, on or off-leash. But it could have ended a lot uglier, with harsh words and expensive fines. The kind words made all the difference.

Fan Mail

2008-02-26T19:59:00.001-08:00

Today I opened my email and found not one, but THREE letters from young people who have been reading my books. Pasted below is one of them, but all three were equally wonderful.

hi.I am obsessed with your books. i just finished kats fall and it was the best book i have ever read. not many books keep me entertained through out the whole book but this one did. i loved it so much and now i am reading dancing naked and so far i love it. my mom and brother went to one of your workshop things and bought some of your books so when im done dancing naked i will read sun sighns. i just thought you should know that i loved you book and you should never ever stop writing because you have an amazing talent as a writer.from your #1 fan

I wish I could reach out and hug these girls. These letters mean SO much to me. As authors, we send our new books out into the world without any idea of how they will be received. Even in fiction we feel that we are exposing our souls to the world through our writing, and we wonder how the world will respond. There is always a long, painful 'nothingness' when they are first launched, and we think.... is anyone reading it? Do they hate it? And then the professional reviews start dribbling in. When they're good you want to scream Hallelujah! and dance naked in the moonlight. When they're bad you feel practically suicidal. There's nothing like waiting for reviews to expose your every insecurity. Anne Lamott describes the feeling perfectly in her book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. It's a 'must read' for all new writers.

It wasn't until I took up writing myself that it ever occurred to me to write and tell an author what their book meant to me. I have now written about a dozen fan-mail type letters to authors. I should have written dozens more. The professional reviews tell us what professional critics think of our stories, but hearing from our actual targeted audience is SO much better. I have a binder full of letters similar to the one above, and on those days when the writing is not going well and I wonder why I even bother... I just have to pull out the binder, read the letters, and I find the inspiration to continue writing.

Let's not stop at just telling authors how much we enjoyed their books. Let's tell our neighbours how much we enjoy gazing at their gardens, or the check-out clerk at the grocery store how we always choose their aisle because of their great smile or a special teacher how they inspire us. So often we assume that other people know what their strengths are, but we all need reminders. Go on. Do it. Make someone's day.

Namaste

A True Story

2008-02-14T21:55:00.000-08:00

The above photos were taken by my daughter, Cara. (Isn't she clever? The black background in the 2nd picture is simply a black t-shirt. Brilliant.) The top one is of a hemp bead bracelet that my publisher is distributing with review copies of my new book, Gotcha!. The bottom one is of the actual book. As I've said before in this blog, I am so pleased with this cover art. Orca Books could not have done a better job of packaging my story. Now I just have to worry about whether the story is worthy of the packaging.

That leads me into the true story part of this post.

An artist, a musician and a writer were relaxing over cups of coffee after their yoga class. They were discussing 'completed projects'.

The artist said, "When I look at my completed paintings, I always want to reach for a paintbrush and rework parts of the painting."

The writer said, "As I do readings from my books, I realize how stupid the story is, and how badly written!"

The musician said, "When I put out a CD, I have to perfom the songs on it over and over again. With each performance I can only hear all the mistakes and wish I could redo the original tracks."

Okay, I'm paraphrasing. But the conversation did go something like that.

I guess it's human nature. I have never hosted a dinner party where, after the guests have all gone home, I didn't dwell on the meal's shortcoming rather than on what was good about it. In my garden I can only see where something is lacking, rather than what looks fabulous. Even in my author presentations, when all is said and done, it's what I forgot to include in the presentation that haunts me, not what went well.

The exception to this rule is with my daughters. When I look at them I can only see their strengths. They are each so close to perfection that sometimes it takes my breath away. Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, their messy bedrooms drive me CRAZY, the 'borrowing' of each others things borders on 'theft' but these things are minor in the big picture. They really are amazing young women.

There is a huge difference in being proud of our art and of our children. Our children are creating themselves. We can only guide them. In some ways that is true of our art. I'm sure that both my artist and musician friends would claim that their art guides them, just as my writing takes me to places I never expected. What we set out to paint, write, compose is not anything like the final product. However, I do believe we have more control over our artistic creations than we do our children. No, I don't think we do, I know we do.

I'm not even sure why I'm comparing the two. Maybe because it's Valentine's Day and public expressions of love are in order. I hope my girls each know how much they are cherished. I also hope that all my artist, musician and writer friends can learn to be satisfied and proud of their creations. I know I'm working on it.

Namaste

Celebrating Teachers

2008-01-27T07:55:00.000-08:00

Last week I had the honour of speaking to two classes at Handsworth Secondary School in North Vancouver. What a treat it was!

I have done hundreds of presentations over the past 10 years and I have enjoyed them all, but some stand out as better than others. My presentation at Handsworth was one of my most enjoyable ever and I believe that was due to the prep work done by the Librarian and English teachers before my arrival. Many of the students had read my books and they all knew I was coming to the school. The librarian had gone to the extra trouble of making sure there were additional copies of my books available, borrowed from neighbouring schools. Many of the students came armed with great questions, and I knew immediately that their English teachers were exemplary.

At the end of my presentation a couple students stayed behind to chat with me about my books. I always appreciate speaking with students one on one. The last person to leave the room was a young man who told me he also attends the Unitarian Church. I could tell he'd been listening carefully because I'd only mentioned in passing my connection with that church, but I'm so glad he hung back to say hello to a fellow Unitarian.

As I walked away from the school at the end of my session, I realized that I'd forgotten to clarify to the students the point of my presentation. I know it's unlikely that many of them will pursue careers in writing, but I hope the message of perseverance came through loud and clear. My path to becoming a published author was often discouraging, filled with rejection letters, but I persevered, continuing to practise my craft until I finally found success. It's the same with any dream. If you chip away at it long enough, you, too, will find success.

The Handsworth group clearly had a great sense of humour, too. One student asked if I found it 'creepy' that his teacher had researched my books and stumbled across my blog. Just to reiterate, no, I don't think it's creepy. I think it's wonderful! And I haven't forgotten the promised dinner out, either. :)

Namaste

Shelley

* The picture of Sir Winston by Cara is dedicated to the Handworth students who liked the last picture of him.

Christmas Aftermath

2008-01-07T11:59:00.000-08:00

(photo by Cara)

I've always wished that the spirit of generosity and goodwill that surrounds us at Christmas could somehow be harnessed and spread out over the whole year. I love the following poem.

The Work of Christmas

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among brothers,
To make music in the heart

(Howard Thurman)

Finding joy in a Safeway lineup

2008-01-06T15:08:00.000-08:00

The smallest things always bring me the greatest joy.

Today at Safeway I noticed that both the person in front of me AND the person behind me were each carrying their own shopping bags.

Then I looked at the check-out counters on either side of me and the customers there had also brought their own bags.

I know it sounds silly, but I felt a surge of happiness rush through me. A year ago I rarely saw anyone else with their own bags and many of the cashiers groaned when they saw mine as they are a little more difficult to pack. (They don't fit over the hooks that hold the plastic bags open.)

I have a long way to go to reach environmental sainthood, but it's nice to feel less alone in my efforts.

A few days ago I read of a New Year's Poll that was taken this year, asking people about their resolutions. The most common answer was that people were going to try to be more environmentally aware when shopping this year. This came BEFORE losing weight, quitting smoking, working out etc. The greatest percentage of people were looking outside themselves. Halleluah!

Earlier today I was at my mom's apartment, visiting. She told me she saw a story on the news that said if each person used one less paper napkin each day there would be a significant positive impact on our forests. I reminded her that I'd been harping on this for years. She knew that but thought I'd be interested to know that it was finally 'newsworthy'.

The picture above is of Winston, my dog, frollicking in the snow over Christmas. He finds joy in small things too.

Namaste

Cover Art - Yahoo!

2008-01-01T20:41:00.000-08:00

Here's a sneak preview of the cover art for my spring book, Gotcha. Isn't it gorgeous??!! I didn't know it was even completed, but Kim Denman from my writing group accidentally stumbled across it when she was looking for something on the Orca Books website. What is especially exciting is that all three of us from our writing group have spring books coming out, and she discovered the cover art for each of them. It was exciting to see our new 'babies' at the same time. (For some reason I can't expand the size of the photo for this post but I'll post it again when I can.)

Seeing the cover art for my books is always such a thrill. The book suddenly becomes real. Until now it was just a story, a stack of manuscript pages, but now I can see that it really is going to become a book. And I especially like this cover. It is perfect. I have no input into what goes onto the covers of my book, so it's always a relief when I like them.

This feels like a good omen for 2008.

To all my friends ~ I you wish loving connections, creative inspiration and meaningful work for 2008.

Namaste.

Dancing in the Rain

2007-12-20T16:14:00.000-08:00

I'm a quote junkie. Anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time has probably figured that out. Quotes are sprinkled throughout my novels. I keep a journal filled with my favourite ones. How I admire those thoughtful people who can capture the essence of a wise idea in a pithy line or two.

A couple favourite quotes have helped me find direction in recent days.

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass... it's about learning to dance in the rain. (author unknown.)

My mother is dealing with difficult health issues right now and making decisions on how best to care for her has consumed all my waking hours for much of the past few months. I keep telling myself that I'll resume the rest of my life once this 'storm' has passed but it's now dawning on me that this situation isn't going to blow over like a storm does. It's here to stay, in one form or another. It's time for me to learn to dance in the rain, to care for my mother and continue with my own projects. Now that I have given myself permission to do that, I'm back to mulling over an idea I have for my next book. So far I have imagined the characters. I have imagined the problem they are facing, their 'internal conflict'. I even know (sort of) what the outcome of the story will be. What I have yet to decide is whose voice will tell the story and what external conflicts there will be, those events that run parallel to the internal struggles.

Here's a quote that describes this exact place that I'm at with this project.

"No one but an artist knows the peculiar delight of being summoned by a work which, as yet unborn, lies with all its potential undisclosed within the dormant darkness of the creating heart. (Mr. Golightly's Holiday)

I have yet to type one word of this book, but I am definitely being 'summoned' by it. It's an exciting place to be at. The hard work has yet to come.

And one last quote, which I think explains why so many of us forward on inspirational pieces via email, or, like me, forward our favourite quotes.

"If you find something good share it with anyone you can find. In that way the goodness will spread, no telling how far it will go." (Forest Carter, The Education of the Little Tree)

Namaste

Shelley

The photo above was taken from www.exploredance.com/fashion81003.php

I'm counting the days...

2007-12-13T09:59:00.001-08:00

My favourite day of the season is approaching and no, it's not Christmas Day. It's the Winter Solstice, when the days stop getting shorter and begin to lengthen again.

In the meantime, I'm grateful for Christmas lights which brighten these long, dark nights of December.

Most of our customs, symbols, and rituals associated with Christmas are actually linked to the Winter Solstice celebrations of ancient Pagan cultures, including bringing light to these long nights. (Obviously the Pagans didn't have electric Christmas lights, but that's where the whole idea of lighting the night originally started.) Other customs borrowed from the Pagans include feasting, decorating our homes with greenery and expressing love by exchanging gifts. The actual birth of Jesus was in the fall but December 25th was the day chosen to represent his birth in order to tie it in with the winter solstice rituals that had already been long established. For those uncomfortable with the term 'Christmas celebrations', perhaps calling them 'Solstice' celebrations or even 'Pagan' celebrations would be a good alternative. Whatever we call it, thank goodness for the light and beauty and love that we surround ourselves with at this darkest time of year. Let's all raise a glass and toast the ancient Pagans sometime this season for without this celebration of light to break up the winter it would seem even longer.

Speaking of light, the colourful picture above features Cara, my daughter, dancing as the Sugar Plum Fairy a few years ago. She, and her sisters, are the ongoing 'light' in my life.
Namaste
Shelley

My Ultimate 'Fantasy' Adventure

2007-12-08T22:53:00.000-08:00

About a year ago I listened intently as a friend described her trip to Rwanda and the guided trek she took into the mountains in order to spend an hour 'hanging' with a group of wild silverback mountain gorilla. I was fascinated with her story.

A few months later there was an article in our local paper describing much the same experience. Once again I was captivated by the story and tried to imagine what it would be like to stand five feet away from a 500 lb wild gorilla in his element, no bars between us, making eye contact with him and wondering if this was the day he would decide he was fed up with gawking tourists and become aggressive. Strangely, I'm not eager to come face to face with a bear on one of our local mountains, so why the desire to meet the gorilla?

Today there were two more accounts of the same wonderful experience in the Vancouver Sun. I read them, mesmerized. They described the excitement, the wonder, the thrill of watching a 2-yr-old gorilla showing off for them, pounding his chest so hard he fell over. It sounded much like the antics of so many 2 year old children I've known. How I yearn to experience such a wonder, and yet to do so I'd have to face some of my greatest fears.

I am not a risk taker. Never have been. Just travelling to Rwanda, adjusting to the culture and giving up my creature comforts would be a stretch for me. Add to that a hike that might be more strenuous than I could handle and the potential danger of actually coming face to face with these marvelous creatures ... well, I don't know if I could actually step onto the plane when I consider all of this.

And yet... there's just something about these magnificent beasts. After all, they share 98 % of our DNA. The Rwanda guides say it is like meeting your relatives. I imagine that is true. Apparently they look at you, really look at you, like a fellow human being, sizing you up. When I look at them in pictures their intelligent faces always make me pause. I feel I am looking into the eyes of someone familiar... almost a deja vu feeling. It's not like looking at a cat or dog. This is a fellow primate. Their expressions are so wise and thoughtful, so incredibly like one of us, yet not quite. Take a long look at the picture at the top of this post. Study his eyes. Do you not feel you 'know' this creature?

I often wonder... how did humans evolve away from this great beast, this creature who, unlike us, lives in complete compatibly with Mother Nature. Maybe we can find some answers in observing them, that is, as long as we don't pass on any of our diseases to them, and if the poachers don't get to the remaining 700 of them that are left on this planet...

Perhaps it is time to abandon my fears and plan my own trek. As we all know, life is too short to put off until tomorrow what we could do today.

Who's in?

Namaste

Santa's Elves Dropped By Today

2007-12-04T22:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I came home emotionally drained and sad from visiting my mother in the hospital. To my surprise and delight I found a cheery elf here, busily decorating our home for Christmas. The Christmas carols were playing and she brought shimmering light to a very dark day.

Today I came home to find that two elves were now at it, finding ways to make our home look fresh and festive, a wonderful bright respite in yet another dark day.

I know these two elves will do what they can to help with the Christmas shopping too, should I call on them. Perhaps they are actually Christmas angels in disguise.

There is a third elf, an elf-in-training, who I know will step in with her own contributions when the time is right.

In these dark days of my mother's illness, I have been given the gift of light.

I am truly blessed.

Is it my imagination....

2007-11-24T15:16:00.000-08:00

or does the Christmas frenzy start earlier and earlier each year? It is still November and my dear husband has already been to an office Christmas party!

I've never been much of a 'Christmas' person. There are just too many expectations at this time of year and most of these things I'm not good at. If I had my way, I'd 'unplug the Christmas machine' and create simple, family-centered traditions that wouldn't include shopping malls or racing from one event to another. However, when it comes to Christmas, I don't have my way.

But....

A couple of years ago I came across a list of Seasonal Strategies written by Harold Rosen who was then the minister of the North Shore Unitarian Church. With this list, Harold invites us to "look behind the all-too-familiar things, and see the Larger Reality they represent." I review this list at the start of each Christmas season and I'm now far more successful at keeping my "mental and spiritual health intact."

I offer Harold's list here, an early Yuletide gift for anyone who takes the time to read my blog.

May your ramp-up to Christmas be only as frantic as you wish it to be.

Season Of Symbols

Gifts - they are more than stuffed boxes covered with shiny paper and ribbons; they are tangible tokens of all those thoughtful things we wanted to 'do' for our loved ones and friends, all year long, but never got around to it.

Cards - the are more than donations to Hallmark and overtime pay for the postal service; they are humble hints of the much we'd like to say if only time, emotional strength and eloquence abounded.

Lights - they are more than electrical fire hazards and jobs for the handy-person in our midst; they conquer the darkness of season and soul with a glimpse of celestial spendour.

Carols - they are more than memory-markers and excuses for extra choir rehearsals; they are auditory proof that heaven is nigh, and that the layers of tradition can heal the layers of our pain.

Angels - they are more than plastic ornaments on trees... they are those whispers we hear just in time, saying "you have what it takes.' 'Good deeds can be fun.' 'Things pass, but Love abides' and 'all will turn out well, despite appearances.'

In peace,

Shelley

Creating an Animal Friendly World

2007-11-22T17:46:00.000-08:00

"Teaching a child not to step on a caterpillar is as valuable to the child as it is to the caterpillar."

Bradley Miller

This picture and quote were taken from the Peta website.

http://www.peta.org/

So beautiful in its simplicity.

Nameste, Shelley

Gestation period of a book (or the neurosis of an author with a soon-to-be published book)

2007-11-20T21:15:00.000-08:00

The gestation period of an elephant is 22 months. Those poor elephant mothers! But then elephant mothers aren't like human mothers. Unlike us they likely accept their condition without worry or anxiety. I doubt thoughts of 'what if?' run through their large elephant heads. They just carry on, accepting what is, feeling heavy with the weight but not stressing over it.

Human mothers stress over ever little ache, pain and twinge. Am I gaining too much weight? Not enough? Is my baby going to be healthy? Will it have all its fingers and toes? My ankles are swelling! What does it mean?? Hmm.... I'm quite sure elephant mom's don't worry about swollen ankles.

The gestation period of a book is almost as long as that of an elephant, and the author is plagued with as many worries as the human mom. As I get closer to the launch date of my spring '08 book, Gotcha!, I'm becoming more and more fretful. Did I tie up all the loose ends? Are the characters believable? Did I overwrite such and such a scene? Is the ending sappy? Flat? Is it a truly stupid story? Will the reviewers hate it? Should I withdraw the manuscript and send back my advance money??

I remember the final weeks before the birth of each of my daughters. I loved the feeling of the wee baby feet kicking against my abdomen, the baby hiccups, the image of my unborn child curled up inside of me. But did I ever worry! How would the birth go? Would there be complications? Would I be a good mother? Would my child be healthy?

It's hard to believe that a soon-to-be published book can be as anxiety-arousing as a new baby, but there really are many similarities. Like the mother about to enter the hospital, knowing she has to leave her dignity at the door, the author also feels vulnerable. And unworthy. The soon-to-be mother wonders if she is up to the task of raising a child. The author wonders if she has actually written a worthwhile story. Should the new mother have remained childless? Did the publisher make a big mistake in agreeing to publish the author's book?

I know intellectually that worry is a useless emotion. I also know that Gotcha! will find an audience, or not.

All three of my daughter have grown to be fine young women. They are each doing a wonderful job of making their own way in the world. Each of my books has done the same. I enjoyed writing them. Each story felt worthy enough to become a book as I wrote it. I have received wonderful feedback from readers that reassure me that the the paper they were printed on was not wasted. That's what matters in the end.

I hope that each of my daughters will strive to leave the world a better place, whether it is through kindness, wisdom or through one of their many talents. I also hope that each of my books will leave a positive imprint in the hearts and minds of my readers.

Nameste,

Shelley

New York City, Here We Come!

2007-11-06T15:49:00.000-08:00

On Friday I'm going to New York City with 15 other women, mostly women from my bookclub. We will spend four full days taking in the sights, smells and tastes of this amazing city.

Seeing the shows, the architecture, visiting the restaurants and museums, it will all be fun, but mostly it will be wonderful to spend four carefree days with other women who are at roughly the same place on their life journeys as I am. We will all take a break from being mothers, wives, short-order cooks, dog-walkers, employees etc. to bask in friendship and camaraderie.

"I believe that these circles of women around us weave invisible nets of love that carry us when we are weak and sing with us when we are strong. Let's lean back and let the arms of women's friendships carry us and help us to know ourselves better, and live our lives together." Sark.

I am a new auntie... again!

2007-10-30T08:36:00.000-07:00

I just received my copy of Kim Denman's latest book, Rebel's Tag. Inside is this acknowledgment: My thanks to those tagged by the moon and ever-deserving of rubies, Shelley Hrdlitschka and Diane Tullson. Inside Diane Tullson's newest book, The Darwin Expedition, she too acknowledges Kim and I for our help in the writing process.

Diane, Kim and I are a writing group. During the writing of each of our books we are there for one another from conception to release. We brainstorm every new idea that is presented. We encourage each other to persevere when the writing becomes agony and we read first, second and third drafts of each other's manuscripts and provide feedback. Seeing each of Kim's and Diane's new books get released is every bit as exciting as seeing my own launched. In fact, it's almost better. Like childbirth, there's a lot of anxiety and worry around the launch of a new book. With someone else's, you get to hold it, admire it, love it but you're spared the worry about whether it's any good and whether or not it will be successful. As great aunties, we have faith that each book is perfect as is, no matter what happens.

I am truly blessed to be a member of this small group. Without them... who knows? Many, many times they have encouraged me to continue with a project when it feels hopeless. They have steered me in directions that I would never have considered. They have propped me back up when I've fallen down. Their writing is truly inspirational and their wisdom runs deep.

Writing books can be lonely work, but it never has been for me. I know that Kim and Diane are always just a call or email away.

Shades of Grey

2007-10-28T20:01:00.000-07:00

I have just finished reading this book by Jodi Picoult. My daughters and I have been gobbling up each of her novels. She's a master storyteller but what I love most about her writing is the way she explores those 'grey' areas, those situations which seem, on the surface to be black and white, right or wrong, but are, on closer examination, grey and murky.

When we hear about people in the news we are quick to judge. They should have done this. I would have done that if I were them. But if there's one thing I've finally learned in my 51 years it's that nothing is ever as it seems. We will never really know what it is like to be another person, what motivates them, what makes them tick, even if we have lived with them for many years. We don't understand how the experiences they've lived through have shaped their world views, their way of justifying what they do. We don't ever fully know another person because we are not living in their bodies, their minds. What does it feel like to have an overwhelming need for a drug? An overwhelming rage that makes us violent? All we know is what seems obvious from the outside looking in, knowing only what we understand from our own life experiences. As Picoult shows us in her books, there is always so much more to consider.

People are complicated beasts. We must not judge too quickly. Let us be kind to one another, listen as best we can, and hope, that by sending compassion and love out into the world, we can ease the torment that lives in the hearts of so many.

Nameste

The Joy of Editing

2007-10-23T09:45:00.000-07:00

fadetheory.com/?p=1148

It's been a year since I signed a contract for my new novel Gotcha! (formerly The Gotcha Gods). The manuscript has now been returned to me for editing, in preparation for a spring release.

In one way it's a good thing if a lot of time passes between the writing and the editing. I am not nearly so attached to the story anymore and can see it with fresh eyes.

On the other hand, I have to read the book again to refamiliarize myself with the story before I can even start making the suggested changes. A lot has happened in the past year, and the details of the story are starting to fade from my mind, even though I wouldn't have thought that possible a year ago.

When I'm in the midst of writing a book it feels as though I am actually living it with the characters. My poor friends have to endure my constant rattling on about the people in the story as though they are real, as if what is happening to them really matters and I am the only one who can save them, (which is, of course, true). During the writing I find it hard to separate my own life from my fictional life, but, just as in real life, time has a way of distancing us from what seemed incredibly important only a year ago.

I have been blessed to work with the same editor for each of my books. He is too kind, gentle and wise to use the editing marks shown in this comic strip even through he may secretly wish to. His editing style is to write questions on stickees and stick them to the passage in question. This time the manuscript is completely covered in lime green notes, each with a red-inked question scrawled on it. Katie really dislikes her mom. Can this be softened a bit? What's a double-dutch routine? Is this a little too much? Why did it take 5 weeks to tell her?

As I read these questions my initial knee jerk reaction is to pick up the phone, call the editor and holler, "Didn't you read the book??? I can't soften this because of blah blah blah. This is not too much because of blah blah blah. It took 5 weeks because blah blah blah." But I don't. I force myself to sit on my hands and reflect for a few minutes. Then I remember. If he, the perceptive editor wonders about these things as he's reading the story, won't other readers wonder the same thing? I have learned from experience to trust his instincts. Through careful editing a book always improves. With this one, there are no major rewrites to be done, thank goodness. I will soften Katie's relationship with her Mom even though I think that what's written is quite typical of an angry teenager. I will explain how the game is played more carefully, even though I thought I'd already done that. I will take out the reference to double dutch skipping as it must not be a term younger people (like my editor) are familiar with. Through additional writing, I will answer the questions. In the end, despite my reluctance, it will be a better book.

I know this much to be true.

Shelley

Healing Rain

2007-10-21T20:26:00.000-07:00

I set my alarm last night to be sure to wake up in time for yoga class this morning. Just like services at my Unitarian church, yoga is spiritual and meditative, but it's also physically challenging, the perfect way to start a Sunday.

Unfortunately, the phone woke me before the alarm. It was not good news. My mother was in the ER and had been there for almost 24 hours. Anyone who knows my mother knows how desperately she doesn't want to 'trouble' her family. The message I received was that she was there but she did NOT want to see anyone.

We've heard that before.

The rain hammered against my windshield as I rushed to the hospital, my stomach in knots. Flashbacks from every other visit to the ER were coming in waves. I remember my own scary emergency visits, anxious episodes with my husband and children, and various trips there for my mother. Each one was was filled with pain, nervous tension, uncertainty.

I found my Mom huddled in a chair, looking small and fragile. The excruciating stomach pain that had prompted her to call an ambulance and go to the hospital the previous morning was gone. Now she was weak, hungry, and desperate to get out of there.

There were two other elderly ladies in the room with her. Each of them was waiting, and it seems to me that that's what you do in ER. Wait for test results. Wait for doctors. Wait to be released or admitted. So much uncertainty. So little privacy. Not even a door on the bathroom, only a curtain.

As we waited I watched the medical staff go about their duties. Thank goodness for these wonderful saints who are willing to work in the ER. It is not an occupation for an emotional weakling like me.

After a couple of hours I left my mom with some trashy magazines and a promise to return later and then dashed back through the monsoon to attend a memorial service for my friend, Buff, who died exactly a year ago. It was a beautiful service with a couple professional vocalists, (people who Buff had helped get their start in the business) an open mike for those of us who were brave enough to share memories and a reading from his just-launched biography. Buff's father read from some of the many heart-warming letters he received after Buff's death and there was a slide and video presentation. Buff's dad was a trooper, taking many of us aside and telling us what we had meant to his son. The drumming of the rain on the church roof gave sound to the tears that were being shed inside, healing tears. It was a beautiful tribute, and I only wish more people had been able to attend. The thousand plus attendees at his service last year had dwindled down to about seventy five, but I know that even in my own family, one of my daughters had a commitment that made it impossible for her to attend and another had to leave early.

After the service I received the good news that my mom had been released from the hospital and was resting at home. As usual, we don't know what caused the pain and can only hope it won't reoccur.

Tonight the rain is still pounding against the window. I'm thinking of my mom and sending healing energy her way. I'm hoping for a wee break in the weather, just a hint of sunshine will do. (Winston would really like to be taken on a walk a little farther than the backyard fence.) I'm trusting that the memorial service will have brought some closure and healing to Buff's dad and the rest of his family. And... I hope to make it to yoga class tomorrow, to restore my equilibrium.

Okay okay...

2007-10-20T11:41:00.000-07:00

For those of us who find the idea of writing a novel in a month a little daunting (see previous post) here's a contest that anyone could manage. In fact, why not dust off that wonderful piece you wrote 5 years ago and send it off? The entry fee seems a little steep, but the prize is $2,500, which is more than some novels will ever earn for you!

Writers Union Short Prose Competition:

Eligible Writers: Canadian citizens or landed immigrants who have not been published in book format are welcome to enter.

Eligible Entries: Nonfiction and fiction prose, up to 2,500 words in the English language, are eligible. Eligible works have not been previously published in any format.

Deadline: The postmarked deadline is November 3.

Entry Fee: Please submit a $25 fee per entry.

More information can be found at http://www.writersunion.ca/

Good luck!

An invitation from your imagination...

2007-10-18T13:40:00.000-07:00

If you need a little kick start to write that novel, read on ~

Hello!

This is your imagination. I know work, school, and general craziness have been keeping us apart lately. But there's something we need to do together this November. It's called National Novel Writing Month. For it, we'll bash out a 50,000-word novel, from scratch, in 30 days. You and me. Writing a book. Together. I need you to sign us up. Because I don't have any arms.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Love,

Your imagination

ps. there's a separate contest for young people, too!

Going Meatless

2007-10-16T14:52:00.000-07:00

As a child I thought vegetarians were as odd as Hare Krishnas. My mother planned our evening meal around whatever meat she'd defrosted that morning. It was what I knew and what seemed 'normal' to me so when I grew up I began cooking the same way.

In the late eighties I joined an environmental group run by some truly interesting women. Our focus was to find ways to live 'greener' in our own homes and to educate our community on these issues. A few of the women in this group were vegetarian and at first I thought they were somewhat 'on the fringe' but they never pushed their views on the rest of us so I didn't think much about it. Then one evening one of them brought a video to our meeting. It was based on a popular book at the time (Diet for a New America) and it showed the negative environmental impact of raising beef for human consumption. At first I resisted even watching the video as I had no interest in becoming vegetarian, but I was there and had nothing else to do, so I watched it.

One powerful fact from the video stayed with me. I learned that if the grain and water that is fed to North American cattle could somehow be diverted to third world countries, no one on the planet would go to bed hungry at night. I thought long and hard about that. I knew that one person (me) giving up meat would have no impact on the big picture, nor would any hungry person suddenly have a meal but somehow giving up meat just seemed 'right'. I wanted to support the idea of a plant-based diet, and besides, I'd never liked thinking about where my pork chops and hamburgers came from in the first place, so why eat them?

That was 16 years ago. The only meat I have eaten since then is seafood, but I hope to give that up eventually too. I cook meat for my family but they also think it's 'normal' to have meatless meals. I don't push them to give up meat, but I do encourage them to think about where their meat comes from, and let them know why I choose free range, organic meat for their meals. It's better for the planet, the animals and them.

Footnote:

About 2,000 pounds of grain must be supplied to livestock in order to produce enough meat and other livestock products to support a person for a year, whereas 400 pounds of grain eaten directly will support a person for a year.

M.E. Ensminger, Ph.D. Internationally recognized animal agriculture specialist, former Department of Animal Science Chairman at Washington State University.

Mother Love

2007-10-11T16:43:00.000-07:00

These pictures recently made the rounds on the internet. According to the story, this mother tiger's babies died shortly after birth. She became listless and the zookeepers thought she was depressed at losing them so they devised a plan to cheer her up. They dressed these piglets in tiger skin coats and put them in the pen with the tiger. How easily they could have become her lunch! As shown by her face, she not only accepted them, but she cheered right up, too.

The strength of animal instincts always astounds me. I've observed many kinds of dogs on my daily walks with Winston and the behavioural traits of the various breeds are fascinating. The dogs that were once bred for herding still herd their owners, running back and forth at their heels, keeping them on the straight and narrow. The working dogs proudly carry a stick or a prized tennis ball. Winston, whose ancestors were hunting dogs, runs in wide circles on either side of the trail, flushing out imaginary birds. Terriers 'tear about' after rodents. No one taught them these behaviours, they were just born with them. (And don't get me started on migratory birds. Those instincts are too mind-boggling to comprehend.)

But mother love (and probably father love too though I can only speak for mothers) must be the strongest instinct of them all, and it must be the same for mothers of all species. Mother Nature built this trait into our characters in order to preserve each species. There's nothing a mother wouldn't do to protect her young.

The look on the tiger's face says it all. She doesn't care what her babies look like or where they came from. She loves them unconditionally. It's as simple as that.

So maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks

2007-10-02T23:14:00.000-07:00

Most of my adult life I've intended to try yoga. Everything I read about it led me to believe it would be a good fit, yet for some reason I never took the plunge.

Last week, thanks to some serious prodding by my friend Paul, I finally attended my first class and now I'm kicking myself for waiting so long. It's everything I hoped it would be and much, much more.

I left that first session with an indescribable feeling of well-being, a natural high. Since then I've experienced classes with 4 different teachers and each session was varied but just as wonderful. I'm not very flexible and can't do everything the teachers demonstrate but it doesn't matter. The practise encourages you to do whatever feels comfortable. There is no sense of competition, or even comparison. Meditation is a big part of the experience and finding inner balance and peace is stressed. I've never been a big fan of stretching but that has all changed. The room is beautiful with a waterfall cascading down one wall and a view of the forest through the windows. The candles are lit and the background music creates a mood that helps you transcend the world you leave at the door.

I've only had a taste of what the ancient art of yoga has to offer and I look forward to learning so much more.

I will now check yoga off my list of things I must try some day. Next on the list: tap dancing! Who's in?

Nameste

Take Him To The Stars

2007-09-28T11:03:00.000-07:00

It has been almost a year since my friend, Buff Schemmer, took his life and yet every time I hear a motorcycle coming down the street I think, "Here comes Buff. I wonder what's on his mind today?"

And then I remember. Buff won't be visiting anymore.

I think about Buff every day, but he was in my thoughts even more over the past few weeks as I read the final galley proofs of an autobiography on him that has been written by Phillip Whitford. Months ago, when Phillip first asked me to read a rough draft of the book, I hesitated. I was just beginning to heal from the tragedy of his death and I felt that reading a book about him would reopen fresh wounds.

But I did read it, and I've read two subsequent drafts.

I will paste my review of the book below. It will be posted on the Take Him To the Stars webpage http://takehimtothestars.com/home.htm where information about the book, its launch and a host of other things can be found, but let me say this. The book is written with tremendous compassion, wisdom, and keen insight. Reading it brought increased healing as I learned so much about the man that I did not know. Feelings of guilt over my own sometimes rocky relationship with Buff have been put to rest. I was the best friend I could be to him, and he was also being the best person he could be. Neither of us was perfect.

My Review:

After months of painstaking research, digging deep and conducting many interviews, Phillip Whitford has written a book that connects the thousands of interlocking puzzle pieces that make up Mike (Buff) Schemmer’s life and in doing so has formed a complete image that makes sense of the complicated person that Buff was.

Beginning with Buff’s early years, Whitford describes the awkwardness Buff felt in school when his physical size never matched his social maturity. We get a peek at the many unhappy incidents that Buff endured, including abuse and bullying by peers and teachers that were instrumental in shaping the man he was to become. The story then progresses into Buff’s adult years where Whitford, with tremendous wisdom, contrasts the passionate, exuberant man we saw on the outside with the troubled, lonely and depressed person he was on the inside. Whitford even manages to make sense of why Buff ended his life so tragically, allowing the reader to find closure.

This biography of Buff Schemmer does not gloss over the prickly edges of Buff’s character, but accurately portrays the complex man he was. At the same time, Whitford reminds us of Buff’s incredible accomplishments: his unrelenting efforts to protect at risk children and adults, his thousands of volunteer hours spent coaching countless children, and his passion for writing and theatre. In the end, this book shows how Buff could and did help everyone but himself.

Buff’s life ended far too soon, but Take Him to the Stars is a powerful legacy of a remarkable man.

What goes around...

2007-09-25T13:32:00.000-07:00

Matthew was only 10 years old when he began dropping by my classroom at the end of the day. He'd never been my student but we became acquainted when I coached a team he played on. I'd invite him into my room and put him to work hanging artwork or tidying up and while we worked he'd chat about himself. I could tell he was an unhappy little guy but he claimed that his Grade Five teacher was special and that he was helping Matthew turn his life around. In fact, Matthew was so impressed by this teacher that he vowed that he, too, would become a teacher so that he could make a difference in the lives of troubled kids.

Fast forward 15 years. I am no longer teaching school but am writing novels for children and teenagers. That same school I once taught at invited me back to do an author presentation for their students. I had a terrific morning with three classes of Grade 7 students. While I was working with them, I noticed a young teacher sitting at the back of the room, listening intently, but I focused on the students and didn't pay much attention to him.

At the end of the session the students and teachers filed out of the library and back to their classrooms. I began cleaning up my books and didn't at first notice that the young teacher had returned to the library and was waiting to speak with me.

"You don't recognize me, do you," he said when I finally noticed him. He was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable.

I shook my head. "No. "

"I'm Matthew. I used to be a student at this school and I often came to visit you in your classroom."

I'm sure my mouth dropped open. Little Matthew had grown up and done exactly what he said he was going to do, and here he was teaching at the same school that he'd once attended. We chatted for a few minutes, and then he began to look uncomfortable again. "I often think of you," he said. "And I even thought of writing you a letter. I wanted to thank you for always listening to my problems." He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. "Now that I'm a teacher I find that I, too, have students who want to hang back at the end of the day and talk. When I grow impatient with them, I recall how you always had time to listen to me. Remembering that helps me find the patience for my own students. I'm glad you came here today so I could tell you that."

I thanked Matthew, and we both went on our way, but for me, my life was permanently altered. I am so grateful that Matthew came back into the library and told me his story. Knowing that I made a difference in someone's life, and that it is now being 'played forward' is a gift I will always treasure. How incredibly lucky I was to run into him.

As I drove home that day I began making a mental list of people from my own past who I wish I could thank. First on the list would be my own grade five teacher. She was one of the gifted ones and it was because of her that I chose to become a teacher myself....

What goes around comes around.

Shelley

Restocking the fish pond

2007-09-19T11:44:00.000-07:00

"In order to create, we draw from our inner well. This inner well, an artistic reservoir, is ideally like a well stocked fish pond... If we don't give some attention to upkeep, our well is apt to become depleted, stagnant, or blocked... As artists, we must learn to be self nourishing. We must become alert enough to consciously replenish our creative resources as we draw on them - to restock the trout pond, so to speak." (Julia Cameron)

When I finished writing Sister Wife last June I knew I'd depleted my artistic reservoir. I felt emotionally drained, without a burning desire to start anything new. That's when I started this blog. It has encouraged me to write something, anything, fairly regularly, and I've come to enjoy it.

But the summer has come and gone and I still haven't started a new project. Julia Cameron (author of the above quote) suggests that we take ourselves on artist dates, at least once a week, in order to keep the inner well stocked, and in my case, to begin restocking it. With that in mind, I set out, with Winston, to visit a local church that has recently painted a labyrinth in its parking lot.

A labyrinth is a circuitous path, an ancient symbol of our life journey. It combines the imagery of the circle and the spiral into a meandering but purposeful route. Walking it represents a journey to our own center, our deepest self and back again with a broadened understanding of who we are.

The church parking lot was empty so I tied the dog to a tree and entered the labyrinth. At first I felt a little foolish as I wandered back and forth along the path, but as I got a little further into it I was able to quiet my mind and relax. Unlike the maze, in a labyrinth there are no dead ends, and everyone who walks the path will eventually reach the center. I quickly realized why this walk leads to meditation. You have to focus hard on your feet and the windy path just ahead of them in order to stay on it, and this clears your mind of all other clutter.

I've been told that if you ask yourself a question as you enter the labyrinth, the answer may unfold before you complete the journey. When you reach the centre, you enjoy quiet reflection for as long as you like and then you follow the same path out again. From there you can take the insights from your walk into your everyday life. Knowing this, I asked for insight on my next writing project. What should I write about? Who should the audience be? Should I step away from teen fiction for awhile and try something new? Should I dust off an old, unpublished story and rework it?

I walked to the center. I walked out again. Did I receive the answers to my questions? No, (and no big surprise there) but the experience reminded me of something I'd discovered years ago when my youngest daughter was in kindergarten. I'd write like a demon all morning while she was in school and then walk over there at lunch time to to pick her up. Many, many times, as I walked to the school, not even consciously thinking about my writing project, an answer for a problem I was having with it would suddenly come to me. Over and over this phenomena took me by surprise.

It must be the same principal with the labyrinth. The next time I visit it I will breathe deep, clear my mind, and enjoy. The answers I may receive won't be the ones I might have thought to ask, but I know I will come away more balanced, refreshed, and with insights that came directly from the universe, or even, more likely, the center of my deepest self. I will expect to be enlightened.

Shelley

I'm mad!

2007-09-17T15:07:00.000-07:00

A young person (YP) I know and love parked her car at the side of the road and went to work. When she finished her shift at her minimum wage, part time job she returned to her car and discovered that someone had backed into it and left the hood and driver's side of the car smashed in. The person who hit her didn't leave a note, nothing. This was upsetting to YP as she knows she will have to pay the $750.00 deductible to get her car fixed and that equals a lot of long shifts at work.

Today she went to the ICBC claim centre to report the damage. This is the part that makes me really really MAD. The situation was frustrating enough, she had done nothing wrong, was going to be out of pocket $750, but then the claims adjuster proceeded to ridicule her!

I know I know. Mr. Claims Adjuster would say that he was just doing his job, that he has to weed out the dishonest clients, that insurance fraud is rampant, but did he need to use that tone of voice?? In her polite and respectful way she told him that she only works part time, so then he asked her what she did with the rest of her day. "Do you just sit around and twiddle your thumbs?"

The conversation went downhill from there, he twisted her words around, made unfair accusations and by the time he was finished she felt like a criminal yet she was the one who'd had a crime committed against her! Was it really too hard for him to conduct himself in a professional manner? Would he have spoken to the YP's tall and robust father with the same sarcastic tone of voice?

I wonder how Mr. Claims Adjuster feels when he goes home at the end of the day? Victorious in his war against insurance fraud? Oh wow! He really showed her who was boss!

I suspect that if we dug a little deeper we'd discover that this person was bullied when he was younger and is now dealing with his latent anger by bullying back, under the guise of 'work'. Perhaps he deserves my compassion instead of my anger and maybe in time I'll be able to muster up a little pity, but right now I'm just mad. Spitting mad.

“The best index to a person’s character is (a) how he treats people who can’t do him any good, and (b) how he treats people who can’t fight back.”
— Abigail van Buren

Shelley

Treading Lightly

2007-09-12T14:26:00.000-07:00

Did you know that 4 to 5 trillion plastic bags are produced world-wide each year? The negative ecological impact from just producing these bags is alarming, but then where do they end up? Sure, some are reused to line garbage cans or to ‘scoop poop’, but in the US alone 100 billion plastic grocery bags are thrown away annually. That’s a lot of bags eventually ending up in landfills and spilling out onto every other surface of the planet, choking and suffocating countless numbers of marine seabirds and mammals.

But there is good news! This is one environmental problem that isn't complicated. Each of us can make a difference by using reusable cloth bags when we shop.

In the past few months I’ve noticed a sudden increase in the number of us carrying our own bags into the grocery store. Hurray! It’s just another small step, like purchasing free-range eggs (see last post) that shows the planet we care.

Now, if I could only remember to lug-a-mug when I go to coffee shops...

I’m working on it.

Shelley

Happy Eggs

2007-09-04T12:44:00.000-07:00

David Suzuki is one of my heroes. He writes a column for the Vancouver Sun called Small Steps where he lists simple things that each of us can do to make a difference to the health of our planet. All the little things we do will add up to make a big difference.

One of the little things I do is support the Vancouver Humane Society. This society works hard to promote and ensure the humane treatment of animals.

In recent months they have focused on the plight of battery chicken (egg-laying hens that are kept in small cages.) On their Chicken Out! website (http://www.chickenout.ca/project_information.php) they describe the living conditions of these chicken.

"In battery cages, there is no space for hens to flap or stretch their wings. When they try, their wings sometimes become trapped in the bars of the cage. Vertical space is limited and hens are often unable to stand up fully and raise their heads without hitting the bars of the cage.

Their beaks are sliced off with a laser or hot blade to prevent pecking at other birds.

The birds are clearly suffering from extreme feather loss, and you will even see some escaped birds left to languish on a pile of manure three feet deep.

Battery barns in Canada hold thousands of cages, each holding five to seven birds, in tiers of two to eight cages high, with farms averaging 17,100 birds."

All it takes is one small step by consumers and we can end this cruel treatment of hens. We simply have to purchase free-range eggs (or Happy Eggs as my family calls them.) (The picture at the top of this post is of happy, cage-free birds.) The eggs of cage-free birds cost a little more, but it is worth it. Just check out the photos on the Chicken Out! website and you'll never buy eggs from battery chicken again.
Shelley

Crazymakers

2007-08-22T21:38:00.000-07:00

I once had a creative writing teacher who told our class the following.

"To become a successful writer," he said, "you have to do two things. First, you have to toss your TV out the window. Second, you have to marry someone rich."

It was good advice, especially the TV part, but I think he could have added one more item to the list. Avoid Crazymakers.

Julie Cameron, in her book, The Artist's Way, describes Crazymakers as "those personalities that create storm centers. They are often charismatic, frequently charming, highly inventive, and powerfully persuasive. And," she adds, "for the creative person in their vicinity, they are enormously destructive. You know the type: charismatic but out of control, long on problems and short on solutions."

In short, they will sabatoge your writing time.

Early on in my writing career my life was filled with crazymakers. It seemed that every time I found a few hours to write and was just getting into the flow of a project my phone would ring or the door bell would buzz and one of the many crazymakers in my life would be there, sucking me into the eye of their storms. By the time I was able to hang up or they had moved on, I was totally derailed and could not get back into the project. Crazymakers never ask if it is a good time to call or visit, or if they are interrupting something. They just give it to you with both barrels.

I don't have as many crazymakers in my life anymore. I'm not sure why. Maybe I've became more protective of my time. Call display on the phone certainly helps and my real friends always understand that writing is my work, and that I have a truly miserable boss (me). When I give writing workshops and the participants ask how to become successful, I give them this advice: become tyrants with your time. Schedule writing into your week, and stick to the schedule. Don't let anyone steal your time, and that's really what it is. Stealing.

Most writers don't have the luxury of full writing days. They have to write in the margins of their lives, between paying jobs, carpooling the kids, maintaining a home and making meals. It's hard to squeeze in writing time, and when you do, you feel selfish, especially if you are not yet published. But that is the irony. To become published you have to spend hours, years, mastering the craft. You have to send out submissions and accept rejection letters. Above all else, you have to persevere. You have to write. And write. Expecting your family and friends to give you the time to work at your craft is not selfish. Avoid the crazymakers. They are not your friends. Your friends want you to be successful.

Remember that.

Here endith the sermon.

Oh, and don't forget, get rid of the TV.

Shelley

Favourite Quote

2007-08-21T16:18:00.000-07:00

Recently my book publisher asked me to fill out a questionnaire in preparation for the launch of my next book, The Gotcha Gods. One of the questions asked was, what is your favourite quote?

Hmmm. I love quotes. I even collect quotes. I went to my journals and searched for something perfect, the quote that would sum up my beliefs and values succinctly and beautifully. No luck. They were all lovely, but each of them spoke to only part of my life, like friendships, writing, or finding inspiration. I left the question blank, but felt bad about it.

Later it came to me. Desiderata.

Desiderata is a prose/poem that I feel speaks directly to me. I have always loved it, from the first time I heard it as a young girl. When I searched for it I discovered that it is attributed to Max Ehrmann in 1952, but I believe I once read that it was first written in the 16th century. One of my daughters recently discovered the music that was written to go with the words. She burned it onto a CD so I can listen to it whenever I want, which is often.

Unfortunately, it is too long to use on an author bio, but I will post it below. Clearly, these are words to live by.
Shelley

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

Backyard visitors

2007-08-18T16:51:00.000-07:00

Good news! We haven't seen the skunk for a few weeks. We smell him, he's definitely been to visit the neighbours, but Winston is back to smelling doggy and not skunky. Our strategy of blocking any potential backyard skunk-access holes with chicken wire must have paid off, although the skunk can still walk up the driveway and into the backyard anytime he wants. Fortunately he stayed away the night we had a backyard wedding reception, a sit-down dinner for 100. Can you image??? A direct hit to the dog that night would have caused mass pandemonium. I cringe to think of it.

A little bit of trivia: when I went to purchase chicken wire I discovered it is now called poultry wire. Is this the new, more politically correct term, do you think? Gotta keep those turkeys happy.

A new, more welcome backyard visitor I've had this year is a hummingbird. This is the first time I've had a feeder, and I'm fascinated by these tiny birds. I have the feeder hanging directly outside my office window where I can enjoy their visits.

Amazing hummingbird facts:

Hummingbirds can fly forward, backward, shift sideways and stop in mid-air. (Can a helicopter do all that?)

An average hummingbird consumes at least half its weight in nectar each day. (Lucky birds!)

The hummingbird is the world's smallest bird (but the hardest to catch - see next fact.)

Hummingbirds can reach speeds up to 60 miles an hour.

While lapping up nectar, they can move their tongues in and out of their bill at a rate of up to 12 times a second. (Give that a try why don't you!)

A hummingbird's wings beat 78 times PER SECOND during regular flight. (See how fast you can flap your arms!)

Female hummingbirds' tongues are longer than the males.

Hummingbirds use spider webs as glue to attach the nest to a tree branch and as a binding agent for the building materials.

Whoa! Such amazing little creatures. Mother Nature is one clever gal.

Shelley

Summer Reading

2007-08-13T13:36:00.000-07:00

There's a romantic notion that summer should be filled with lightweight, 'beach' books. Ha! Not for me. For some reason I always spend the summer plowing through one very long book. This year my book club chose Wally Lamb's I Know This Much is True as our summer read for exactly that reason - it is so long and we'd need the whole summer to get through it. I'm almost there, and look forward to reading something much lighter next. That said, I agree with the blurb on the back cover that describes the book as, "A work of astonishing craftsmanship, structural symmetry, and literary self-awareness." So true. The book is truly a masterpiece of fine writing.

Last summer I read John Irving's hefty Until I Find You. It too was a brilliant saga, told in that warped voice that only Irving can pull off. Highly recommended. (But then I love anything Irving writes.)

I also love anything Jodi Picoult writes and in the past year I have read My Sister's Keeper, Vanishing Acts, Plain Truth. I intend to read everything else she has written too, as soon as I can wrestle the books out of my daughters' hands.

Other stand-out books I've read this past year:

Before I Wake ( Robert J. Wiersema)

Ms Zephyr's Notebook (KC Dyer)

Marley and Me (John Grogan)

Escaping Into the Open: The Art of Writing True (Elizabeth Berg)

Looking at this list I'm surprised to see so few teen novels there. Other years I've read only teen fiction. Rejoining an adult book club has clearly changed my reading habits.

On the to-read-very-soon list:

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (a classic I've somehow missed)

The trilogy: Uglies, Pretties, Specials by Scott Westerfield (recommended by my 15-yr.-old daughter)

Dear Catastrophe Waitress by Brendan Halpin (I enjoyed his first book, Donorboy)

The Book Club by Mary Alice Monroe

Between Interruptions: Thirty Women Tell the Truth About Motherhood I believe all the women are Canadian (?) My friend Alison Kelly (actress from Mom's the Word) has a piece in this book. I've seen the cover, it's gorgeous!

These and more I need to squeeze in between the monthly book group selections.

Would love to hear what others think should be on my MUST READ list!

Yours in books,

Shelley

They Liked It!!!

2007-08-07T15:26:00.000-07:00

Those wonderful people at Orca Books have sent me a contract for my latest project, Sister Wife! Yahoo!!! The plan is for The Gotcha Gods (or maybe just Gotcha)to be released in the spring of '08 and Sister Wife will come out the following spring. After a long dry spell with no new books, I'm back on the writing track. It's a satisfying feeling.

Sister Wife is set in a town very much like Bountiful, BC, where polygamy thrives. Emotionally it was a difficult book to write so this contract is especially rewarding.

Two activities that a couple characters in the book enjoy are balancing rocks and building inuksuit (plural for inuksuk). Funny thing, I like doing those things too! There's a magic in that moment when you balance a rock in a way that looked impossible. It feels almost spiritual.

On hikes with Winston, my bouncy springer spaniel, we sometimes stumble across inuksuit at the side of the trail. They always make me smile and I stop and build companions for the lone ones. One winter a whole community of inuksuit sprouted up in Cates Park where I often walk. I looked forward to going there each day to see if there were any new ones, and to add my own creations. I never saw anyone else building them, but I felt we were playing some kind of game, a game without winners, losers or competition. That's how my story, Sister Wife, was born. Two of the characters individually build inuksuit on the beach, and wonder about the identity of the other builder.

Ideas come from the oddest sources...

Until next time ~
Shelley

OutFOXing the skunk

2007-07-16T20:25:00.000-07:00

We have a problem. A stinky problem. It's making me crazy.

Each night at dusk a skunk passes through our backyard on his nightly stroll. He's absolutely adorable with his glossy black and white coat, his bushy tail and his shiny black eyes. He sniffs about, looking for grubs, completely oblivious to us even though we are often sitting just a few feet away.

The problem isn't the skunk. It's Winston, our incredibly stupid (but loveable) springer spaniel. How many times does he have to get sprayed before he gets that the skunk is not a squirrel with a stripe? That if he chases it he's going to get blasted with skunk spray, right in the face and up the nose?

Winston's been sprayed 3 times in the past few months, and twice before that. I've tried to train my family to keep the doors closed in the evening, but too often they're left open, and the next thing we know the dog is tearing about, foaming at the mouth, shaking his head and spreading eau-de skunk all through the house. The first time it happened was at Thanksgiving when we had relatives staying with us for the weekend. At the end of the first evening the dog was let out, but before the door was even shut he came flying back in, and the obnoxious smell was so horrid that it caused a young relative to throw-up, right then and there. Then we had throw-up and a stinky dog to deal with. My daugher came home the next day and said the combination of roasting turkey aroma and skunk smell made her want to throw up too. More recently we were hosting a large gathering of people, a volleyball club wrap-up event, but the party cleared out in exactly 5 minutes flat when the freshly-skunked dog ran through the house. More than one guest has let me know that their clothes still stink of skunk.

If you haven't experienced 'fresh' skunk spray, it's a smell you simply cannot believe. It gets into your mouth, permeates your skin, makes your eyes burn. Everyone in the room, everything in the room absorbs the odor and stinks for months. It doesn't matter how many times we wash Winston, in whatever kind of guaranteed skunk-odor-removing solution, he still stinks for weeks, and the smell lingers for months, especially noticeable when he gets wet. At Thanksgiving our house guests reported that when they returned home after the weekend and opened their suitcases, everything in them smelled of skunk.

What to do, what to do??

When I lamented to my friend (and fellow author) Diane Tullson about my skunk dilemma, she replied with the following...

What the heck was the skunk doing in the yard with so many people around? And wouldn't it be out of skunk-squirt by now? I'm thinking you have a bad skunk. A genuine psycho. A serial-squirter. I think you need to do it in. Ah ah ah, I can hear that vegetarian voice crying for mercy, but no, bring in the guns, Shelley. I'm sure about 48+ Deep Cove residents will support me on this. OH MY. There's probably not a can of tomato juice to be had in N. Vancouver. You're probably not ready to laugh about this just yet.

No, I wasn't.

Another author friend, Kim Denman, always a source of the most intriguing facts, gently explained that the only natural enemy the skunk has is the fox. Therefore, to get rid of the skunk, you simply have to sprinkle fox urine around your property. Sounds logical.

But where does a person get fox urine?

The three of us wondered if human urine might suffice, and we made plans.

This is what the next email from Diane said.

Night vision goggles, that's it! Fill the squirt guns with pee, how about? Get a gun, Shelley. Tell the neighbours to stay away from the windows, put on a nose plug, and do it.

Sadly, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I searched the internet and discovered there are pellets available that are made of fox pee. You sprinkle them around your yard to deter the skunk. Not as much fun as squirt guns, I admit, and certainly not as 'fitting', but I'm on the market for fox-pee pellets. If you know of an outlet that sells them, please call me.

Shelley

Symposium on the Book

2007-07-15T15:36:00.000-07:00

Whoa! Was that ever a learning experience!

Yesterday I sat on a panel at the SFU Symposium on the Book. http://www.ccsp.sfu.ca/pubworks/symposium.html

Four other authors and 5 panelists teamed up to discuss topics such as reaching reluctant readers, (my topic), historical fiction, humour, censorship and fantasy, all for teen readers.

I was there as a presenter, but I felt like an imposter. I gave my little talk about luring teens into "the wonderful world of the written world" (Orville Prescott) but it felt so lightweight compared to the other presentations. Thank goodness I was able to go first. I'm not sure I would have been able to walk to the podium if I had to follow one of the other fabulous presentations.

And what an audience. Such wise questions and reflections.

On another note ~ one of the Steps to Greater Happiness by Mark Holder is: Get Into the flow - do things you can get passionately involved in. "Bike a favourite trail, do yoga, play hockey. Do whatever lets the rest of the world fall away. Watching TV doesn't count. Be an active participant in something that absorbs. you."

I wonder if participating in the symposium counts. I wasn't particularly 'active', but teen fiction is my passion and the rest of the world certainly fell away. Even my skunk problems. But more about that tomorrow.

Namaste

I'm between books...

2007-07-12T14:27:00.000-07:00

...so it's finally time to set up a blog.

Book news:

The Gotcha Gods is is coming out in the spring of 08! Hurray! Those wonderful people at Orca Book Publishers agreed to publish it, my 7th book. This one will be dedicated to my daughter Cara who has waited patiently for her book. (I often worried that there would be no 7th book, and then Cara would be my only daughter who wouldn't get one. How could I live with that?)

It's fitting that this one is for Cara as it's based on a grad game (The Bead Game) they play at the highschool she graduated from. She was deep in the throes of the game while I was writing it, so I was able to slide many real life incidents right into the book. But it is a book of fiction, thank goodness. The Gotcha Game (as I renamed it) in my book gets way creepier than it does in real life (I hope!) although I have seen my normally sane daughters turn into paranoid, quivering wrecks during the bead game.

I think I'll launch the book with a Gotcha party, where we play a toned down version of the game at home. I love games.

Sister Wife is written and submitted, and now I go through the long, agonizing wait to see whether anyone will be brave enough to publish it. It is based on a girl growing up in a community where polygamy is the norm (men with multiple wives). As the story opens my protagonist is turning 15 so will soon be assigned to a husband, a much older man, but she's not happy about this. This was a completely different kind of book for me, and it took many years to complete. I think I wrote 2 other books during the writing of Sister Wife. I kept putting it aside, and then picking it up again. I was emotionally drained when I finally completed it. Cross your fingers for me on this one.

An amazing thing happened when I finished Sister Wife. The two other members of my writing group, Diane Tullson and Kim Denman completed novels on the very same day! How strange and wonderful is that?

I should start writing a new book right away, but for now I'm content to enjoy summer, putter in my garden, go on extended hikes, and maybe even sail a little, if the engine on the boat ever gets repaired.

That brings me to the Meandering Muse part of this post. A few days ago The Vancouver Sun posted a list of Steps to Greater Happiness compiled by psychologist Mark Holder. One of the steps was to Reclaim your spirituality. "Go to worship, pray, meditate or watch a sunset. Lie on a blanket in the yard to look at the stars and gaze with awe up on the universe."

Always one to do as I'm told, especially in the pursuit of happiness, a group of us set sail in 3 boats last Saturday night. We never actually see the sun set in Deep Cove because of the mountains so the idea was to anchor together in a bay where we could watch it set over Vancouver Island and then sit back and ponder the stars. In the end, we almost watched the sunrise as well as the sunset as our motor died on the way back to the marina. Thank goodness for our dear friends on one of the other boats who noticed we had not returned so turned around and towed us home.

Did this bring me happiness? It sure did. I haven't laughed so much in a long time. (And the sunset was spectacular too.)

Namaste