Category: Writing
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It’s not always the what and when and where
It’s Christmas break, and I’m doing that thing I always seem to do when I have time away from work: making unrealistic lists of stuff to do with the kids, stuff to enjoy, stuff to catch up on, stuff to start, stuff to finish. And then jumping into my to-be-read pile with my stocking candy…
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Flight to Victoria
If you’ve ever flown in an airplane, you might remember the sensations that come with takeoff: the acceleration pushing your back deep into the seat, the little stomach drop when you tip up off the ground. Then there’s this moment when gravity seems to catch on to what you’re attempting, and tugs you down despite…
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#icreatedtoday
I turn 38 today. I’m not one to hide my age, or get terribly overwrought about it, but it does inspire some reflection. What exactly have I accomplished with those nearly 14,000 days on the planet? Quite a bit; lots of it good, some of it hard, most of it worth it. The trouble is,…
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How do I explain this; how do I put it into words?
I woke up this morning to the radio news telling me Gord Downie has terminal brain cancer. We’ve had many significant losses in the music department these last few months, many of which have touched my heart and my history, but this one cuts me to the quick. I am not a fan girl type,…
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The parable of the mistaken oak
Last fall I sat on a lawn under an oak tree, surrounded by music and children. I brought home some acorns, researched, prepared, and planted one. It lived in the back of my fridge, in simulated winter, annoying family members just trying to put away the yogurt. Last month, I decided it was time to…
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The leap
I quit my job. It was only supposed to be a one year thing anyway, but they asked me to come back. I considered it, and, between my husband and myself, we decided it wasn’t worth it. The income didn’t justify the strain on the family, and I desperately wanted to get back to writing,…
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Renaissance girl?
I envy my husband sometimes. He’s an artist with tunnel vision, the classic absentminded professor. He jumps head first into things and doesn’t look back, working with feverish abandon on the project of the moment until the next idea strikes, oblivious to the debris field in his wake. The trained eye can look over his…
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The dark days
Every once in a while, a word floats to the surface of my memory, a phrase dredged up from the days when I lived and breathed theatre. Waking up in the winter grey this morning, the word in my head was “dark”: a term for a day when no rehearsal, no performance is scheduled. The…
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Writing confessions of an occasional knitter
It’s taken me all summer to get around to a new post. I’d like to tell you it’s because I’ve been wonderfully productive in the garden, but it’s not. I’d also love to explain how I’ve been so completely immersed in writing my book that I couldn’t bother with anything as mundane as a blog.…
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I’m so not ready for my close up
Last night I hosted a book club author visit with the lovely Jennifer Quist. A splendid time was had by all, but as all the guests were leaving, Jenn asked me to show her around my “famous” garden–referring to my horticultural exploits of the last four years being documented at CanadianGardening.com. My gut reaction: horror.…
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