Category Archives: Thoughts

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

Today has been a good day. To celebrate that, and in lieu of a blog post with actual depth, I give you some of the things that make me blissfully happy. In no particular order:

  1. The feeling I have after I finish a great story or book, when my real life hasn’t quite come back to me and the world I just left lingers in my mind. Everything else fades away and I’m left with nothingness – no thoughts, no stress, no deadlines, for the space of a long breath or more.
  2. Finding out the book I borrowed is really special to the person who owned it, but they lent it to me anyway.
  3. Being trusted. Being seen for who I am. Being understood.
  4. Hearing that a reader loved a piece of writing I did.
  5. Checking completed items off my “To Do” list.

    The Cult of Done Manifesto

  6. Selling a story. Even better? Selling to a market that had previously rejected me.
  7. Taking a long shower, lying down still wrapped in a towel, and not having to get up and get dressed for a little while.
  8. Watching someone I love become a better person, because they think I’m worth being a better person for.
  9. Bacon. Coffee. Sushi. Cheeseburgers. Good beer. Spicy Thai rice with prawns. Avocados. Oranges. Sticky rice. Dark chocolate. Riesling. Medium-rare steak. Garlic. Chili paste.

    No one sane can look upon bacon and not hunger …

  10. Fixing a tech problem on my own.
  11. Finishing a piece of art and not wanting to change it (same goes for finishing a story and actually thinking it’s done).
  12. Giving someone a gift they really love.
  13. Cooking for my friends. Having my friends come over because they want me to cook for them.
  14. Paying off a bill.
  15. Sitting on my deck with my shoes off, a cold drink in my hand, and a book I haven’t read before.
  16. Groundhogs.

    How cute is he?

  17. That moment where you’re having a fight with someone and you both manage to turn it into a rational conversation that actually solves the problem, instead of just a fight.
  18. My son. Pretty much everything about him.
  19. Cast iron pans.
  20. The feeling of anticipation just before something I know will be wonderful.

Theory of Objects

I have a theory that the way people treat their belongings is the way they treat their relationships. I don’t just mean romantic ones, because a friend is someone you have a way of relating to, and so is a family member. I know people who hold on to all kinds of photos and memorabilia of people who are long gone and vacations they took and in the same way they hold on to people from childhood that they have nothing in common with anymore but, “Oh of course we’re friends, I’ve known her forever!” I know people who will live with a leaky faucet or a table that’s too large for a room or a pile of stuff in the corner that their partner says they’ll take care of but never does – and the same people settle for unhappiness in their relationships, learning to live with it, getting used to disappointment, instead of simply making it better or moving on.

I knew that when my relationship with my ex went bad it wouldn’t be repaired because he was the sort of person who “threw out and replaced” rather than fix anything. As far as he was concerned, he could always buy more. He was spoiled that way, and so when it came to his relationships, as it turned out, he only wanted things his way and left behind (“threw away”) anything that didn’t work for him.

Over time I’ve started paying more attention to the way that I treat objects, and the way my friends treat their belongings too.

I would rather have a few useful objects than a lot of pretty ones. I will buy one pair of shoes that is comfortable and looks good enough and then wear them almost every day. In the same way I have a small circle of very close friends that I could spend lots of time with (without hating them or wanting to run away) and I am more comfortable this way. I do not have (and do not want) a lot of acquaintances that I can go to a party with or talk to over dinner once every few months but don’t know well.

I don’t look at an empty room and feel the need to fill it with stuff. Empty is nice too. In the same way I am comfortable spending time alone, and I like quiet.

I will hold on to a few important objects which have sentimental, not practical, value but only a few. As long as I have the memories, I don’t need the stuff to remind me. I prefer gifts which are useful (like books!), and don’t own/wear much jewelry or have knickknacks. I don’t have many photographs on the walls. In the same way, I don’t surround myself with people who make me look good or compliment me or on some other way serve to make me feel special (but aren’t really my friends). I don’t talk to members of my family that I don’t have a good relationship with. I don’t hold on to friends simply because we used to be friends (but have nothing in common now).

I like things that make me smarter. I will fill a room with books, I subscribe to literary journals, I own documentaries on DVD. I like to know who people who teach me something whenever I’m around them, who make me want to be more intelligent or better read. I already know that I’m smart and I don’t need to surround myself with people a little less bright or a little less special in order to make me feel better about myself. I don’t need to be the center of attention. I do need to feel like I’m a better person because of the people I spend my time with.

I would rather fix something that’s broken than replace it, if it can be fixed. I will replace buttons, sew up holes, repaint/re-finish furniture; I will hold on to a relationship that is going through a rough patch far longer than most of my friends would recommend, as long as I can see it getting better eventually. 

I am willing to do the work. I don’t wait for someone else to fix something for me. I bought a new bookshelf, it needed to be assembled, so I assembled it. Done. I don’t expect the other person to fix the problems in our relationship either – if we don’t agree on an issue, we discuss it, and if I need to change something, then I do. Problem solved.

I would rather spend time than money. I don’t just throw things out because if I can take a day or a weekend or even a few weeks and repair it, then it’s still useful and functional and not sitting in a landfill. Then I didn’t spend the money on replacing it that I could have spent on something else. In the same way, I would rather spend time doing activities with my friends than sitting in a bar emptying my wallet into a bunch of drinks.

On the other hand, I’m willing to spend a lot of money on just the right thing. I love technology, and when I needed a new scanner, for example, I bought one without any stress or worry about cost. I knew I needed it, I knew the new one would be smaller, more efficient, use less energy (it runs of a USB port without needing to be plugged into a wall outlet), and because I don’t spend money recklessly I knew I could afford it. In the same way, if there’s an event that I want to go to which will involve friends and conversation and maybe be a once-in-a-lifetime event, then I’ll spend the money on it. It’s why I won’t go out every weekend but I will go to a couple of conventions a year, even though both (over a year) probably end up costing the same amount.

I like clean/organized, and I’m willing to spend the time to make it that way. I would rather fix a problem now than live with having to work around it. I will spend a day reorganizing my bookshelves if it means I can find everything I’m looking for afterward. I put up white boards and make lists, I keep my files organized (and will spend an afternoon updating them instead of looking at a pile of paperwork sitting, ignored, on my desk). I saw that the bathroom door was hitting the fridge when it opened all of the way and instead of ignoring it, I moved the fridge. Problem solved. In the same way if I have a relationship that isn’t working in some way, I’ll say so rather than suffering silently.

When I’m done with something, I’m done. If I can’t fix it, it’s taking up space without being useful, or I’m only holding onto it because I used to use it but haven’t in a long time, then I get rid of it. Trash, recycle, donate, whatever, but the thing is out of my house/life, and I don’t miss it. I will hold on and hold on and struggle to fix a relationship but there comes a moment that I’m over it and then, I don’t miss it anymore.

Room to Write – Musing in Pictures

For some time now I have been planning a move, and along with that, I have been daydreaming about the kind of office space I can set up for myself. While it’s still some months away, I can’t help poking around the Internet for pictures of other people’s writing spaces:

Very fancy

Now this is a lovely desk, but how could I write in a space like that? It’s so empty! Where are the bookshelves? That chair doesn’t look comfortable at all, and there’s far too much natural light, which we all know writers are allergic to.

Writing Desk, Old School

Ok, if I were writing a missive to my allies in the North, warning them of impending invasion of Visigoths, or peasants who could read, this writing space might work for me. I like the open books, and the slightly tilted surface probably reduced carpal tunnel. In my real life, however, the lack of Internet would have me begging for WiFi in about 3 minutes flat.

Continue reading →

The ABCs of Me

A writer is a person, or so they tell me. A collection of bits, pieces of personality and history and likes and dislikes and those unique facets which make me different from you. Know what those things are about yourself, and you’ve got a better idea of how to craft a character which is equally different from all the other characters written into existence by all of the other writers in the world.

Here are 26 things about me. Individually, they’re probably nothing special, but all together, they’re part of what makes me into someone all my own.

A – Apples. I like green ones, tart and firm, with a bit of sweetness. Granny Smiths are the best, though Fijis will do. I don’t like red ones, which lack flavor, in my opinion, and can be mushy.

B – Bees. I am allergic to them. I’ve been stung twice – once, when I was 7, I stepped on one, and when I was 28 I put my hand into a work glove (preparing to pull out and replace the brake light wiring on the 68 Chevelle I was rebuilding at the time) and stuck the middle finger of my left hand right into a bee. My whole arm swelled up, to the shoulder. I’m told if I get stung again, it’ll be worse. I’m trying to avoid it.

C – Cookies. Soft baked, please, a little crispy edge is ok but not those hard, dry, cracker-like store-bought things. A cookie ought to be something cooling on a wire rack in the kitchen, while we lick the rest of the dough off spoons and the house smells like baking.

D – Da Vinci’s Inquest – the best crime drama I’ve ever seen. It’s Canadian, and – sadly – off the air, and one of the story lines involved Matt Frewer playing an unabashedly cheerful serial killer. Last time I checked it was streaming on Netflix. Also, the main character was played by the guy who last year played the Chief on Haven.

E – Evolution. I believe in it. I also believe in gravity, that light refracts when you shine it through a prism, that it possible to be simultaneous educated and confused by the fossil record, that the sun will rise over the horizon tomorrow, and that medicine should always be based in scientific rigor, though a positive outlook probably helps you get through a bad day. Continue reading →

I Haven’t Felt Write In a While

I haven’t felt like much of a writer lately, nor much of an editor either. I’ve let my real life distract me, with changes and drama and illness and the maelstrom of everything that nibbles at you all at once, wanting attention. Life does that sometimes. It rises up to meet you, and you rarely get to decide when.

I spent the end of February being very sick, the month of March being sad, lost, stressed, and worried over what was happening with my life (and other peoples’), and not much got done worth reporting here. I did write, a little. I submitted a few pieces (one which was rejected two days later, and others still waiting on answers), including one revised piece of flash that made it past the slush reader to an editor, but has been languishing there for another 45 days. I spent much of March researching a non-fiction piece for an academic conference that I decided at the last minute not to submit to, for personal reasons, and I’ve been kicking myself all week about it. I should have done it anyway. I should have been a writer first, and a person with relationship issues second. Shouldn’t I?

Maybe not. Research isn’t useless, the paper will still get finished, and whether I submit it to a journal or to the original conference (in another year) I will do something with it. I learned a lot along the way, which makes me feel smarter, a feeling I can always do with more of. Looking over the last month or so, I realized that while I edited very little and wrote only a bit more than that, I did learn. I found myself finally making time for the one thing a writer needs to do even more than put words onto paper – I read. I read journal papers, I read short story collections, I read a few novels … I read every week, and usually several days out of that week. I haven’t reviewed it all here, but I’ll probably get to most of it, because it’s work I’d recommend that you read too. Laying out what I’ve accomplished I can see it all at once and the day-to-day worry that I was failing as a writer has been replaced with the realization that everytime I’ve gone through this before, each time that I took a break from writing to drink in other people’s words, my own words improve. I gain polish and depth, and I find a tiny piece or two of my own voice. It’s like I have aimed myself at being a great writer, the writer I will one day be, and each story I write, or read, pushes me along the wobbly path towards that goal. It isn’t a straight shot, and sometimes I go far one way or the other, but I’m moving forward. I am accomplishing.

It’s not like the urge to write ever completely goes away. That’s the thing, which when combined with actually getting the work done, that makes us into writers. Reading is the fuel that fills us up, the mortar which seeps into our cracks and makes us whole again. Until I am ready to get new words out of my head, I will take in these other words, these other writers’ stories, and that will never be a waste of time.