Finding a Groove

My writing is going really well these days. Almost ‘happy dance’ worthy.

At the risk of jinxing whatever forces are at work here, there it is, stated out loud. Well, written in black and white on the page.

I’m a bit giddy about this slow but steady shift taking place. There’s no time to waste wondering why this is happening right now, or worrying about how fragile or temporary the momentum may be. I just tip my smiling face downward and keep on writing.   

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Escaping the Rabbit Hole

What does the term “Rabbit Hole” refer to? And why would you want to escape it?

These are both great questions.

The popular term is “falling down the rabbit hole” and for most people, it is a reference to Lewis Carroll’s classic novel Alice in Wonderland, where Carroll described a character disappearing into a world full of chaos or confusion. 

Speculation in the literary world suggests that Carroll was also describing what happens when a person takes a hallucinogenic substance that depicts a wild and freaky drug trip. Others compare it to a metaphor for the entry into the unknown, the gate into a new and exciting place full of adventure and somewhere where you can just get lost and you don’t have to return from it.

What does the freaky trip into the unknown mean to me?

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Thanksgiving 2020

         An early Thanksgiving in Canada, with the prospect of another Covid-19 shutdown looming over us, has brought on the “winter blues” a few weeks earlier than usual. The common phrase “it gets dark so early now” has many people beginning to hibernate. The colour display this weekend on the back roads of Grey County was breath taking. Yet my morning musings seem to draw me unwillingly into the yawning void of the future. 

In two months the first year of the newest pandemic Covid-19 will be logged into each of our ship-of-life books. The world moved incredibly fast in my life time (1946 – 2020) and it seems destined to continue to do so. As maudlin as it may seem I keep struggling with the question:

“What am I leaving behind?” or put it another way “What of me lasts?”

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To-Write or Not-To-Write

Every writer I know has trouble writing. – Joseph Heller

I never thought I’d experienced writer’s block, assumed it meant you couldn’t think of anything to write. For me, there was always something flowing out my pen, even if it wasn’t great literature. One sunny day this summer, I was procrastinating on my writing and picked up a book I’d been gifted: Write. 10 Days to overcome Writer’s Block. Period, by Karen E. Peterson, Ph.D.

I quickly learned what I thought of as “resistance to writing” was in fact WRITER’S BLOCK!!! Who was I kidding? I was constantly fighting writer’s block. There are many real things to keep us from writing: day jobs, kids, partners, parents, social obligations. But the real demons can often be found in our own heads.

We dream of having a block of fully un-interrupted time where we are immersed in our writing and hours go by without our noticing. Or anyone interrupting. We are able to achieve the illusive “creative flow”. But the reality is, though we may have those days from time-to-time, most of our writing happens between things.

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A Writing Place of My Own

     Before Covid-19 hit, one of my favourite writing spots was the local café. I loved seeing friends and neighbours, watching people chat and order their coffee, while I wrote. I have this unique skill, this ability to ignore everything around me and get fully engrossed in my own made up world. I took pride that some of my scenes were so engaging, I could disregard the rest of the world and fully immerse myself. I remember these times fondly.

Since March, with the cafés closed and my writing space stolen, I’ve been displaced. I’m nothing if not persistent and so I took to writing at home. The best time was early in the morning, before my family arose. I would claim the couch in the living room, coffee in hand, doing my best to shoo away the cats and dogs vying for my attention. This was heavenly, until my teenage children woke. Then they invaded, turning on the television, complaining about missing laundry and overall… just being their noisy selves, so I would stop writing.

This summer, my teenage son decided to move downstairs, leaving his bedroom upstairs empty. So… I’ve begun to dream of a writing space. Read more

Winter is Coming – Hurrah!

Don’t get me wrong. I love summer time. Strangely enough, I especially enjoyed it this year. It became a time to reconnect with friends in outside spaces, to play charades on the driveway under the stars, find new kayak paddles in crystal blue-green water and to weed my flourishing Covid-19 garden.  

But I’m kind of exhausted by summer. Like an excellent party – it’s great fun while it lasts but the clean up the next day is daunting. I’m canning my garden bounty (turns out that 40 tomatoes plants are too many), experimenting with a dozen ways to eat zucchini and discovering that not everyone loves cucumbers. Sadly, my writing got shelved during this time of outside merriment.  

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