Reteach the spirit

It's funny how for a non-religious person I have been so drawn to readings on faith and spirituality of late. Today, I read a book called The Passion of Reverend Nash by Rachel Basch. I enjoyed the oversized Reverend immensely. Her imperfections made her so human.

I wanted to share a short poem from the book, written by Galway Kinnell, St. Francis and the Sow.

The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;
as Saint Francis put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow, and told her in words and in touch
blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow
began remembering all down her thick length,
from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,
from the hard spininess spiked out fro the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of the sow.


Doesn't that strike a chord? To reteach a thing its loveliness?

I think there are times when we need to remember who we are and just how lovely our being is.

That's what I wish for you today, that you remember your inner truth and take delight in your being.

Colleen

God Grew Tired of Us

Although this has nothing to do with writing, I wanted to let you know about a post on my other site, Ideas Change the World All the Time (http://ideaschangetheworldallthetime.blogspot.com/) about the Lost Boys of Sudan.

Please help.

Colleen

Martyr Street: or when religion is totally not cool

Just got back from another day of films. Saw White Planet which, despite the name, isn't about white supremacists, but about the Great White North. Great soundtrack, very Inuit sounding; great visuals (Have you ever seen a walrus nursing her young? She hangs in suspended animation under the surface of the water and junior latches on upside down with mom's hind flippers cradling its head. Or narwhals... I thought they were extinct!) There was also footage of glaciers breaking away which was pretty scary.

Movie #2 was Martyr Street which was shot on the only place in Hebron where Jewish settlers live in the heart of a Palestinian neighbourhood. Hebron is a flash point because it was the home of Abraham, the father to both Muslims and Jews. It juxtaposes bits from the bible about Abraham and his two sons, Isaac and Ishmael with interviews with two young women -- one Jewish, one Muslim. These girls are filmed as they grow up across the street from each other without ever speaking or meeting.

When filming began four years ago, there were 400 settlers there and 400 military personnel to protect them. The story that is told in this documentary is one that it claims is hidden from the international media -- it is one of intense hatred and inhumanity toward the Palestinians by the settlers.

Although Jewish military personnel aren't allowed to speak with the media, a soldier who is no longer in the army did speak out as did other Israelis who want Jews out of Hebron.

I will say that I don't know which side should get to be there and, frankly, I don't care. This is an instance where religion is the source of evil. It has spawned generations of hatred resulting in too many deaths to count. An area that was once famous for vineyards is now a wasteland.

And yet, the settlers are happy with this. Staying there is worth everything and anything. It is worth adopting terrorists tactics. It is worth raising children on a battlefield and teaching them to hate blindly. It is worth burying their babies who die from bullet wounds.

This can't be what Abraham had in mind.

Colleen

Working through the chatter

Well, I opted out of movie viewing yesterday and, instead, spent a few hours at Starbucks editing. Amid the chatter around me I managed to edit a whole chapter. I think I made some needed changes. We'll see what my view is once I have a chance to look it over.

Have a great writing day!

Colleen

P.S. Have you tried their Toblerone cookies? Sin was never so affordable. mmmmmm

War Dance

As blogged yesterday, I attended the launch of Viewfinder's International Film Festival for Youth last night. The movie selected to kick off the festival was War Dance. What a choice. It made an impact.

From the program:

"War Dance is a profoundly moving documentary film demonstrating the power and triumph of the human spirit over hardship and personal tragedy. For the last 20 years, northern Uganda has been at war with a rebel force, the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA). In this war zone, children are not only the victims of the rebels--they are the rebels. The LRA employs a horrifically effective process to fill its ranks--abducting children. War Dance follows the historic journey of three of these children--Dominic, Rose, and Nancy--and their school in the Patongo refugee camp: the first school from the northern war zone to make it to the finals of Uganda’s national music and dance competition. Amidst unimaginable violence and grief, these children sing and dance; they sing without fear; they sing in protest and in celebration. They dance and stomp
to the rhythms of their ancestors. Devastated by the horrors of war, they carry the hopes and dreams of their entire village with them. Breathtaking cinematography almost makes it impossible to imagine such violence and devastation could exist among such natural beauty.

"Winner of the Directing Award at this year’s prestigious Sundance Film Festival, War Dance will leave you affected, changed, and inspired to help create a peaceful world for all of us."

What this description can't convey are the quiet moments in the film that portray the dignity and sadness of the children. Moments like when one young abductee, Dominic, questions a rebel leader about the fate of his brother and is told that he is probably dead. When Dominic then asks the man why children are abducted and made to kill, the man explains that many children are needed to give leaders status, it is heartbreaking. Or when Rose, a 14-year old orphan who cares for her younger siblings practices singing for the competition, exhausted after a long day of cooking, laundry, child care and cleaning.

To see these same kids then smile and laugh when they practice and perform is both heartbreaking and inspiring.

These kids are unbelievably stoic, unbearably brave and prove that those who have nothing give everything.

I wish we could say the same about us -- those who have everything.

Colleen

'Cause we don't want to be too prolix...

This is a good one for us writer types to keep in mind...

prolix \pro-LIKS; PRO-liks\, adjective:1. Extending to a great length; unnecessarily long; wordy.2. Tending to speak or write at excessive length.

It was a cumbersome book, widely criticized for being prolix in style and maddeningly circular in argument.-- Simon Winchester, "Word Imperfect", The Atlantic, May 2001

Montaigne is a little too prolix in his determination to tell us almost everything that happens as he fishes his way across the country, and he gives us a few too many accounts of the people he meets and of their repetitiously gloomy opinions.-- Adam Hochschild, "Deep Wigglers of the Volga", New York Times, June 28, 1998

Greenspan, on the other hand, is given to prolix comments whose sentences are hung like Christmas trees with dependent clauses.-- John M. Berry, "Greenspan: A Man Aware of Feasibility", Washington Post, June 14, 1987

Comment about Estonia

I would like to point out that my comment about the Estonian film industry is 1) my weird sense of humour and 2) due to my ignorance about Estonia. Really, I wanted to see Ruudi. It looks like a wonderful family flick. Sorry if I caused anyone from Estonia any offence. C

The Candy Show

Who doesn't like an opinionated gal?

Candy Palmater is a Mi'mkaq activist and comedian with a column in the local tabloid. She's funny and always eager to share her point-of-view. My kind of girl.

Check out her website at thecandyshow.ca.

C

Momentarily back to work

What a great day was yesterday!

Wrote tons. Sun was out. The wind was only cool, not cold. Didn't have to be anywhere or bother with anyone (mostly.) Hubby made dinner. (I gave this up in January... the only resolution that I've ever managed to keep.) What could be better?

Another day just like it? Naw, that would become boring. Instead, today begins a week of movies.

Viewfinders, the youth version of the Atlantic Film Festival, starts today. This means that I will spend the week chauffeuring junior between home and the festival venue as he carries out his duties as juror watching the remainder of the films he and his co-jurors weren't able to view in advance. War/Dance is the film that launches the week's festivities and is about the children who are abducted to fill the ranks of the Lord's Resistance Army -- the rebel army in Uganda. I'm really looking forward to this one.

Junior also participated in a 48-hour film project on the weekend where five teams created five silent movies in two days. These will be viewed at Viewfinders on the last day prior to awards the jurors with present and before God Grew Tired of Us, the Brad Pitt produced film on the lost boys of Sudan which will close out the festival. The trailer on this looks really good.

So, I get to watch two movies per day. What a neat experience. Of course, it's keenness such as this that ensures my children continue to view me as being very uncool. Au contraire, I tell them. My enthusiasms are what makes me cool. As a matter of fact, I'm so cool, I sneer at cool. I am uber-cool.

I will miss two films that I would have liked to see this afternoon. One, Ruudi, is about a fatherless boy who organizes the "Big Father Contest" based on beauty pageants. It's touted as being "Possibly the most delightful film to come out of Estonia in years..." I can't help but crack up each time I read this line. Estonia, the film hub of Eastern Europe. But what do I know?

The other one I'll miss is The Danish Poet, the Canadian film that was nominated for best short film (animated) at this year's Academy Awards.

Tomorrow's selections are in French, only one claims sub-titles. This could prove to provide a rough couple of hours.

On Thursday we'll see two documentaries: White Planet, about the North; and Martyr Street, about the only place in the West Bank where Jewish settlers live in the heart of a Palestinian city.

Friday's selections are Generation XXL which is a local film and is about youth obesity; and Belfast Girls/The Troubles Within about the ongoing troubles in Ireland.

Sadly, I'll miss Doomstown about inner city life in Canada. (Who knew we had one?) Junior has already seen this one and thought it was terrific. It's directed by Sudz Sutherland, who currently directs Degrassi Jr. High, a Canadian television show.

Saturday is the wrap-up and then I can get back to some serious writing.

Wow! What a busy few days ahead.

Have a great writing day,
Colleen

A piece of my childhood

While I gear up to edit, I scratched this down. It rough and isn't finished, but thought I'd share anyway...

My father left first; we would follow at the end of June. Follow on what would surely be an adventure to the Great White North. The Great White French North.

My parents spoke once a week when dad called from the rooming house he lived in while he waited for a home to become available for us. The long, white structure was more of a bunk house and was were all the men stayed while pre-fab homes were being hurriedly constructed. Blue collar, white collar. It didn't matter what your job was. It was the only accommodation in town. When dad called, my sister and I would say our hellos and I love you's and then turn the phone over to mother. I could hear her sexy whispers to him and their adult code words. I may not have understood the specifics, but the generalities were clear enough.

She must have been lonely without him for those months. Lonely, but something else too. Something my young self couldn't define.

My mother was a homebody. She had no girlfriends, no one to share her worries or stories with. She cooked and cleaned, sewed our clothes and read books. That was it. Her life in a nutshell. A small space, but it all would have fit there. I didn't notice anything strange about this, not being a close observer of the comings and goings of other mothers. As for mine, with the exception of a jaunt to the library or to pick up a treat at the bakery or sliced meat from the butcher, she stayed home. Even the weekly groceries were purchased under my father's watchful eye. He being the driver, she being the drivee.

What she did for company once my father left to start his new job was nothing. There were no ladies in for tea or bridge, no nights out to the cinema. Our small town didn't even have one of those. The local Anglican Church brought in family movies once a month. That's where I saw Ol' Yeller for the first time and cried my eyes out till they were dry. The first time I ever saw a real, feature movie at a real theatre with a balcony and plush, velour seats was Snow White on my eighth birthday. I can still recall how scared the wicked queen made me feel. Just thinking about her, even years later, could cause my heart to race...


Ah, the old days! And now on to real work...

Have a great writing day!
Colleen

Back to writing

Yea! The vision weirdness I've been having for the past week has gone and I can get back to writing.

I am editing and have finished the first two chapters. I am really pleased with them. This posting is going to be really short so I can get on with my work. On with the day!

Good writing, everyone!
Colleen

Reading not writing

Well, this past week has been an odd one; my recent sensitivity to light has kept me away from the computer screen so, I have focused on reading in dimly-lit rooms. Latent vapirism, perhaps?


Anyway, over the past couple of weeks, I've read Bad Dirt by Annie Proulx, The Birth House by Ami McKay, Lullabies for Little Criminals by Heather O'Neill, Blue Shoe by Anne Lamott, and Kit's Law by Donna Morrisey. Oh, and Coal Run by Tawni O'Dell.

The Birth House, Kit's Law and Bad Dirt topped my list of favourites

I love that Annie Proulx has been able to capture the essence of her two homes, as disparate as they are -- Newfoundland and Wyoming. Bad Dirt is a compilation of short stories about the West that tell of the humour and the trials that occur when past meets present. She's terrific at dialogue and description.

Donna Morrisey is a wonderful story-teller. Although I wasn't keen on the ending, I loved her ability to help me see and feel what a 1950's outport in Newfoundland was like. Here's how the book opens.

"If you were to perch on a treetop and look down on Fox Cove, you would see a gully, about twenty feet across and with a brook gurgling down its spine to the seashore below and flanked on either side by a sea of rippling grass, cresting with Queen Anne's lace, and scented with a brew of burning birch, wet ground and kelp.

To the right of the gully, and about a hundred yards down from a dirt road, is a grey, weather-beaten house, its windows opened to the sea, and its walls slanted back, as if beaten into the hillside by the easterly winds gusting off the Atlantic and whistling up the gully's channel...

Anyone who has experienced the wicked wind of the East Coast will have no trouble envisioning this place or house. Ms. Morrisey gives the three women who live there strong, individual voices, never muddying them or compromising their characters.

In my opinion, Coal Run didn't live up to Ms. O'Dell's Back Roads. The plot and dialogue were forced and somewhat disjointed. The protagonist's every thought, no matter how banal, is detailed and the characters don't stay true to themselves.

Lullabies for Little Criminals is writing in the voice of a young girl raised by her drug-addicted father. The girl's voice is rather detached, a good approach for telling about the horrors of her life. Despite my difficulty with the gritty subject matter -- it makes me feel pretty dreadful -- this is a book worth reading. O'Neill's prose rings true.

I have mixed feelings about Anne Lamott's Blue Shoe. There are inconsistencies to her writing. For example, she states that she likes the longer evenings of fall, then on the next page decries the dark. A reader may be able to relate to the protagonist's inner turmoil (divorce, aging parent, confused kids) but it's hard to jump from her being hyper-critical of her boyfriend to agreeing to marry him, again, within a page of text. However, Lamott certainly covers inner dialogue and conflict well.

Last on the list is Ami McKay's Birth House. This was a hard one to find as it has been flying off the bookshelves and is currently short-listed for an Atlantic Book Award. The protagonist, Dora Rare has a great story to tell about social mores, patriarchy and women's rights. The book is terrific and McKay has grasped local dialect well. I would have been happier had she left out historical events such as the Halifax Explosion or the Spanish Influenza outbreak as I felt these to be intrusions to the storyline. However, the novel is a good read and well worth the time.

And so, what to read next? With the passing of Kurt Vonnegut, it has come to my attention that I've never read one of his books. To remedy this, I have borrowed Slaughterhouse-Five from my son. Rest well, Mr. Vonnegut.

Good writing everyone,
Colleen

Winter's last blast

The snow began late yesterday afternoon. All our errands were finished and we were home safe, watching movies or hockey, fooling around on the computer, or laughing over a game of Scrabble in front of a glowing fire, before it got nasty. Within no time, the ground was covered in white. Within two hours, there was no evidence that Spring had been here -- tree branches were bent under the weight of snow, warm earth was hidden, the deer had retreated to the woods. After darkness fell, the winds began to howl -- a primitive lullaby to put us to sleep.

This morning, there is snow everywhere. Cloud-like cotton candy blankets the ground and wraps the trees. The sun is hidden, cocooned inside layers and layers of milky gauze. The sky has cast a grey, baleful eye upon us -- a warning to stay indoors, perhaps.

I'm glad it's Sunday. There is no where we have to be, no demands upon us other than to stay safe and warm.

Not so our neighbour who is shoveling his driveway and scraping ice from his car's windows -- a chore I hope to avoid. I prefer to await the warmth that will arrive later today or tomorrow and melt away Winter's last blast. Nothing more, I hope, than the cantankerous bark of an aging dog chiding us, from his soft bed in the corner, that he's still here.

Time to flick the switch that will bring the flames in the fireplace back to life and to pour a cup of tea -- something with cinnamon and orange sounds right for this morning -- and to begin a day of indolence.

How lovely that Winter has provided this breathing space for us. A reminder to not race ahead and become caught up in the excitement of Spring and the glamour of Summer before taking a slight pause to remember the season that was.

Colleen

People watching in the emergency room

I sat in the emergency room for nine hours yesterday (don't ask, it's hopefully not a big deal) attempting to read a novel to kill a few hours of boredom. Reading was next to impossible, but the people watching was sensational. No, I'm not a sadist. I just find people infinitely interesting.

I ended up writing down bits of description and snippets of dialogue...

Her sobs barely made themselves heard over the emergency room din. "I thought I was dreaming," the words escaped in short puffs of air.

Or this...

Middle-aged woman from the middle east, wearing a blue Toronto Maple Leafs toque. Seems to have symptoms of flu. She sits in a red, faux-leather, reclining chair provided by the hospital for the comfort of patients. The woman whimpers and moans, the sounds interspersed between stretches of lucid and strong speech. This was a cultural expression of her discomfort that left her family completely unfazed. It was expected. Her husband asks if he can fetch her any refreshment. She declines. He leaves to get it anyway. Tim's coffee and donuts. He brings it back to her. She declines. He entreats. She declines with a sour face, shoving the offered cup away from her. Finally, the man forces the food onto his daughter and takes some himself. Someone must eat.

People watching is a great way to pass time.

Colleen

Oh, the angst of it all...

So, I'm normal, right?

Writers are expected to go about wringing their hands and bemoaning their lack of talent, right? It's what we do, isn't it?

Please tell me that I'm not the only one worrying that I may never be good enough. That I'm not the only one agonizing about my perceived inability to construct a riveting plot or create compelling characters. Please. (I know, I know... begging is so unseemly.)

Planetary alignment may have something to do with it. Just look at the mess we Virgos are in on that front:

There's no reason to continue a slide into the abyss that may have begun with
yesterday's cosmic fireworks or even earlier in the week around the time of the
full Moon that was compounded by other planetary shenanigans. Every so often --
during any calendar year -- you hit a rough patch and that's what is going on
this week. Right now it is important to stay centered and clear on the
communication front as giant Jupiter makes a station at 20 degrees of
Sagittarius (6:24PM PDT) and begins a four-month retrograde cycle (lasting until
August 6). All Jupiter themes -- expansion of consciousness, philosophy and
religion, long-distance journeys, education and publishing, athletics, the power
of positive thinking, good fortune and worldly success, enthusiasm and euphoria,
speculation and gambling, arrogance and pride -- are emphasized now and during
the next couple of days. It's important to realize that planets moving into
reverse are not suddenly 'bad' or negative in influence. This is a normal and
natural part of the solar systemic dance that connects Earth to the other
planets in the solar system and, particularly the Sun itself. Any planet moving
retrograde is stressing its 'inner meaning' and accentuating its psychological
and spiritual components more than its exterior properties. Therefore, it is
very helpful to do more soul searching, reflection and meditation in order to
discover your own higher truth and purpose for living. Giving you more
ammunition in this direction are a Mercury-Neptune 30-degree link (2:38AM PDT)
and Sun-Uranus contra-parallel (6:02AM PDT). Inspirations can pack a wallop and
your literary abilities receive a positive jolt as well during a Moon-Mercury
harmonious trine (6:44PM PDT). Romance looks dicey at best this evening as the
Moon in Scorpio opposes Venus in Taurus (7:56PM PDT) -- a polarity that begins a
void lunar cycle lasting until 9:58AM PDT tomorrow. Finish old business during
the evening hours and delay new ventures into the Moon enters Sagittarius after
9:58AM PDT tomorrow.

So, apparently, if I stay up late tonight, I could benefit from a positive literary jolt about 10:44 my time and since romance looks dicey this evening according to the above, I might just as well do that. But, honest to god, if I do any more navel gazing, I'll implode.

That's what mid-life is after all, isn't it, an excuse for self-indulgence? That sounds harsh; I don't really mean it that way. It's just that, at this age, there is a lot of introspection and dealing with regret ... something I promised myself at a younger age that I'd never have. Silly, young me.

I suppose that agonizing is implicit in the middle age package. Agonizing about one's own life, about the environment, the economy, education, young people, the mores of society, and the feeling that we got life wrong somewhere along the line.

I came along at the tail end of the boomer generation. (Actually, that is a recent assessment. When I was younger, my year of birth wasn't part of that era. The experts have since extended the timeframe included in that generation until I too have been swallowed by it.) As an end-of-dynasty babyboomer, I have the philosophy of the boomers (right to personal happiness, for example) with some of the disaffection of the Gen Xers making me ultimately fascinating. (At least to myself. Ha!)

So, can you blame me if, given my age and the disastrous astronomical picture facing me, I am angsty?

However, I am a Virgo and that means enough moaning, for the moment at least. I have a re-write to tackle!

Have a great writing day!
Colleen

And the rewrite begins...

"Storytelling is the creative demonstration of truth."

Robert McKee

I've just finished Story. It was a brilliant read and a good use of my time. I highly recommend it not only to anyone looking to enhance their grasp of the art of telling a story, but also to anyone who has been working in isolation as a tool to evaluate your work.

Let me share a few bons mots from my notes with you.

• Structure and character are interlocked. The event structure is created out of choices characters make under pressure.
• The proof of your vision is the victory of your controlling idea over the powerful forces you array against it.
• Extract your controlling idea from your climax. Ask yourself: Is this the truth?
• The art of story is not about middle ground but about life lived in its most intense states.
• Write from the inside out. Find the core of the protagonist and experience it from his POV. Ask: If I were this character in these circumstances, what would I do?
• Fine writing emphasizes reactions. Reactions focus less on what happened than on to whom, why and how it happened. Focus on reactions and the insights gained.
• The substance and energy of a story is found in the gaps. The 'oh, my god' moments.
• Story in a nutshell: For better or worse, an event throws a character's life out of balance, arousing in him the conscious and/or sub-conscious desire for that which he feels will restore balance, launching him on a Quest for his Object of Desire against forces of antagonism (inner, personal or extra personal.) He may or may not achieve it.

And now, on to draft #2 of my MS!

I wish you good writing,

Colleen

Story

Daily weather forecast for this week: Cloudy, cloudy, sun and clouds, rain, rain.

I am halfway through Story by Robert McKee. What a great book it is. I'm tackling it like I would a textbook, taking lots of notes and am learning more than I care to admit. (But this is just between us, right?)

I am glad that I finished my first draft before reading it, however. I think I may have been too focused on doing things the right way thus impeding whatever creativity has managed to find its way onto paper. Also, now that the 1st draft is complete, I am able to apply Mr. McKee's analysis to existing characters and plot lines as I read.

It's an exciting and helpful process -- something against which I can measure my work, a real benefit to be sure.

What has been your best lesson about writing or where have you learned the most?

Colleen