Imagine It In Writing

Fun, according to Webster’s, is defined as “merriment; hilarity; sport.” A little vague, I think. If I was writing a definition it would go something like this—Fun: “Something I choose to do regardless of paycheque; top of the priority list over all other demands on my time.” (It’s a definition; it’s supposed to be wordy, right?)

In other words, a fun activity is one I do willingly, despite all the other things yammering for my time and attention.

Last night was one such event. Along with Miriam Rashleigh, I participated in an Author Talk at the Three Hills Library. The primary focus for the evening was Take Flight: True Stories of How Dreams Shape Our Lives. A great audience filled the side room, no doubt due to the excellent promotion provided by Kristen of the Three Hills Library, and Miriam’s contacts in her home town of Three Hills.

I shared a little bit about how the Take Flight project came to be, then Miriam and I each read our stories from the book. Then the floor was opened up for questions and, before I knew it, it was time to wrap up for the evening. As I drove home on a lovely sunny evening, the sky a lovely pale blue dotted with clouds, I mulled over the evening.

Next to writing and editing, talking about both gives me delight (which should probably be included in my personal definition of fun). People who take time out of their busy lives—I learned that a school music event was also scheduled the same night as the Author Talk—to attend an event like a reading are not only supporting arts and culture, they are people I identify with. Some, I suspect, are closet writers themselves.

As we sat around casually chatting about books and writing and publishing, I became aware of a sense of kinship that forms at events like these, an inclusive community, people who love books and stories and libraries, people who hang around until they are gently reminded—twice!—that it’s time to go so the library staff can close up for the night!

This is the same sense of community that occurs when people of like-minds gather together. It must have been similar in the time of Fitzgerald and Hemingway and Stein, hanging around and chatting about ideas, and enjoying each others’ company.

The first question last night was “Would you do this again?” It’s a great question. A year ago, I quickly answered “No.” Take Flight was a huge project that, like all great things, involved a lot of growing pains and stretching, but was also deeply rewarding. Part of the key to doing it again was astutely hit on the head by another question, identifying the importance of support systems for large projects. A very good reminder that it’s always a good idea to have more support than less.

So thank you, Three Hills, for the opportunity to share a little about my personal journey and a sampling of Take Flight: True Stories of How Dreams Shape Our Lives. I look forward to dropping by again soon!

I have a goal.

They say that if you aim for nothing, you’ll hit it every time. I’ve found that you have to be intentional about life, to choose your destiny and sail toward it with everything you have.

I’ve always longed for traditional publishing credits, particularly for my novels. I received good advice years ago to begin with short stories, which I’ve done. This moved to articles and editing and eventually a self-published book of my own called Take Flight: True Stories of How Dreams Shape Our Lives.

Each of these steps has been both an adventure and a reward of its own accord. I’ve learned something valuable at each leg of the journey. In the last few years, I’ve reached several important milestones and nearly completed a second novel. But, my first novel sits, waiting patiently. Perhaps too patiently.

Lately though, it has started talking to me again. Loudly.

Sometimes we procrastinate to our detriment, holding back out of fear. I can’t say that hasn’t applied here. But I also know there is a time for everything.

One of many kick starts in the right direction was a wonderful visit to our book club by one of our featured authors, Fran Kimmel, the writer of The Shore Girl, winner of the 2013 Alberta Readers’ Choice Award. She graciously answered our questions—the two authors in our group peppered her with them!—and was delighted with our animated conversation about her characters, like they were real people (which, of course, they are!).

After meeting Fran, I remembered again what I am all about. Fiction. Short stories, yes. But, more specifically, novels. It’s taken me too many years to take myself seriously as an author. To be surrounded by a sea of success and still forget shows me I need reminding from time to time.

Another kick start in the right direction was my recent artist date to the movie The Great Gatsby. I left the theatre filled to the brim with beautiful images, brilliant music, (blending old and new), and the reminder that great art is often timeless because the themes of our lives keep repeating themselves.

My third kick start was a novel by Cassie Stocks called Dance, Gladys, Dance. I discovered this book through Fran Kimmel since it’s published by NeWest Press (The Shore Girl’s publisher). Since I am considering submitting to NeWest, I decided to read some of their books, so I started with Dance, Gladys, Dance, and am I ever glad I did. The protagonist is believable and very, very funny, and the book also speaks truth about art and our fears, particularly about being accepted: “’You can’t have both, you know, you can’t try to have the entire world love you, try to be perfect for everyone and still create.’”

Whatever the kick start combination, I have felt the un-ignorable urge to do more with my own art. To risk more. To write more. To believe in myself more. To lick those envelopes and hit send again and courageously face the response of publishers, whatever they may be.

To do whatever it takes to chase the dream.

One of my favourite authors is Julia Cameron. While reading The Right to Write, I came across a statement that is not really profound, except for the wording. After she completed her morning pages—a three page series of long-hand, stream-of-conscious writing—she says, “a song suggested itself.” (Julia Cameron is also a composer.) I love that. I love that description of an idea, a character, a bunny trail just suggesting itself. It’s true in composing, and in any kind of creative endeavour.

I see this truth at work in my own writing. Because I am preparing some older pieces to send away to publishers, I decided to try my hand at a new short story. The line “It all started with the fire” was the opener I had, so I dashed it down on paper while I got my computer fired up, so I wouldn’t lose it. But then the story took a totally different direction. I started writing about Jenna and her husband, a man she looks down upon because his only aim in life seems to be sitting around watching sports. Jenna regrets not marrying someone else, someone with more ambition and money. The only other clear direction is that Jenna is, in the middle of January, about to head out of town to star-gaze.

I got stuck for a day or two at this point—what would happen now? I re-read the first line. Oh no, how was I going to bring in the detail of the fire? And what kind of fire—a grass fire, an explosion, or something less dramatic—and what was the point of it?

These kinds of questions too early in a piece can stall it. We start worrying about fitting the jigsaw pieces together when we don’t have them all yet.

So, even though I was still feeling stuck, I pulled up the story and read it again. I began fiddling with the older section, correcting a word here and there, not out of any great need to correct my grammar but because I still had no idea how to proceed.

Earlier, I had introduced Alex, the owner of the land that Jenna uses to star-gaze. While re-working something, I stumbled upon a new idea (in Julia Cameron’s language, “a new idea suggested itself”), the revelation of an important fact about Alex. Now, spread out in front of me, is a plethora of interesting characters who have a history with one another, and they are all placed together in one location, like paper and wood and matches that, with the right catalyst, will cause a fire.

Of course, I’m not entirely sure yet what that catalyst will be, but I’m looking forward to learning what it is.

Sometimes you think you’ve learned one lesson and that makes you set for life. Been there, done that. Wiser. Smarter. Thoroughly prepared and educated and no longer susceptible to that particular surprise.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

In the months leading up to Katherine’s departure to Japan, I had my share of very low moments. First, there was worried-mother-hen mode. What if she gets sick or lost? Who will help her? What if she’s lonely or homesick or is the last kid picked for the baseball team?

Then there were the practical questions. What if she loses her bank card? Or her passport? What if she forgets to get the right documents stamped by the right people at the airport? What if she runs out of money?

All of these things were, of course, shortly proven to be what they were: just the anxious musings of a mother who was sending her daughter overseas (except the money management, but that was a valuable lesson that needed to be learned). They were part of the growing up experience that is required of both parent and child.

When we dropped Katherine off at her hotel in Vancouver prior to departure to Japan, the GPI coordinator waited for us to say our goodbyes. Perhaps in an attempt to make it easier for us, he said casually, “It’s only five months.”

And he was right. Looking back on it now, the time flew by quickly, but at that moment, he might as well have said, “It’s only five years.”

Fast forward another five months and we are where we are today, halfway through May. It is track season. Yesterday, as I sat in my lawn chair watching her compete, it struck me: “This is Katherine’s last county track meet.” Add this to the mix of emotions that have been coursing through me lately as I contemplate her upcoming high school graduation, the arrival of her first boyfriend, and her university application, and you’ve got quite a cocktail.

I felt overwhelmed by sudden bouts of sadness before and during Katherine’s time in Japan that often arrived without warning and left just as suddenly. Then she returned and, although she had clearly grown up, she fit right back into our family unit. I’d managed her absence once; surely I could handle it again.

But I am slowly understanding that this upcoming move in August when she departs for university may be just as hard. May be harder, in fact, because it will have the air of the permanent about it. I have had a test run, that’s all, not the real thing. I occasionally find myself randomly emotional—like yesterday, contemplating the last county track meet—and I keep reminding myself that this is okay. That this year continues to be one of transition. I was up for the task before and I will be again.

But for now, as I write these thoughts, I’ll let myself have a little cry. And savour the memory, just like I have savoured the other moments that I’ve been there for, watching my lovely daughter grow up and experience the world. And be grateful, again, for every one of them.

Lately, my brain is tired. Even at night, when I lay down to sleep, it’s working, churning, computing. If it was making a sound, I suspect it would be like that of a CD going round and round—cha-chink, cha-chink, cha-chink—unable to be read by the CD player.

I’m a fan of lists, but even my lists have lists these days. I’m trying to move through my days at a slower pace because the after-school scheduling is really taking its toll.

Perhaps this is a common problem at this time of year. I’ve spent more time lately trying to schedule appointments than actually keeping them! Case in point: one of my piano students is a multi-talented girl involved in a variety of sports all year long. Because my daughter, too, participates in sports, I offer some flexibility to my piano students, with the understanding that I occasionally will ask it of them. It’s an arrangement that usually works.

Enter soccer season, an animal even more complicated and time-consuming than volleyball, basketball, and track. But, with an exam looming in June, my student needs to still be at lessons, despite her four-nights-a-week soccer commitments. It took several emails and a phone call or two to solve this.

Then there was a potential new piano student, part of another very busy family. Again, email after email was exchanged, just to find a time for an interview.

We live in a world absolutely brimming with opportunities. Add to that our everyday responsibilities like work, grocery shopping, and childcare, and we are, at times, completely over-loaded. It’s hard to say no—there’s so many good things to be part of.

Because I believe in the arts, I’m a member of the Mountain View Arts Society and a contributing member of the Mountain View Arts Festival committee. I’m also volunteering to help organize the Festival’s Opening Reception. Because my children attend Olds Koinonia Christian School, I’m also deeply invested there, serving on the Board and, right now, on another subcommittee associated with this Board.

I believe the value of music, so I teach piano and give my time to the Olds and District Music Teachers Association. I value the written word so I write and edit. I value my children’s skills and needs, so I support them in sports and social events and schoolwork. My eldest daughter is graduating from high school this year, so there was time set aside for hair-styling and the purchase of jewelry and a dress. She wanted to see the world, so we helped her live in Japan. She desires to go to university, so we are filling in paperwork and hatching plans.

We want to spend time as a family and show our exchange student more of our province, so we are camping and taking a trip to West Edmonton Mall and Banff, and even some fun as simple as a walk downtown to K&W for a milkshake.

All these things are important. And because I’m the type of person who likes to do things well, sometimes I get caught up in them and they, in a sense, take over my life.

Years ago, when I was a preschool teacher’s assistant, I spoke with the grandmother of one of my students, who was also the caregiver/guardian of her many grandkids. When I asked her if she was available to do something, she threw up her hands in a gesture of surrender and said, “My time is not my own.”

Sometimes I feel the same way. But that statement is really a cop-out, almost martyr-like. Time, like anything precious, needs to be managed. I’m not calling for rigid plans with no flexibility—that’s just a recipe for crazy-making. But, seriously, what are we doing with time? Perhaps we should ask ourselves which of those valuable things are non-essentials? Perhaps we need to consider saying “no” or “not now” to some of them?

I remember seeing a beautiful picture with a woman dressed in pink holding pink flowers, and the caption, a quote from Oprah, read “You can have it all, just not all at once.”

This has always stayed with me. Good advice, especially to women. We want to be there with our kids, not missing a single tear, or game, or parent-teacher interview, all while simultaneously earning income, working on our marriages, volunteering, and managing every other detail that goes into a making a family work. I myself have made every effort in this, but it’s an impossible goal to execute perfectly, one that just makes us feel guilty when we can’t meet it. I’ve had to give it up. The ideal, I mean. I forgive myself when I drop a ball or two, when I forget to pick up cat food or double-book myself with two appointments in the same time slot.

More than my words, I’m aware that those who I most want to positively influence (ie. my kids) are watching my actions. I can say I value a life-style of peace and fulfillment, but what am I modeling? Over the last few years, we cut back on extra-curricular activities—now that my children are nearly grown, I sometimes wonder if that was the right choice. But then I consider the facts: they’ve had their taste of dance, horse-back riding, gymnastics, choir, and piano. Are they experts? No? Could I have re-enrolled them? Yes. Can they continue in these areas later in life, should they choose to do so? Yes.

Instead of enrolling them in extra-curricular activities, Richard and I have given them opportunities to visit large portions of mainland United States and even Hawaii. They have chunks of unstructured time to relax, hang out with friends, be creative (write, design, draw, compose music). We spend evenings and weekends together, and almost always share supper at the kitchen table. We make holidays out of sports tournaments. I’m usually home when they leave in the morning for school and when they return at the end of the day.

I’ve also modeled what it looks like to follow your dreams, by writing regularly and teaching music and volunteering in places that align with my personal values.

Saying no to a few things enables us to say yes to what really matters to us. In our Have It All Now world, this takes courage. But the rewards are exponential.