
Considering spring has come with a storm warning for heavy snowfall tonight I thought we needed a good laugh in flowers. Enjoy memories of summer and keep hoping for spring.

These were taken locally last summer.
I don’t know about you but just look-ing at these flowers makes me happy.
And if you need a jump start on your writing as I often do, check out this site.
writeordie.html
SPRING IS COMING? RIGHT? ASK THE BALD EAGLE.
Winter seems to have dragged on forever this year. I know it’s only mid-March but I want spring. Now. I know it will come. As someone once assured me spring will come…if not this year, then next for sure. Unfortuantely, in some dark corner of my mind, along with neuroses and dire imaginations, lurks the fear that maybe it will be next year. So I look for signs. Any sign.
Unfortunately the ground is still under a thick blanket of snow so I don’t see any hint of green grass, tulips poking through the snow, or even dirty brown soil. However, I do see puddles forming and water trickling down the sewer drains. Ahh. A good sign for sure.
And we no longer have more nightime hours than daytime. (Is that controlled by daylight saving time do you think?). In fact, it’s light long enough in the evenings to now go for a walk after supper. Another indication that spring is on its way. And yes, I’m counting every possible sign.
But the biggest indication of all? Old Baldy sitting in the treetop. Have a look for yourself.

In the past we have had up to 7 of them hanging around eating carrion. Okay, I confess I am really grasping at straws here counting this fella as a sign of spring because I saw him for the first time March 1. I can’t imagine what he thought when it dropped to -30 C. Nor can I imagine how he kept warm. No doubt he was grumbling and grousing about the cold weather just like the rest of us.
Oh wait, water is dripping off the eaves. A sure sign winter is dying. Looks like we’ll see it this year for sure.
MORE THAN ENOUGH ABOUT CHICKENS
This is writing related. Sort of. I checked out an e-course I was interested in. As usual, I checked out the presentator to see if I liked what I saw. Her website opened on a page all about chickens. Very pretty chickens I confess but this is also where I–a country person who has grown and/or produced most of our own food for years–admit to loathing chickens.
In all fairness I admit they serve a purpose. They produce meat and eggs
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They can be nice to look at
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especially day old chicks
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and free range chickens help get rid of bugs.
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So you might well ask, what’s the problem? The problem is I hate chickens. Always have. Always will. In my mind they are dirty, noisy, cannabalistic and creepy. And it’s not that I haven’t known a lot of chickens in my time. Hundreds of them, probably thousands over the years. Never met one I liked. Never. So when we moved to this place I made one stipulation. No chickens. Ever.
Guess I might not be the only one who feels this way. Check out this blog. http://burkinafasopcvs.blogspot.com/2007/11/why-i-hate-chickens.html
I quote part of it here.
Why I Hate Chickens
-They make loud clicking noises when they groom their feathers.
-People keep giving them to us–we’re on Clucky 3.
-They have to put their heads up to swallow. Intelligent design, my ass.
-They poop everywhere.
-They’re dumb. Studies using chickens as subjects require hundreds of trials before they learn anything.
-They eat everything, including chicken meat and their own poop.
-They nibble our flowers.
-They shrilly crow all the time, not just in the morning–that would require intelligence.
-They can’t even fly well. Useless.
-They’re ugly. And they smell bad.
-Every night the chicken clumsily flies into a tree to sleep and usually falls out at least once.
-The chicken thinks he’s smarter than me–eyeing me while sneaking over to the flowers in plain sight.
-Their eyelids go up. Freaky.
-They evolved from dinosaurs but they suck.
-They’re hard to catch.
-They are pretty tasty, though.
For the best chicken movie go to this YouTube. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPYChyfxWNs
So I decided I could not take a course from woman who admitted a fondness for chickens. I will wait and find another course of interest.
FISH IS NOT AN OPTION
It began with a New Year’s resolution. A good thing. Yes? Get into shape. Lose a few pounds and start taking some of the supplements we are encouarged to take–baby aspirin, Omega 3–that sort of thing.
So I started doing them–at least the easy part. I started taking the extra supplements. All good. Right?
Turns out, not so much, in my case.
It began with difficulty catching my breath. Then I got so I was breathless at far less than my normal amount of exertion. Constant ache in my left chest which worsened at night. Yes, I did the reasonable thing. I arranged to see my doctor. Unfortunately the earliest date was three weeks away. But the nurse told me what days my doctor would be the ER doctor. So I waited. And I checked out my symptons on webMD. For most of them a warning orange flag appeared. ‘Go immediately to the nearest medical facility.’ But I needed to see my doctor so I could get follow up. So I waited as my symptoms worsened. Or was I just imagining it? You know how it is when you start to think about aches and pains. They get worse.
Friday was her day in ER so up I went. She rubbed her hands in glee at being able to poke and prod me. I had ECG, xrays, blood work. My heart was fine but she said my lungs looked…okay, I can’t remember what she said but something about them being over inflated, or something. It appears I am having an allergic reaction to the Omega fish based pills which I had quit taking two weeks prior as soon as my symptoms appeared.
I’m home with a puffer and pills and orders not to do anything strenuous until I get an all clear. (At least 2 weeks). Not that doing anything strenuous is an option. I can’t get enough air into my lungs for just ordinary activity. And a strict warning to avoid fish in the future. Any kind of fish. (There goes tuna melts and salmon sandwiches.)
So now I have an excuse for sitting around enjoying the sunrise and/or sunset.

Or planning trips to somewhere warm and sunny. Like Hawaii.

The Agony and Ecstasy
Am I the only writer who finds whatever part of the process I am currently working on is the WORST part? Though I admit there is a certain excitement about starting a story, a delightful sense of urgency about getting in on paper once I start to write and then a thrill of completion when I reach the end. (I always feel a little bit like Meg Ryan in her famous scene in When Harry Met Sally–I’m ready to cheer, I’m full of release thought no one can see the cause. LOL.) But there’s also times in each stage when, as my critique partner says, I bleed from the ears. The agony of writing.
Sometimes the task feels like this project. (A giant pressure vessel weighing 384 tonnes leaves Saskatoon, where it was manufactored, bound for the oilsands in Fort McMurray. Escorted by police, the convoy is travelling about 35 kilmeteres per hour. Photography by : Greg Pender, Saskatoon Starphoenix, Canwest News Service, The Edmonton Journal.) Can you see the man in the picture? Click on the picture to enlarge it.

This week I read an article from www.writersdigest.com called 10 Disciplines of a Fiction Writer by James Scott Bell. He suggests a number of things (10 to be exact) that make the writing less of a struggle. His suggestion of Super Tuesday really resounded with me. He says, “I have designated each Tuesday to be exclusively a writing day. I have other duties during the week, but I work it out so I can leave Tuesday completely free. I don’t schedule appointments or anything else on that day. My goal here is to blow through my usual quota of words. Sometimes I see just how far I can go. The result is often that wonderful feeling you get when you’ve been in “flow.” Time speeds up. You have done a great day’s worth of work.”
I love the concept of giving myself one day when nothing but my writing matters. The bills can wait. The errands in town can be done the next day. So I gave myself a Super Thursday this week. And it went well. I did about 7500 words. That’s almost three times what I can hope to do on a regular day. It felt so good. That’s the ecstasy of writing
Now I have to play catch up on other stuff–housework, bills, etc.
60TH BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION
No not mine. It’s Harlequin’s 6oth anniversary. 
It began in 1949 in Winnipeg, Manitoba. (Yeah Canada). The first book was The Mantee by US author, Nancy Bruff, and sold for 50c.
Here’s a sample of a 1949 cover. All I can say is we’ve come a long way.

Harlequin is the world’s largest publisher and has sold 8 billion books since 1949. They have a base of about 1200 authors and are published in 107 countries and 29 languages. They sell 130 million books each year–that’s over four books every second.
They produce 120 titles monthly. One in every six mass-market papersbacks sold in North America is a Harlequin or Silhouette novel. (Information supplied by a calendar put out by H/S for its authors to celebrate this anniversary)
They offer everyone a gift–free downloads of 16 books. Go help yourself at this address:
http://www.harlequincelebrates.com/index.php# (You might have to copy and paste it into your address bar.
Happy Anniversary, Harlequin.
DID I GET IT?
The workshop in Vancouver was great. I learned lots. In fact, I learned so much I can’t begin to sort it out. I’m waiting for it to sift through my consciousness and meld with the other things I know. (If only it was that simple). I truly have a better understanding of story but I have to learn where to use the information in my own writing.
The trip was every bit as fantastic as the workshop. We had great weather, a great flight and a good time, Our hotel room had one wall of floor to ceiling, wall to wall windows.
The city was almost spring like– a welcome change from the long winter weather we’ve endured.


We took the river taxi to Granville Island and enjoyed a few peaceful hours Friday afternoon before the hectic Saturday and Sunday schedule.


It was altogether a very nice break–both relaxing and educational. It’s hard to believe it was more than a week ago.
WHAT AN OPPORTUNITY.
After Christmas I did a blog about gifts on Writers at Play. You can check it out on the link below.
http://www.writersatplay.com/wordpress/?p=817
One of the gifts I mentioned was the joy of a book I have fallen in love with this year, Inside Story, the power of the transformational arc, by Dara Marks. (http://www.daramarks.com)
Well, another lovely gift has fallen into my lap. My CP heard that Dara Marks is going to be giving a workshop in Vancouver this weekend (Jan. 31-Feb.1). It was all very last minute—one week to make the arrangements. But we both wanted to hear this woman who had written such a great writing book. The price of the workshop was reasonable. We got special discounted prices to fly to Vancouver. Even the hotel rooms were at a great conference rate. So we are off to Vancouver Jan. 30 and anticipating a great workshop.
Here is the transformational arc as taught by Dara Marks.
Yup. That’s why I need help.
WRITING HABITS
I enjoy spying on other writers. I like sites that show their offices. Some are little cubby holes, others are beautiful big rooms with views you could sell. I like reading about their daily habits as well and comparing my own. So today, I have brought you some glimpses into the habits of famous authors.
These quotes are from a site:
http://dailyroutines.typepad.com/daily_routines/
Alice Munro
As a young author taking care of three small children, Munro learned to write in the slivers of time she had, churning out stories during children’s nap times, in between feedings, as dinners baked in the oven. It took her nearly twenty years to put together the stories for her first collection, Dance of the Happy Shades
Toni Morrison
INTERVIEWER
You have said that you begin to write before dawn. Did this habit begin for practical reasons, or was the early morning an especially fruitful time for you?
MORRISON
Writing before dawn began as a necessity–I had small children when I first began to write and I needed to use the time before they said, Mama–and that was always around five in the morning.
My comment: I’m tired just thinking of this. How did she function throughout the rest of the day.
Continue quote: Many years later, after I stopped working at Random House, I just stayed at home for a couple of years. I discovered things about myself I had never thought about before. At first I didn’t know when I wanted to eat, because I had always eaten when it was lunchtime or dinnertime or breakfast time. Work and the children had driven all of my habits… I didn’t know the weekday sounds of my own house; it all made me feel a little giddy.
I was involved in writing Beloved at that time–this was in 1983–and eventually I realized that I was clearer-headed, more confident and generally more intelligent in the morning. The habit of getting up early, which I had formed when the children were young, now became my choice. I am not very bright or very witty or very inventive after the sun goes down.
Recently I was talking to a writer who described something she did whenever she moved to her writing table. I don’t remember exactly what the gesture was–there is something on her desk that she touches before she hits the computer keyboard–but we began to talk about little rituals that one goes through before beginning to write. I, at first, thought I didn’t have a ritual, but then I remembered that I always get up and make a cup of coffee and watch the light come. And she said, Well, that’s a ritual. And I realized that for me this ritual comprises my preparation to enter a space I can only call nonsecular… Writers all devise ways to approach that place where they expect to make the contact, where they become the conduit, or where they engage in this mysterious process. For me, light is the signal in the transaction. It’s not being in the light, it’s being there before it arrives. It enables me, in some sense.
My comment: I wish I had a ritual that would signal to my brain that is has to start producing intelligent thoughts RELATED TO THE STORY. Instead, I spring up and head for the fridge. I tell myself there are no ideas there. But there is food. And it’s a good substitute. I return to my computer and beg the ideas to come. I sweat and bleed from ears. Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed for this.
Continue quote: I tell my students one of the most important things they need to know is when they are at their best, creatively. They need to ask themselves, What does the ideal room look like? Is there music? Is there silence? Is there chaos outside or is there serenity outside? What do I need in order to release my imagination?
My comment: At least I know what I like about surroundings. I like being able to see outside. I like my things about me, sometimes in apparent chaos because as I work on a story, bits and pieces of research, lists, books I’m referring to, tend to pile up at my side. As to chaos outside my door…well, there is a level of chaos I can close the door (and my mind) to and then there is unusual chaos that requires I check on it. (Think crashes, hollering, moaning, etc.)
INTERVIEWER.
What about your writing routine?
MORRISON
I have an ideal writing routine that I’ve never experienced, which is to have, say, nine uninterrupted days when I wouldn’t have to leave the house or take phone calls. And to have the space–a space where I have huge tables. I end up with this much space [she indicates a small square spot on her desk] everywhere I am, and I can’t beat my way out of it. I am reminded of that tiny desk that Emily Dickinson wrote on and I chuckle when I think, Sweet thing, there she was. But that is all any of us have: just this small space and no matter what the filing system or how often you clear it out–life, documents, letters, requests, invitations, invoices just keep going back in. I am not able to write regularly. I have never been able to do that–mostly because I have always had a nine-to-five job. I had to write either in between those hours, hurriedly, or spend a lot of weekend and predawn time.
The Paris Review, Issue 128, 1993
My comment: I laughed at her ideal writing routine which she has never experienced. Yup. That’s me. In fact, I think if everything was what I considered ideal I wouldn’t be able to work for being nervous that something dreadful was about to happen.
Truman Capote
INTERVIEWER
What are some of your writing habits? Do you use a desk? Do you write on a machine?
CAPOTE
I am a completely horizontal author. I can’t think unless I’m lying down, either in bed or stretched on a couch and with a cigarette and coffee handy. I’ve got to be puffing and sipping. As the afternoon wears on, I shift from coffee to mint tea to sherry to martinis. No, I don’t use a typewriter. Not in the beginning. I write my first version in longhand (pencil). Then I do a complete revision, also in longhand. Essentially I think of myself as a stylist, and stylists can become notoriously obsessed with the placing of a comma, the weight of a semicolon. Obsessions of this sort, and the time I take over them, irritate me beyond endurance.
The Paris Review, Issue 16, 1957
My comment: if I tried writing horizontally I would fall asleep. Besides my arms hurt just thinking about it. But I do some of my best creative thinking while horizontal. I often use a small light to write notes during the night as my ideas begin to sort themselves out.
Isaac Asimov
His usual routine was to awake at 6 A.M., sit down at the typewriter by 7:30 and work until 10 P.M.
In “In Memory Yet Green,” the first volume of his autobiography, published in 1979, he explained how he became a compulsive writer. His Russian-born father owned a succession of candy stores in Brooklyn that were open from 6 A.M. to 1 A.M. seven days a week. Young Isaac got up at 6 o’clock every morning to deliver papers and rushed home from school to help out in the store every afternoon. If he was even a few minutes late, his father yelled at him for being a folyack, Yiddish for sluggard. Even more than 50 years later, he wrote: “It is a point of pride with me that though I have an alarm clock, I never set it, but get up at 6 A.M. anyway. I am still showing my father I’m not a folyack.”
The New York Times, April 7, 1992
My comment: LOL. Sounds like a great work ethic. Sometimes, too many times, authors wait to FEEL like writing. Issac’s comments prove that getting at the work is more important that sitting around waiting for something inspirational to drive us to it.
Roger Ebert
Morning routine: I usually get up around 7. I make oatmeal in my rice cooker. Then I take an hour-long walk: outside if the weather’s good; on my treadmill if it’s cold. Then I shower, shave and go to the first of three movies I see on many weekdays.
The New York Times Magazine, February 13, 2005
My comment: What? Going to the movies is work? Bring it on. Shaping thoughts and whispy ideas into a story and getting words on the page, now that’s work.
‘Creative work only seems like a magic trick to people who don’t understand that it’s ultimately still work.’
SWIMMING IN PEANUT BUTTER
I like reading how other authors work. Listen to a famous author tell of his day.
Ernest Hemingway
INTERVIEWER
Could you say something of this process? When do you work? Do you keep to a strict schedule?
HEMINGWAY
When I am working on a book or story I write every morning as soon after first light as possible. There is no one to disturb you and it is cool or cold and you come to your work and warm as you write. You read what you have written and, as you always stop when you know what is going to happen next, you go on from there. You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and you know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again. You have started at six in the morning, say, and may go on until noon or be through before that. When you stop you are as empty, and at the same time never empty but filling, as when you have made love to someone you love. Nothing can hurt you, nothing can happen, nothing means anything until the next day when you do it again. It is the wait until the next day that is hard to get through.The Paris Review, Issue 18, 1958
Doesn’t he make it sound like a magical, wonderful process?
It can be. It often is. Other times, for me, writing is like trying to swim in peanut butter. I struggle through a sticky mess trying to find a rock, a bit of shore..something…anything that is clear and solid. Bits of ideas try and make it to the surface. When they do, they are often fragmented and chipped and bear no resemblance to anything solid. It’s a magical, scary, frustrating part of my writing when the story is stiff and unwieldy and when I wonder how, in the past, I ever got from a beginning idea to a fully formed story.
It’s times like this that encouragement about my writing is valued the most.
Someone tells me they enjoyed a book. Or I read a good review. Or I get copies of a new release. This week I did indeed receive copies. Not of a new book but one in which I have a story reiussed.

This book will be on the shelves soon. I guess it proves (to me) that I can somehow, with perserverance, figure out how to shape this current mess into a story.

