Imagine you will
completely lose your memory of 2011 in five minutes. Set an alarm for
five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about
2011.
[I started this with good intentions and went way over five minutes ... oh well.]
Starting off the year with new hopes for the novel. Writing Reverb10 posts and realizing that maybe things weren't all that bad. Being asked for an interview by Jeffery Davis (and then doing the interview and enjoying it muchly). Having Kathleen Winter post on my blog! Holy cow! Finishing the novel ... again. Feeling that edge of despair when the US submissions kept coming back. Writing for stretches at a time at the dining room table, with sunlight slanting across the hardwood floor. Walking the dog in the cold air, the warm air, the hot summer heat. Taking pictures of the snow. Watching the dog sniff around in the snow and toss it up in the air like she hasn't seen it every winter for the past five years. Walking ... and trying to make myself believe that everything would be okay.
Getting that job offer at the hospital -- my mother on the other line, and me, trying not to cry. Trying not to think about how much my life had derailed from The Plan. Then starting that hospital job. Crying every day for the 1st three days of work. Learning. Gradually getting accustomed to it. Remembering the patients' names, and how much that simple thing just made them smile. Laughing with my sister at so many movies.
The Vampire Diaries movie marathon with aforementioned sis. Driving the new truck here, there, and everywhere -- but mostly just to the library in Cayuga. Going to Scotland in the summer. That incandescent moment, dancing a ceilidh on the wedding floor. And then that moment in the flat, afterwards, when we'd had dinner a few days later and I got the book offer in my mailbox. Days spent traipsing up and down Edinburgh streets. Sunshine on the cobblestones. An unexpected and wholly meant-to-be trip to Iona, finally. Stepping on the island and starting to cry. Going to the abbey that night and listening to the wind wreak havoc over a silent, still abbey on the edge of the sea. Infinity so close you could touch it if you only tried hard enough.
Lunches in Hamilton with new writer friends. Writing. Writing. Writing. New projects. Fireworks and parades in Dunnville. Summertime. Birthday lunches out with my mother, and the greatest Indian food I had all year. Sublet offer of a wee Hamilton flat for November and December.
Hours gradually crawling down at work. Back to quasi-unemployment again by the beginning of November, but lots of writing time, and then a move to downtown Hamilton and a flat with hardwood floors and long stretches of sunshine. The surprise: depression can find you even here. Writing. Writing. Writing. A Giller Light bash, and meeting Twitter friends face-to-face. A door prize win! Huzzah!
More writing. More reading. More unexpected friendships. A book club. A night spent baking Christmas cookies and discovering new friends . A random ad for another flat, a viewing, and falling head over heels in love with the space. It's mine now, as of January 1st. And now it's almost Christmas, and the year is winding down, and I find myself suddenly, tantalizingly in touch with the enthusiasm that's been so elusive these past months. Maybe even these past two years, yes, and all that in spite of the wonderful things that 2011 brought me.
There were so many wonderful things about this year. This exercise is probably my favourite of the Reverb manifesto, not least of all because once you start remembering those joyous moments, the happiness can snowball and leave you overwhelmed with riches. All too often, for me, I have a tendency to let depression do the same. So today, I'm taking more-than-five minutes and writing about these moments in 2011 that I would like to remember forever. There are so many more moments, too--you can't squish an entire year into five minutes. But here we are. I'll come back to this thought in a future blog post, but it would seem to me, in many ways, that this turned out to be a writing year after all. Despite the struggles. Perhaps even because of the struggles.
Now if only I could remember this exercise, and the feelings of calm that it brought, all of the time ... :)
[I started this with good intentions and went way over five minutes ... oh well.]
Starting off the year with new hopes for the novel. Writing Reverb10 posts and realizing that maybe things weren't all that bad. Being asked for an interview by Jeffery Davis (and then doing the interview and enjoying it muchly). Having Kathleen Winter post on my blog! Holy cow! Finishing the novel ... again. Feeling that edge of despair when the US submissions kept coming back. Writing for stretches at a time at the dining room table, with sunlight slanting across the hardwood floor. Walking the dog in the cold air, the warm air, the hot summer heat. Taking pictures of the snow. Watching the dog sniff around in the snow and toss it up in the air like she hasn't seen it every winter for the past five years. Walking ... and trying to make myself believe that everything would be okay.
Getting that job offer at the hospital -- my mother on the other line, and me, trying not to cry. Trying not to think about how much my life had derailed from The Plan. Then starting that hospital job. Crying every day for the 1st three days of work. Learning. Gradually getting accustomed to it. Remembering the patients' names, and how much that simple thing just made them smile. Laughing with my sister at so many movies.
The Vampire Diaries movie marathon with aforementioned sis. Driving the new truck here, there, and everywhere -- but mostly just to the library in Cayuga. Going to Scotland in the summer. That incandescent moment, dancing a ceilidh on the wedding floor. And then that moment in the flat, afterwards, when we'd had dinner a few days later and I got the book offer in my mailbox. Days spent traipsing up and down Edinburgh streets. Sunshine on the cobblestones. An unexpected and wholly meant-to-be trip to Iona, finally. Stepping on the island and starting to cry. Going to the abbey that night and listening to the wind wreak havoc over a silent, still abbey on the edge of the sea. Infinity so close you could touch it if you only tried hard enough.
Lunches in Hamilton with new writer friends. Writing. Writing. Writing. New projects. Fireworks and parades in Dunnville. Summertime. Birthday lunches out with my mother, and the greatest Indian food I had all year. Sublet offer of a wee Hamilton flat for November and December.
Hours gradually crawling down at work. Back to quasi-unemployment again by the beginning of November, but lots of writing time, and then a move to downtown Hamilton and a flat with hardwood floors and long stretches of sunshine. The surprise: depression can find you even here. Writing. Writing. Writing. A Giller Light bash, and meeting Twitter friends face-to-face. A door prize win! Huzzah!
More writing. More reading. More unexpected friendships. A book club. A night spent baking Christmas cookies and discovering new friends . A random ad for another flat, a viewing, and falling head over heels in love with the space. It's mine now, as of January 1st. And now it's almost Christmas, and the year is winding down, and I find myself suddenly, tantalizingly in touch with the enthusiasm that's been so elusive these past months. Maybe even these past two years, yes, and all that in spite of the wonderful things that 2011 brought me.
There were so many wonderful things about this year. This exercise is probably my favourite of the Reverb manifesto, not least of all because once you start remembering those joyous moments, the happiness can snowball and leave you overwhelmed with riches. All too often, for me, I have a tendency to let depression do the same. So today, I'm taking more-than-five minutes and writing about these moments in 2011 that I would like to remember forever. There are so many more moments, too--you can't squish an entire year into five minutes. But here we are. I'll come back to this thought in a future blog post, but it would seem to me, in many ways, that this turned out to be a writing year after all. Despite the struggles. Perhaps even because of the struggles.
Now if only I could remember this exercise, and the feelings of calm that it brought, all of the time ... :)
I love this.
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