Day 117: A Twisted Lemon Day (September 30)

Tonight, my parents and my brother and I made our way to The Twisted Lemon, Cayuga's sole fine dining experience. And it was so fantastic, so delicious, so utterly enchanting right from stepping inside that front door, that I almost want to make this into a food blog. Suffice to say, right now, that tonight was possibly the greatest dining experience I've had in my entire life. Definitely something worthy of a 365 days of rejoicing project. Before I say anything else, folks: you should definitely check it out if you are able. Definitely. It's worth the drive to Cayuga alone!

Days 110 to 116

It's 6:45 in the morning, and the rain is pounding furiously against my windows, against the roof. I've been up for almost an hour -- the dog woke me up when everyone was getting ready to leave for work. (Her joy is uncontainable in the mornings.) Now she's outside on the back porch, watching the darkness of the rain. And I'm here, with an entire day in front of me to read and write and maybe bake, to joke on Twitter and try not to waste too much time online and figure out if this new novel that I'm working on really can go anywhere. Funny, isn't it, how I don't know.

Days 78 to 111

The quest for a moment of joy.

Sometimes that's what this project feels like. A quest, a search, a treasure hunt. When will the moment appear? At the beginning of the day? At the end? In the middle? Will I lie awake at night, thinking back over my day, and struggle to find one thing to be joyful about? Will I be lucky enough to get to choose from more than one?

WritBits 2

It's a cool fall day today, with a hint of rain. The perfect kind of day for writerly tidbits to get you reading and scribbling and sending your words out into the world.

1) Jude in London: You've probably heard of the Irish writer Julian Gough. He's the author of the acclaimed Jude series of books, a set of "serious novels disguised as funny novels" that, to date, includes the titles Juno & Juliet and Jude in Ireland. (He's also, perhaps most famously, known for stealing the Bollinger Everyman Wodehouse prize from Will Self, and holding the pig for ransom.) Gough has now released the next novel in the Jude series. The novel is called Jude in London, and it's in the running for the Guardian's Not the Booker prize. I'm reading it right now, and it's hilarious. Definitely worth checking out. Also, the Not the Booker is always a refreshing response to the literary awards season and all the pomp that that engenders, so the run up to the awarding of the prize is worth following in itself. The prize? A Guardian mug. How awesome is that?

2) CBC Canada Writes: Next, moving a little closer to home (for me, that is), we have the CBC Canada Writes Short Story Prize contest. The deadline is looming -- November 1, not quite imminent, but thought I'd remind everyone that it's coming up. Let's get out those short stories and polish away ...

3) Stegner Fellowship Application Period is open! Calling all wanna-be Stegner Fellows! The submission period for the 2012-13 Stegner Fellowships is now open, and will remain open until December 1st. Ten two-year fellowships will be awarded for both poetry and fiction (five fellowships for each genre). Fellowship recipients get a stipend and the chance to schmooze it up with the literati over the course of their fellowship in San Franscisco. (Also, bragging rights. One cannot underestimate the importance of bragging rights.) See their website for application procedure and guidelines.

4) 78 Word Fiction Contest: I love me a good postcard story, as everybody knows. So, naturally, I'm thrilled to see that Esquire, in partnership with the Aspen Writers' Foundation, has launched a wee gem of a contest known as the Short Short Fiction Contest. See the link for rules, but the basic gist is this: submit your short short fiction750 (78 words total, not including title) at http://www.esquiresubmissions.com/. Deadline is October 7. The top ten winners will get airfare to and a spot on the Aspen Summer Fiction workshop, chaired by Colum McCann. Exciting stuff!

5) Danforth Review now accepting submissions: Remember the Danforth Review?  TDR published new and exciting (I know that's what they say about all of these mags, but it's definitely true here!) Canadian fiction from 1999 until 2009, and then went on a wee hiatus. This brought many tears and much gnashing of teeth in the literary world. BUT .... TDR is back! Back and excited! Back and raring to go! You can submit your stories by following this link. Their plan is to publish two short stories per month, so make sure you send your very bestest work. (Using "bestest" in your query letters is not, however, encouraged.) TDR can't pay for accepted stories at this time, so instead, they're offering worldwide fame. Which is, in my opinion, a far superior deal.

6) Duotrope's Digest: Speaking of query letters, I thought I'd post a link here to my most favouritest (another word right up there with "bestest", as you can see) online resource for magazine and journal publications. It's called Duotrope's Digest, and you can find it here. Their home page gleefully notes that to date, they have listings for over 3525 different publications across Canada, the US, and the UK. You can search for publications according to genre, whether or not they're electronic or print, and payment type, as well as how much a given publication will pay (or not pay) for your work. THIS IS AN AMAZING RESOURCE. Writers, it should be your best friend, right up there with Facebook and Procrastination.com 

7) 750 words: Some of you will know of my longstanding love/hate relationship with Julia Cameron, that ever-insightful, ever-inspiring beacon of creativity who wrote The Artist's Way. I adore Ms. Cameron, and I've found her tools for creativity and writing, in particular, to be indispensable in my own writing life -- but I all too often find myself straying from the path! So thinking of Ms. Cameron inevitably brings on feelings of writer's guilt.

Anyway. One of the tools that Cameron advocates for artists are "morning pages" -- three pages of freewriting, every morning, first thing when you wake up. As she says, it doesn't matter what goes in these pages -- the important thing is just to write them, and get them down. I've done morning pages on and off, now, for the past five years. But a few months ago I stumbled on this handy website, 750words.com, which offers a secure portal for writers to type their morning pages. (According to the site's founder, 750 words is roughly equal to three pages, using the old publishing standard of 250 printed words per page.) The site is free and keeps track of the days when you log in and get your words in. Isn't that handy? Also, much better for those morning hand cramps. Of course, I'm sure Sarah Selecky might have something useful to say about writing those pages by hand, but for those days when the pen just seems too daunting, 750 words is a great substitute.

8) Story is a State of Mind: I love Sarah Selecky. I love her short stories, I love her Twitter writing prompts, and I love the fact that she's a driving force behind YOSS. And a couple of days ago, Sarah launched her new, self-driven short story course, Story is a State of Mind, which just makes me love her all the more. Would you like some tips and tricks with writing your short fiction? Like to learn at your own pace? Check out her new short story course at the webpage listed above. Though Sarah herself won't be tutoring you one-on-one through the course (more's the pity, but the lovely lady has a new book to write, folks, which we should all applaud and wait for with bated breath!), you can't help but know that she's put many a smile and much love into the program itself. Check it out, and see what Sarah can do for you. And while you're at it, why don't you sign up for her twice-monthly tidbits of writing wisdom?

9) English Language Canada Council Grants deadline: Is October 1st! If you're Canadian and hoping to get your grant in for the 2012 season, aspiring and practising writer friends of mine, note this date. (You probably already have it highlighted/circled/bookmarked/programmed into your cell phone, but one can never have too many reminders, these days ...) As it happens, Sarah Selecky has also just written an inspiring post about applying for those pesky grants. (See? I told you the woman was wonderful!) Have a read, and then gird your loins and get applying. I'll be applying too, so we can commiserate and grumble together, if you like.

10) Authors Aloud:  Don't you just love hearing your favourite authors read aloud? Reminds me so much of being read to as a child -- except that the pleasure, when it comes in adulthood, seems somehow that much more delicious and indulgent. The greatest author reading that I ever attended was one held by the wonderful Anne-Marie MacDonald, who read at the University of Victoria back in 2003, when I was a lowly, penniless student. (I am still lowly and penniless, as it turns out. So much for progress.) Anyway, for those of you who feel like listening to a writer in the comfort of your own home, definitely have a peek at Authors Aloud, if in fact you haven't already! They showcase a number of delightful readings from authors across the country. And after you've listen to two, or three, or four, grab a piece of your own writing and read it aloud, just for the fun of it. Practice your beatnik poetry voice, your solemn intellectual writer voice, your wry and funny comedian-who-moonlights-as-an-artist voice. And imagine me as the rapt listener right in your front row. I promise I'll be listening, no matter where you are in the world! :)

Thoughts on an ordinary life

It’s a beautiful day outside today – from what I can see, sitting here, looking out over the parking garages. Work has thus far been uneventful. I’ve even managed to scribble a few words, and it’s not even noon yet! Sometimes, in the grind of getting up at 4:30am every day, I forget that this job is ideal in so many ways. In an uncanny, un-looked for kind of twist in fate, this little hospital job is perfect: I work part time, I have time off to write, and yet I’m still managing to pay what bills need paying. Sometimes, in my headlong rush toward writing full time (breathe slow, little Amanda, take your time), I forget that there can be so many things to be happy over, in the space between those moments on the page.

Yesterday I sat in the truck and scribbled away whilst waiting for my mother at Lowe’s. The words are coming these days, which is lovely. Who was it that said writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia? These days, it certainly holds true for me. So many words. So many voices, and only one pair of hands to get them down.

There are worse places to be.

When the weather smells like fall.

I always thought of myself as a summertime gal -- born in summer, happiest on the beach, with suntan lotion close by and a book never far from my hands. But there was always something special about autumn when it came. You can smell autumn, for one thing. That distinctive, damp smell of a world that's getting ready for winter. Hints of snow on the breeze. The smoky scent of dead leaves.

For another, there are so many tactile experiences that I associate strictly with autumn. Picking apples. Harvest markets. That sudden need to put a sweater on, that desire to wear fuzzy socks beneath your boots. The change to flannel sheets.

Most importantly, though, for me, there's the drive to get back to the words.

Happiness: A Lesson from the Dog

Sometimes I forget that my dog is the ideal happiness model. It's so easy, in this close and stuffy head of mine, to get caught up and anxious over so many things. Not writing. Writing too much. Not socializing. Socializing too much (do we sense a theme?). I worry about money--not having any, not being able to pay my bills, not being able to lead the life I want. I worry about time. 29, already! Yes, it's not the end of the world -- yes, every person who's ever turned 29 has agonized on some level over the fact, only to more often than not find themselves quite contented at the age of 50 and quietly, benevolently amused by the antics of their younger self. No, life does not go downhill after 30. Etc.

But I worry, and I fret, even in the midst of this rejoicing project. It is hard to unlearn the habits of an entire lifetime. Even stopping and focusing on joy--the tiniest bits of it!--can be difficult when you're awash in anxious thought.

This is when I look to the dog, and remember that sometimes, life really can be as simple as enjoying the warmth of the sun.

In Praise of the Post Office

Yesterday, as per my usual routine, I borrowed the car and drove into Cayuga for my weekly post office/library fix.

I love the post office. I've loved it since I was a tiny Amanda. What magic, that smooth white counter, and that swinging porthole door behind which lie countless written words? Packages and parcels, maps, epistles to children and adults alike. Postcards (very exciting). Bills (not so much so). Updates on life, updates on finances, actual factual proof that a person has a say in the world--at least, that's what I thought as a child. Getting mail made me feel so darned grown up. 

When I was eight years old or so, I had a Russian pen pal by the name of Iana. (I always pronounced it as Eye-anna, though I'm guessing now that something like Yah-nah is probably correct. We were pen pals for almost three years, and then gradually the letters dwindled away. I am certain, even now, that some of my letters to her got lost -- writing her address out in Cyrillic was never something that I managed to master completely.

Fever

(This post is best experienced while listening to this song, by Michael Bublé. Just sayin'.)

This summer has been one heck of a run. Forty-degree temperatures most of the time, and little to no relief. The grass died. The trees came very close to dying. Every time I stepped outside, I could feel my insides wilting. The dog spent most of her day slouched by the air conditioning vent. No relief, anywhere. Wonderful thunderstorms, to be sure, but other than that? It's been a hard few months.

And then, two days ago, I woke up in the morning and felt fall whispering on the air. Stepped outside in my pyjamas and felt the cool wind, the hint of snow to come. Amazing, isn't it, how delicious 17 degrees can feel. As though the entire world has woken up from a months-long fever, and is now looking forward to the winter, to a long and cozy convalescence.

That's how I feel, right now. As soon as the weather lightened, I could feel that enthusiasm for the printed page leap out of my hands. Give me books! I wanted to scream. Give me books, and a pen, and as many stacks of paper as you can find! 

And the world, of course, more than obliged. Because now that the summer fever is (hopefully) over, we have an altogether different kind of fever to experience: awards season! Bring it on, oh Booker, oh Giller, oh small statuette wrapped in gold!

Owning it

A few days ago, one of my closest friends got a tattoo. The tattoo says "no regets", and it came about in part because of a story that this friend heard, of a woman who had wanted a tattoo that said "no regrets" and then found herself with a modified version when the tattooer made a mistake. This particular woman was quite upset, and barged into the tattoo parlour after discovering the mistake, demanding a refund or at the very least, some kind of cover-up of the mistake. ("Put some flowers on it, or something!")

"Don't you find it funny," said one of the onlookers, "that you got a tattoo about not regretting things, and now find yourself regretting it? You need to own that tattoo."

The woman, it would seem, did not in fact find this funny at all.

The Book Is Dead

Two weeks or so ago, I came across this article, itself a transcript from Ewan Morrison's recent talk at the Edinburgh Book Festival regarding the future of the book. It's sobering. It is, one might even argue, ever so slightly terrifying, particularly if you are a writer, particualrly if you've nourished dreams of scraping by on your writerly income one day in the future.

Not going to deny it, kids: Mr. Morrison's words ushered in a few dark days for me.