Hellgoing

There’s that old saying that in order to write well you have to read.  I believe that to be 100% true.  If you don’t have time to read you don’t have time to write and if you don’t read chances are your writing will likely suffer.  For me, this is indeed the case.  And since I’ve been knee deep in prose for some time, it is so good for my soul to put the pen down and pick up the stories of other writers.  It gives me a chance to breathe, for the creative well to fill up.  Reading is how I realized I had the gumption to tackle writing, to acknowledge my gift and then share it with others.  All those books my nose was tucked into as a kid excited me, challenged my imagination, my emotions and my way of thinking.  That is still the case now, even more so because being inspired by the words of other writers is exhilarating.  I admire writers, their work, their words and their courage.  I say courage because it takes a good deal of guts to sit down and write.  It’s brave and isolating and at times, really really hard.  But, the rewards far outweigh the struggles.  There is nothing more satisfying than completing a project and feeling earnest enough to let the eyes of another pour over it.  It’s a dream, a goal and an extreme accomplishment to finish something and release it.  Ask any writer. 

I am about to tackle Alice Munro’s short story collection called, ‘Dear Life’ but I just finished a unique and commanding collection by Lynn Coady called ‘Hellgoing’.  It won the Scotiabank Giller Prize and I can tell you that after reading it, it was most deserving.  I read ‘Mean Boy’ some years back, a funny and sharp novel about a small town boy who becomes obsessed with his poetry professor and longs to break free from the confines of conformity.  It drew me in immediately and so did ‘Hellgoing’.  She writes exceptional stories about a vast array of people.  They are exciting and riveting characters in unimaginable situations but they also possess something each of us can relate to.  She is good to her readers, she doesn’t miss a trick.  I have ‘The Antagonist’ to read as well but I love her writing so much I want to savor it.  So, Alice Munro is next, keeping with the rich tradition of outstanding women writers who continually blow my mind with their work, their attention to detail, character, narrative and and their passion for story-telling.

If you haven’t read any of Lynn Coady’s work yet, do yourself a favor and pick something up.  All of it even.  She’s spectacular.

The written word rules. 

In propinquity,

Nic

Too Much Happiness

Too much happiness, it’s an Alice Munroe title but it’s also been the global reaction to one of Canada’s most esteemed writer’s Nobel Prize win for Literature.  It’s especially happy news for women writers, for Canadian literature and in particular, the short story format – which Munroe excels and has also re-invented with her indelible command of the English language and her propensity for building unforgettable characters.   It is exciting news for me; I am Canadian, a woman writer and someone who has been working hard to be good at short story writing.  I don’t know how far I’ve come in that goal but it’s a blessing just trying.  It’s also a joy to see someone as treasured as Alice Munroe acknowledged for her stunning work, for her dedication to a craft I respect and love.

I read a fantastic interview with Ann Close, Munroe’s editor since the late 1970s and she said some wonderful things that struck me.  On Alice’s work she said: “Her work as the quality of making you think she’s just writing for you.  It’s fiction written from the inside.”  And this:  “Alice writes about the smaller parts of growing up, or marriage, or you’re leaving somebody.  She often gets things people don’t often write about.”  Such lovely things to say about an incredible woman and writer.  High compliments.

One other thing that seeped in while reading her interview was a comment she made about writing.  She said this:  “If you aren’t writing something you really care about, it won’t work.”  She is absolutely right.  I’ve been thinking about that statement, going back over my previous stories and applying that premise.  It’s true and I realize the reason that I finished any of them was because I was writing about subjects and for characters that I cared for deeply.  And they worked.  So, next time I am wondering why something isn’t panning out, I’ll keep that tiny assessment in the back of my noodle and apply it.  And, I can’t remember who said it so I’ll paraphrase and agree that when you read Munroe’s work, she seemingly goes anywhere she wants and we go with her.  I love that ideal, of a storyteller having free reign to take you anywhere they want to go and a reader willingly follows.  That’s symmetry, chemistry, literary fate. 

I regret not posting about this sooner but I’m having internet issues at home and would rather spend my writing time working on original work.

In terms of what I’m writing right now, ‘Burden’ has me perplexed but in a challenging and positive way.  I’m about five pages in and I have absolutely no idea where it’s going but I’m taking it all in stride.  Judy and Helen, sisters, are such different creatures, such opposing personalities and complexities.  The story is told from Helen’s point of view but I wonder how different it would be told from Judy’s, who is the contentious sister.  I am too deep now to change the voice and Helen is the one who asked me to translate but the devil’s advocate in me wonders.  It’s taken some interesting avenues and thrown me into places I’ve never been before emotionally and these women have also taught me a few things thus far.  That’s a good thing.

For now, I am putting my literary fate in Helen’s hands and have agreed to go anywhere she wants to go.   Seems that little notion works both ways.  Hmm …

In propinquity,

Nic

Fill Your Paper

I've got no poetry today.  I'm working on a few little things but they are still seedlings and as far as prose is concerned, I'm at a standstill with 'Large-Hearted' as well as brainstorming other new pieces.  It's ok for now though, I was thinking since I'm feeling strained, it was time to crack the books.  By that I mean read a bit.  I was mulling over choices for my next purchase when suddenly I receive a large envelope in the mail, Ruthie's latest short story!  Perfect timing me thinks.  It's fantastic and so I rushed home today to put pen to paper and wrote all of my thoughts and gushy feelings to her.  I was so excited that it's already in the mailbox waiting to be picked up!  

What else this week, oh, Alice Munro is retiring.  Bummer.

Also, if you could, keep my best friend's mom in your prayers.  She started her first round of chemo this week.  Sweet June deserves all the love and positive energy you can muster.  

Oh, I keep threatening myself to a Haiku challenge.  I can't write them for beans.  Maybe while I'm brainstorming, jotting and praying I'll work on the little beasts.

Short and sweet today, like me.

And before I forget, Sheree Fitch released a non-fiction piece on Fierce Ink Press today.  She is worth reading and supporting.  Check it out.  There is a Kindle Edition and an EPUB.  It's an important piece and some of the proceeds are going to a good cause.  

In propinquity,

Nic

PS - Isn't the above Wordsworth quote marvelous?

Knots

Knots

the length of a nautical mile

is identical to a minute of latitude

in uncharted waters

loops and kinks weaken strapping cord

old worn rope damaged by sunlight

at the bottom of the mountain

sore strained grieving muscles

latent trigger points overwrought

below aching flesh

the beautiful code of a versatile metaphor

interlaced with the mysteries of love

that beat in a heart

found loneliness precipitates ever-long

bare hands reach up for a speculative lift

to scale toward the Heavens

Northeast-bound bow heaving toward an address

stern slick and graceful for long uninterrupted hours

fully rigged sailing vessel asea

arms outstretched for the concluding embrace

the absence of substance pressing into bones

for remnants of human attachment

knots

troublesome

intricate arrangement of tender places

sudden intervention of constructive trust

knots

            they bind

they blind

**

So, here's the skinny.  I came home the last two nights determined to battle the block I'm currently experiencing.  The first night I read a bit of Carol Shields and Alice Munro while listening to Matt Epp and Diana Krall.  I then scribbled.  Last night I went for a walk on Rainbow Haven beach with my friend Donna to try and clear out the cobwebs.  I got the pant legs of my yoga pants wet because I couldn't outrun a wimpy wave.  It felt good.  Scribbled a little more. Tonight, I came home through this sudden humid heat-wave the east coast of Canada is experiencing ate gross hotdogs because it was too hot too cook much else and watched 'Tragically Hip in Bobcaygeon'.  Got goosebumps and maybe cried a little.  While trying to stay hydrated I pieced together the scribbles and came up with this poem.  Good, right?!

Get this.  While I still haven't managed to seep back into 'Large-Hearted' mode, I actually walked into TWO more story ideas.  What the french toast!?  One of the ideas scares me a little bit so I'm not sure how that one is going to go.  It stems from a dream I had not long ago.  The majority of my dreams of late have been twisted like pretzels.  I haven't been sleeping very well and so when I am sleeping I'm conjuring up all this insane garbage including revisiting an ex to discover he murdered someone and made art out of his victim's bones and this insane doctor injecting my niece with poison.  I'd be afraid to have them analyzed.  I mean geez.  The other one, which shocked me out of my sleep is going to be hard to write.  I don't know when I'll get to it but it'll come.  And, the other idea is light and fuzzy so fear not.

I'm melting so I must go re-fill my icewater and sit in front of a fan to stay cool until I go to bed to toss and turn.  Silver lining?  Tomorrow is Friday!  Yay!

In propinquity,

Nic