It’s Going to the Dogs

  

Today, February 22, is National Walk the Dog Day. Our Luna doesn’t always chomp at the leash to head outside – she’s slowed down quite a bit the last little while – but we still take her for a morning walk every day. Or an early morning stroll, if I’m being honest. It’s one of my favourite things to do. It gives me a chance to connect with nature . . . with the other dogs who live around me (and with their humans!) . . .  and it deepens my connection with my sweet girl too. On a more pragmatic note, walking almost always shifts something in my mental hard drive, giving me a fresh perspective on life or on my current work in progress. Knowing I was coming home to write a blog on dog walking this morning, I began thinking about dogs in literature. There are many!

Lassie in Lassie Come-Home, written by Eric Knight, was the first to come to mind. Then Toto in The Wizard of Oz. by L. Frank Baum. And Clifford, The Big Red Dog by Norman Bridwell. Buck in Jack London’s Call of the Wild and Nana in Peter Pan. More recently, young readers bonded with Winn-Dixie in Kate DiCamillo’s Because of Winn-Dixie and Brodie in Dan Gemeinhart’s Good Dog.

I have a couple of dog-centric books on request from the library. One of them, London’s Number One Dog-Walking Agency – a Memoir by Kate MacDougall, seems fitting for this week’s theme. I’m looking forward to reading it. I’m also looking forward to What the Dog Knows, a juvenile novel by Canadian author Sylvia McNicoll that came out late last year.

Who’s your favorite dog in literature? Or in life?

Perfectly Imperfect

                                               

I’m planning a trip to Japan. I’m not sure when I’ll go, but it’s on my longish short list of destinations to visit. “You must go in spring,” a friend told me the other day. “It’s a perfect time.”

Perfection seems to be the theme of the week. Maybe it’s the way the stars are aligning, or maybe February calls on our inner perfectionist, or maybe it’s simply coincidence. Whatever the reason, people seem to be tossing the idea of perfection around like happy celebrants tossing confetti at a wedding.

It’s starting to annoy me. Not the celebratory confetti thing; that sounds like fun. Although, having just googled confetti and the environment, I should probably find another simile. Or is it a metaphor? . . .

Now back from five minutes of checking the difference between simile and metaphor and thinking maybe I should scrap this idea entirely lest I make a mistake and write an imperfect blog.

There it is, the whole perfection/imperfection thing cropping up again.

Full disclosure: I have been known to have (cough, cough) perfectionistic tendencies, especially in a few areas of my life (those who know me well can stop laughing now). It’s a tendency I’m trying hard to overcome. That’s why my house is currently a mess (at least, that’s my excuse).

I didn’t start the week thinking about perfection. First, there was that conversation with a friend about Japan and the perfect time to go. Then there was an interview and tour I did for a feature on a new home build. The home is stunning. It could – and probably someday will – grace the cover of Architectural Digest Magazine. The word perfect was bandied about a lot during my tour, including a few apologies for areas that ‘weren’t quite perfect yet.’ Finally, there was a walk with friends where I learned that Bruce Springsteen has hair plugs (I’m not sure how I survived this long without knowing that, but amazingly I did). That morphed into a conversation about his plastic surgery which led someone to comment that they’d much rather watch him perform with a full head of hair and no wrinkles. He would be perfect that way.

We were walking in the woods when I learned about Springsteen. It had rained heavily overnight; the trail was muddy and littered with leaves. The trees around us were bent and twisted. Moss and Old Man’s Beard dangled haphazardly from the occasional branch, waiting for wind or a forager to carry it away.  Nothing about the view was perfect, yet it was perfect in its imperfection, as nature always is.

Our culture promotes the idea of perfection. We’re told everything can be improved: our bodies, homes, and relationships, to name only three. In the middle of writing this, I received an email from a local garden retailer extolling the virtues of the perfect patio plants now available to order. A few weeks ago, I learned that women in their thirties are getting Botox or ‘soft’ facelifts as a preventive measure to avoid ‘future imperfections.’

In Japan, they have something called wabi-sabi. An integral part of their culture, it’s the practice of celebrating and embracing imperfections. In fact, the Japanese have dedicated a 400-year-old art form – kintsugi – to putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold. Kintsugi is designed to highlight the ‘scars’ and to create something more unique, more beautiful and even more resilient in spite of its apparent inadequacy. Many of the antique bowls used in the Japanese tea ceremony have cracks, uneven glazes and imperfect shapes. And they are highly prized for their supposed deficiencies.

When I write novels, I’m always careful to develop characters with flaws. Most writers I know are careful to do that too. We recognize at a deep level that flawed characters are more believable, more relatable, and more likeable. Yet it can be a real challenge to accept and let our own imperfections show.

That, I decided, was the lesson of this week. In a culture that favours the flawless, the perfect, the hair plugs or preventative Botox injections, I need to honour the beauty of imperfection. I need to let the housework go for a little longer still. Let the dirt collect a bit more in the corners. And I also need to book that trip to Japan. Even if I can’t figure out the perfect time to go.

The Likeability Factor

I got together with two friends for a visit last weekend. We hadn’t seen each other in quite a while; we have a wide range of interests and busy lives, so we had lots to catch up on. Eventually, the conversation turned to books and movies . . . what we were reading, what we were watching. And since the Academy Award nominations had been announced earlier that week, we began discussing which of the movies we planned to see, if any.

This year, there’s one movie I’m not sure I’ll watch: The Banshees of Inisherin.  Written and directed by Martin McDonagh and starring Colin Firth and Brendan Gleeson, the movie is set on a remote Irish island and tells the story of two lifelong friends who drifted apart after the end of the 1923 Irish Civil War. It is not, by all accounts, a feel-good film. It is described, at best, as bleak. It’s also a movie that seems to evoke particularly strong emotions. Those who love it rave about it. Those who hate it do so with a passion.  

“I wonder how the screenwriter feels?” I wondered aloud to my friends. “To have produced something so many people dislike?”

“There’s no guarantee something you create will be well-received,” one friend responded.

“And it’s been nominated for an Academy Award,” my second friend added. “So not everyone disliked it.”

They were both right. However, too many negative reviews of a movie, a book, an art installation or any other creative venture can mean the difference between success and failure. And by success, I don’t mean public accolades and praise, but the kind of success that allows an artist to make a living, even a modest one, and carry on with their craft. For a writer, a book that draws significant negative reviews won’t sell well, which could mean no contract on their next book. These two women aren’t writers, but they’ve been my friends long enough to understand some of how publishing works. They were sympathetic.

After a minute, one of them said, “Maybe society needs to reframe the idea that disliking something is bad.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know what they say – if everyone likes you, you’re not living an authentic life.” She paused just long enough for us to reflect on that. And then she said, “Maybe it’s the same for art. If everybody likes what you produce, how authentic can it be?”

I know, intellectually, that tastes vary. Not everyone will love the same book or movie or song. The same food, the same colour, the same breed of dog. And yet, as a creator, I want people to love what I produce. So, if I’m truly honest with myself, anything less than that feels like a failure.

But my friend helped me see a simple yet profound truth: Something that is truly authentic is never a failure. It may not appeal to the masses; it may not be a critical or commercial success. But it can still be meaningful, it can still touch people, it can still convey feelings and reveal big truths. In the same way that authenticity in relationships is where we find our true joy, authenticity in creativity is where we find our true success.  

I still don’t know whether I’ll watch The Banshees of Inisherin. Apparently, people leave the theatre crying, and I don’t need sadness in my life right now. But I do need authenticity. So maybe I’ll pack up my Kleenex and go.

Wintering

                                        

“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through.

Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximizing scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight, but that’s where the transformation occurs.

Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.”

Katherine May

Last weekend, I went on a yoga retreat, one focused on honouring Winter Solstice. The women running the event decided to hold the retreat in January even though Winter Solstice is the third week in December. Their reasoning? December is an extremely busy month, and early January felt more appropriate somehow. My busyness lasted well into January, so retreating at the end of that first week was the perfect fit for me.

The day was about letting go, slowing down and getting still, something that doesn’t always come easily to many of us. Katherine May talks about this in her book, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. While I’ve only just started reading it, the book encourages us to find joy in the quiet of winter and accept life as cyclical, not linear. She writes: In winter, I want concepts to chew over in a pool of lamplight – slow, spiritual reading, a reinforcement of the soul. Winter is a time for libraries, for the muffled quiet of book stacks, and for the scent of old pages and dust.

I’m not so sure about old pages and dust, but the idea of slow, spiritual reading and libraries definitely resonates. As I write this, the wind is howling and the rain is lashing at the skylight; it’s a day to curl up inside. Writers – probably most artists when I think about it – are comfortable with solitude. I certainly am; I need it to do my work. For the last six months or so, though, I’ve been out in the world far more than usual, and it upended my natural rhythm and definitely negatively impacted my writing. So, for me, ‘wintering,’ pulling the metaphorical shades and getting back in touch with the cyclical nature of life and of my creative muse, feels appropriate.

Not everyone likes winter; I realize that. For those of you who find this season difficult, I leave you with this quote from John Geddes:

Happy New (Seven) Year

And so it begins! A new year, a fresh start, a blank calendar waiting to be filled. In my world, December’s snow has melted and spring is already on my mind, maybe because the seed catalogues are already showing up in my mailbox!

I’m looking forward to 2023. It’s a 7-year. And seven, according to a poll conducted by Alex Bellos, a mathematician and writer for The Guardian, is the world’s favorite number. That’s not much of a surprise considering the significance of the number 7 in society, culture, religion and literature.

There are seven wonders of the world. Seven days of the week, seven colors of the rainbow, seven notes on a musical scale, seven seas, and seven continents.

In Christianity, God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. The Koran speaks of seven heavens, Muslim pilgrims walk around the Kaaba in Mecca seven times, and in Buddhism, the newborn Buddha rises and takes seven steps.

In literature, Snow White ran off to live with seven dwarfs, Shakespeare described the seven ages of man, and when author Ian Fleming was looking for a code for James Bond, he didn’t go for 005 or 009; he went for 007. It sounded right.

The number seven is even important in psychology. It’s been proven that most people can easily retain seven items of information in their short-term memory. That’s why phone numbers tend to have seven digits (area codes aside).

Finally, in numerology, the number seven is considered highly auspicious. It’s associated with luck, intuition, inner wisdom and magic.

Happy New Year. Here’s to good luck and a touch of magic in 2023.

My September Reads

Fall is always a busy time in the publishing world. A fall book release is coveted by authors since it coincides with the busy holiday book-buying season. And publishers always consider fall when releasing noteworthy titles. Not to suggest that other release seasons are poor – they aren’t! – but fall finds those of us who live in the northern hemisphere at least cozying up with our books. Here’s a Publisher’s Weekly article on what books to look for this fall. https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/new-titles/adult-announcements/article/89655-adult-books-for-fall-2022.html   And here’s what I’m reading this month:

The Maid by Nita Prose

Book Lovers by Emily Henry

Alone in the Great Unknown by Caroll Simpson

Books read to date in 2022: 58

September is the New January

In case you haven’t seen a calendar lately, heads up: tomorrow is September 1st. And while the asters are blooming in my garden and the days are still warm, there’s a hint of cool in the early morning air; fall is definitely coming.

September always feels like a fresh start to me, a new beginning. Like every new beginning (writing that first chapter or painting that first stroke, leaving on a journey, witnessing a birth), there’s anticipatory joy and excitement. Out with the old and in with the new. New seems to be a running theme around here. In the last three weeks, I’ve needed to replace my cell phone and my laptop, and I’ve put four badly-needed new tires on the car too. I’m considering them my new year expenses.

I’m not alone in thinking of September as the start of a new year. Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which is one of Judaism’s holiest days, begins this year on September 25th.  The literal translation is ‘head of the year’ or ‘first of the year.’  

The ancient Egyptians considered September 11th the start of the new year. In fact, this September will mark the year 6264 in the Egyptian calendar.

Fresh starts are good for us. They can lead to greater productivity and more willingness to embrace change, and that, in turn, can be empowering.

Plato said beginnings are the most important part of the work. They frame everything that comes after.

So, here’s to September. May this new month bring us all renewed energy, enthusiasm and opportunities!  

And Here We Go . . .

Author Dean Wesley Smith calls it The Time of Great Forgetting – that stretch between now and the end of August when writing routines get torpedoed because of outside influences. That could be anything from the lure of family reunions or friends visiting from out of town, the pull of the garden and all things outdoors, or even travel, depending on your Covid comfort level. Writing conferences and workshops, in spite of being a part of our professional life, can be a distraction too, especially if travel is involved. And if you have kids at home, it goes without saying that a regular writing routine is much harder to maintain during summer holidays.

Distractions aren’t limited to the spring and summer; they can happen anytime. On the upside, the writing life is flexible, making it easy to respond. But there can be a downside to that flexibility too. Lines can get blurred. For instance, someone who started working at home during the pandemic commented that his work and his other life bled together ‘like a tie-dye sweatshirt.’ Depending on the type of distraction you’re facing, and how you respond, creative routines can slide or even become completely eroded.

You might be fine with letting them go for a few months. But if not, here are a few things that help me maintain focus when life dishes the distractions.

Creating a schedule and (mostly) sticking to it. That used to be Monday to Friday, nine to three (a hold-over from when my kids were in school). I still aim for that, with a couple of exceptions: an early morning walk with a group of neighbourhood women once a week; and the occasional (once or twice a month) Friday afternoon lunch or coffee date with a friend.

Writing in the morning and leaving the business side of writing (research, social media, blogging) for the afternoon. It takes discipline and a little planning, but it’s doable.

Scheduling ahead when and where possible. I try to write, upload and schedule my blog a week ahead (or longer if I’m going away). Tweets can be scheduled in advance too, a bonus for getting a jump on promotion or simply trying to maintain a social media presence. But the latter can also be something of a gamble. If the tone of your scheduled tweets is upbeat and light, and they appear around the time something horrible hits the news (and you forget or can’t take them down), it could reflect poorly on you.

Grouping tasks and appointments. Some things like vet or doctor appointments inevitably crop up during working hours. When I can’t schedule them for the end of the day, I try for afternoon appointments, and I try to fit in another task (picking up a hold at the library or visiting the post office) at the same time.

Being satisfied with small steps. I may not have a full or half-day, but with thirty minutes, I can read over the last scene I wrote and make a few notes in the margin.  A few minutes a day on peripheral work can keep the story in my mind and make it easier to return to later.

Learning to say no. It’s not always easy, especially when you’ll disappoint someone. But there are times to be available to others and times when we need to be available to ourselves. We sometimes forget that.  

And finally, remember that everything is temporary. This, too, shall pass. Repeat as needed.

Pick Up That Pen

Today is National Pen Pal Day.

I didn’t have a pen pal as a child, but years ago, while researching a book on lighthouses, I began a long correspondence with a lighthouse keeper. Though I had a computer and easy access to email by then, we kept in touch the old-fashioned way – with letters sent by mail. That process – writing and mailing the letters and then eagerly waiting for her to reply – took me back to childhood and pre-computer days when we relied on physical letters instead of emails and texts to keep in touch with out-of-town friends and family. A bit like how it was when pen pals first began.

Pen pals have been around for a long time. They began during the 1930s when a society called the Student Letter Exchange was formed so young students from different countries could connect through letters, mainly to learn about each other’s cultures. The pen pals were strangers, and the relationship was generally limited to letters, though occasionally, pen pals would meet. That’s how it was for Canadian Ruth Magee, who began a pen pal friendship with Brit Beryl Richmond in 1939. They’ve met twice over the years: once in 1986 and again in 2009. And their pen pal friendship continues today.

Pen pals, both real and imagined, have infused popular culture.

In 1997 Australian author Geraldine Brooks wrote Foreign Correspondence, a memoir about her childhood pen pals in Australia and overseas, and her travels as an adult searching for the people they’d become. 

In the Peanuts comic strip, Charlie Brown tries to write to a pen pal using a fountain pen, but when that doesn’t work, he switches to a pencil and refers to his pen pal as a pencil pal. And in the film adaptation, Charlie Brown’s pen pal issue has a happy ending when he becomes friends with his little red-haired dream girl.

In the 1998 film You’ve Got Mail, Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks develop a pen pal email relationship, unaware that they’re also business rivals. You’ve Got Mail was based on Shop Around the Corner, a 1940s film also focusing on a pen pal relationship.

These days, pen pal relationships are more likely to take place by email than snail mail, though there are a few groups dedicated to matching pen pals who want to connect through physical letters. These include the Letter Writers Alliance and a dedicated Facebook group called the Worldwide Snail Mail Pen Pals.

Happy writing!

Snakes and Slugs and Rabbits … Oh My!

 

A snake slithered across my foot as I walked to the greenhouse one morning last week. I felt it before I saw it, so I was a little startled when I glanced down and saw it slide off my toes and disappear under a nearby Hosta.  It made me smile. My cousins and I used to play with the garter snakes in my grandmother’s garden when we were kids, going so far as to bestow names and weave stories around them (yes, the storytelling seeds were germinating even then). So, seeing a snake in my garden brought back happy memories.

Some people hate snakes. They see them as horrifying, villainous creatures. But, for me, it’s rodents that I hate with an irrational passion. And these days, as the plants in the garden begin waking up from their winter slumber, I have a current hate on for the slugs and rabbits that are decimating the new growth. They are the current antagonists of my world.

Life is full of antagonists. Novels are too. The latter not only require antagonists, but they depend on them to drive a story forward. Without a great villain, the hero can’t shine. And the key to crafting a good antagonist or villain is making them well-rounded enough to be believable. Every villain should have at least one redeeming characteristic.

If I’m ever tempted to forget this, all I have to do is look outside. Snakes may be considered villainous to some, but they devour garden pests and even small mice.  Slugs are a great source of food for birds (thrushes love them), and they break down garden debris and turn it into nitrogen-rich fertilizer.  Wild rabbits are considered a keystone species, essential workers of a healthy ecosystem. In fact, populations are so low in the UK and parts of Europe that environmentalists are sounding the alarm and working to increase their numbers (too bad I can’t figure out a way to export mine; both my garden and my wallet would benefit). Even mice, creatures I will never tolerate anywhere close, link plants and predators in every terrestrial ecosystem.

Whatever antagonist you’re currently facing, whether it’s ravenous rabbits in the garden, a belligerent boss at work or wicked, uncooperative weather, a piece of advice: always wear shoes and watch where you step.