Category: Laura Tobias

NaNoWriMo Reimagined

It’s November, and for writers, that conjures thoughts of NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month.

For those who aren’t familiar, NaNoWriMo participants attempt to write a 50,000-word manuscript between November 1st and November 30th. If you’re breaking it down, that’s 1667 words every day. Most participants prepare well ahead by brainstorming plot points and outlining their novel, organizing notes and documents, cleaning their desks and clearing their ‘to do’ list as much as they can. They often join online support groups to check-in and be accountable for their progress. As a result, most people come away from the month with a deep sense of accomplishment.

 For a lot of reasons, mostly to do with scheduling and other writing commitments, I’ve never signed on for NaNoWriMo, though I admire the writers who do. This year, however, around about October 29th, it occurred to me that I have a middle-grade novel that’s half-finished, one I’ve been dragging my heels on for far too long. Maybe I could retool NaNoWriMo to suit my current schedule.

So, for the month of November I’m writing fresh material for Something About Julian every day. Focusing on new writing rather than obsessively editing what I’ve previously written should move me forward. If nothing else, it will change up my routine, and that’s always a good thing. I don’t expect to produce 50,000 words. I’m not aiming that high and I don’t need to. Half that amount would give me a complete (or nearly complete) manuscript. And it would give me (and the story!) the momentum that’s been lacking the last few months.

 Wish me luck!

My October Reads

“And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves.” Virginia Woolf

To me, fall is a time of simple pleasures like going for a walk and observing the leaves changing colour. The change seems to start like a slow dance with a touch of red here and a dash of gold there, but then if the wind stays down, it picks up speed, and the colours change daily.  Before long, the trees are dancing at the last party of the year, shimmering with brilliant reds and oranges and golds. I love coming home after my walk and sitting in front of a cozy fire. I love the smell of soup simmering in the kitchen and knowing dinner is taken care of too. I especially love knowing there’s a stack of books waiting for me at the end of the day. Here’s what I’m reading this month.  

An Island by Karen Jennings

Memorial Drive, A Daughter’s Memoir by Natasha Trethewey

Never Have I Ever by Joshilyn Jackson

Books read to date in 2021: 71

The Power of Fiction

When I’m not writing or editing fiction, I write articles. This week, I’m writing a short piece on power bowls (they’re sometimes called Buddha bowls or grain bowls, but regardless of what you call them, they pack a potent nutritional punch, and they’re delicious).

That got me thinking about power in a general sense and about the power of words. The words we speak, the words we write. We’re familiar with the power of a memorable speech to inspire us (Martin Luther King’s ‘I Have a Dream’ or Winston Churchill’s ‘We Shall Fight on the Beaches’ come to mind) or a powerful essay to make us think (E.B. White’s ‘Once More to the Lake’ or Roger Ebert’s ‘Go Gentle into That Good Night’ both do that).’

However, literature has innate power too. Stories and fictional worlds can inspire, provoke and nourish our souls in the same way power bowls nourish our bodies.

According to the Harvard Business Review, recent research in neuroscience suggests that reading literary fiction helps people develop empathy and understanding, as well as critical thinking. It helps reduce stress and make sense of the world too. The bottom line is stories can make us happier.  Research by the University of Liverpool’s Centre for Research into Reading, Literature and Society (CRISL) says all it takes is thirty minutes a week. https://news.liverpool.ac.uk/2015/02/06/30-minutes-reading-week-can-improve-life/

A small investment of time can yield substantial results. And that’s a powerful thing.

Seeing Flowers with New Eyes

 A few weekends back, I zoomed into an all-day writing workshop. One of the speakers was author Jeff Elkins.

Elkins spoke at length about how we can develop and deepen our characters through the use of dialogue. As soon as he brought up what he called the character daisy, I was hooked (anything that relates gardening or food to writing gets my immediate and full attention).

Flowers grow in a predictable order: roots, stems and blooms. Jeff believes that order is reflected in the way we develop as individuals too. We also start off with roots: the genetics we inherit from our family, our ethnicity and nationality, and our gender and family history. Our stem grows out of our roots. That stem represents our hopes and dreams, our strengths and weaknesses, and the inner facets of the personality we bring to the world. The flower is the outer way we show up: what we focus on in our lives, how we talk, live and interact. The bloom is, in essence, our gift to the world in the same way flower blossoms are gifts to the garden.

Literature is full of references to flowers. An old French proverb says, “Wherever life plants you, bloom with grace.”  Saint Francis de Sales, the Bishop of Geneva, made the phrase more colloquial in the early 1600s when he urged his followers to “bloom where you are planted,” and artist Mary Engelbreit picked it up and turned it into a catchphrase in the 1990s.

Author Stephen Richards links flowers to the way we think. “Minds are like flowers; they open only when the time is right,” he says.

Musician Aaron Neville says flowers offer lessons on how to behave. “Be honest, be nice, be a flower, not a weed.”

Poet E.V. Rogina believes flowers can teach us about inner growth. “Like wildflowers, you must allow yourself to grow in all the places people thought you never would,” she says.

And last but definitely not least is John Lennon: “Love is the flower you’ve got to let grow.”

So, as the last of my summer flowers slowly succumb to cooler temperatures, and we hunker down for fall and winter, I’ll focus on the words of poet Jennae Cecilia:  

Taking Chances

 Lately I’ve been thinking about risk tolerance. The phrase came up in a news conference this week when our province announced its staged reopening plan based on our rate of immunization and our Covid numbers. Because even though the government is establishing guidelines, we’ll have to make personal decisions about how interactive we want to be.  As Dr. Bonnie Henry put it, we will have to decide our own level of risk tolerance.

People take chances all the time. In fiction, we need our characters to do exactly that. I’ve started reading a suspense novel, Pieces of Her by Karin Slaughter. It’s fast-paced and gritty and so far, the main character is taking a lot of chances. I’m okay with it because she’s well-motivated and the action is plausible. There are times in books or movies, however, when a character goes too far and deliberately walks into danger when there’s absolutely no reason for it. In the writing community, we refer to that character as being TSTL – too stupid to live.  But if risk tolerance is well-motivated that’s a different thing. In the Slaughter novel the character is young and under pressure; she’s terrified for her mother and acting in the heat of the moment. It all goes to plausibility and it works for me even though I’m naturally risk-averse.

Take the black bears, for instance. They’re back in our neighborhood. Not just one, but five. At least. There’s a mama and two cubs. A solitary male that’s been described as ‘a very large boy’ and two juveniles who travel together and like to knock over compost bins. Clearly the bear equivalent of teenagers. And if my neighbor to the east is to be believed there’s another one roaming around too, for a count of six.

Just last week we had to turn back on the trail while walking Team Sheltie because the lone big boy was up ahead. Yesterday morning, we narrowly missed the two juveniles having a go at the compost bins one street over. A few hours ago, we saw signs of a recent bear visit on the other side of our back fence. I’m watchful and uneasy. Bears pose a risk I’m not inclined to tangle with.

Yet some people feel quite differently. One neighbor finds it thrilling to know they’re so close. Her back yard isn’t fenced and she enjoys it when they wander through. Mind you, she enjoys them from the safety of her house. Another neighbor, Richard, was so intrigued when he spotted the large loner bear on the trail the other day that he followed him. Yes, you read that right. He followed the black bear for ten minutes at least, giving the animal enough space so he didn’t feel threatened but close enough to allow Richard a decent view.

Richard was born and raised on acreage in South Africa where wildlife was common. Respect and common sense are key, he said. To him, following a black bear on a paved trail with houses nearby felt quite tame. He indulged his curiosity, stepping into what he considered a minimally risky situation.

No wonder I’ve been thinking about risk tolerance. I can’t bear the thought of taking those kinds of chances.  

My May Reads

The seedlings are doing what seedlings do best: growing madly and readying themselves for more spacious surroundings. In other words, they need to be transplanted, which means I have my work cut out for me getting them from the greenhouse to the ground. I’m not complaining. This time last year, I was struggling to learn the microclimates in our new garden, and I was doing it under less-than-optimal growing conditions. Things are better this year, though the learning curve is still steep. Good thing I have some great books to settle down with at the end of the day. Here’s what I’m reading this month.

Breath by James Nestor

Barry Squires, Full Tilt by Heather Smith

Finding Freedom: A Cook’s Story by Erin French

Books read to date in 2021: 36

Happy National Limerick Day

                                        

There is a writer who lives by the shore

And sometimes her words simply soar

But her finger is broken

And, no, she’s not jokin’

So today it’s a rhyme and no more.

Okay, so maybe a little more.

Today, May 12th, is National Limerick Day. It’s held to mark the birthday of Edward Lear, the English writer who popularized the limerick in his A Book of Nonsense, which was published way back in 1846.

Limericks are those recognizable five-line poems consisting of a single stanza and an AABBA rhyming scheme. They’re known for their humorous themes, they’re almost always trivial, and they often appear as children’s nursery rhymes:

Hickory, dickory, dock.

The mouse ran up the clock.

The clock struck one.

The mouse ran down.

Hickory, dickory, dock.

Regardless of content, limericks are designed to make you smile, and that’s why they’ve been popular for well over a century.

I can’t say I’m smiling over my broken finger, but putting pen to paper (figurately speaking) and making light of it, helps ease the pain.

Finally, for writers who read this blog, here’s a limerick written by editor Monica Sharman that may strike a chord:

Relentless, insatiable deadlines!

This manuscript’s still full of red lines.

First, I’ll sweat through the edits

And check all the credits

Then chill with my favorite red wine.

Happy National Limerick Day!

That Pesky Point of View

To a writer, point of view is everything. It makes – or breaks – characters. It plays into conflict. It spins a story forward. In fact, no decision a writer makes will impact their story more. Point of view flavors everything in the story world.

It also heavily flavors our own lives. Today I’m going for my first Covid vaccine, and I’ve never been this excited to get a shot. Most of my family and close friends are on board and have either gotten their first jab or are waiting to book. From their point of view, the decision to get it is a no-brainer. But not everyone shares that sentiment.

The topic of the vaccine came up last week while we were walking Team Sheltie. We stopped to say hi and admire a dog belonging to a couple we’ve seen only a few times. I asked if they’d had their shot yet. They hesitated before responding, and I had the fleeting thought that perhaps I should have asked ‘how do you feel about the vaccine?” Fortunately, they weren’t offended and responded by saying they were getting it in a few days.

I should have remembered that hesitancy on their part when I asked one of my cousins if she’d registered yet for her shot. She danced around the issue for a while before finally saying she wasn’t about to subject herself to changes in her DNA or a possible microchip implant. She was serious, and I was momentarily speechless.

It’s a point of view, a perspective I’ve read about but never expected to hear from someone I loved and respected.  

Point of view is everything. Not just for writers, but for all of us. It flavors everything we do: our relationships and our choices, our lifestyles and our attitudes. It flavors consequences too. And these days, some of those consequences can be far-reaching.  

Quiet or Boring? You Decide

There’s been chatter lately on a few of my writing loops about quiet books. Everyone defines the term differently. Some suggest quiet books are stories that are forgettable, that don’t have exciting plots or that have stakes too low for the characters. Agents and publishers sometimes refer to quiet novels as low concept. By that, they mean books without flashy hooks or any obvious marketing angle, which makes them hard to sell. To those who don’t like them, quieter books are considered boring and a waste of time.

And yet, there are readers who love quieter novels. To them, the moniker ‘quiet book’ isn’t negative. It doesn’t mean a boring or plotless read. Instead, proponents define quiet books as introspective, character-driven stories that are rich with language and emotion. They frequently say that while the story may not be huge, the books take them deep into the character’s world and those characters always resonate in a personal way. Some even suggest that quiet books say things about the human condition that their faster-paced counterparts can’t touch on. Quiet books make ripples rather than waves. And yet ripples can be powerful in their own way too.

Around the same time as the quiet book discussion took place, a writer friend died. Jodie’s passing was sudden and unexpected, and it came just a few weeks after my father’s death. I couldn’t help noticing the different responses. There was an outpouring at Jodie’s passing. It was indicative of the fact that she touched a great many lives. She was an author and, before that, a school teacher and principal. My father, on the other hand, touched far fewer lives, and the response to his death reflected that. One life much quieter than the other, and yet both touched and impacted others.

Perhaps it’s a stretch to equate lives with books. Perhaps, as someone pointed out, the reason many people don’t enjoy quiet books is we live quiet lives (especially these days with Covid), and we’re looking to escape into a larger, noisier world.  

Whatever your taste in books, I’m on board with children’s author Barbara Park. She once said, “I happen to think a book is of extraordinary value if it gives the reader nothing more than a smile or two. In fact, I happen to think that’s huge.”

So, whether it’s a book or a life, whether it’s quiet or roaring with action, if it touches us in some way, that’s enough. That, as Barbara Park said, is huge.

Arts for Our Health

                                                      

In case it was ever in doubt, enjoying or participating in the arts – all arts – is good for us. Canada Council for the Arts surveyed nearly 10,000 Canadians comparing health and well-being between participants and non-participants in arts, culture, and heritage activities. The results of the survey, released in March, showed a strong connection between cultural participation and overall health, including mental health.

Reading a book, listening to live music, visiting an art gallery, attending live theatre, a comedy show, arts and cultural festivals, or actively participating in an artistic activity of your own, all fell under the arts umbrella. Here’s a great example of something we love being good for us!

If you’d like more information on the study, you’ll find it here:

https://canadacouncil.ca/research/research-library/2021/03/canadians-arts-participation-health-and-well-being