Monday, July 14, 2008
A Bag of Hammers
Unbeknownst to me until recently, three WestJet airline tickets have been purchased to Ontario. Specifically, to Hamilton airport in early September. The plan (apparently) is a sort of double holiday: my mother and eldest sister to get reacquainted at my sister’s home in Oakville, and the other two to go straight on to Ottawa for a few days, toodle around the Great Lakes on the way back to Oakville, and afterward, whatever. And all this in one week.
I’ve decided to pass and make a plan of my own: to stay here, hopefully writing and enjoying the peace and quiet of solitude. No doubt that’ll go over like a bag of hammers. So it goes.
Update (08/07): The tickets were changed and, oddly enough, everyone was fine with it. Ahh...
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Write, Read, Subscribe for free! The Oddville Press
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The Oddville Press isn't just for writers, but for readers as well.
You can now subscribe online and get a nice shiny new copy delivered to your mailbox on the day of publication... for free!
Subscribe Today!
.
The Oddville Press isn't just for writers, but for readers as well.
You can now subscribe online and get a nice shiny new copy delivered to your mailbox on the day of publication... for free!
Subscribe Today!
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It's Share a Song Day
This song was playing on the radio today while I was driving and I thought I'd share.
Love Jann Arden's stuff.
I'm not at all keen on this song's video, but for those who prefer them, here it is.
And the one I'm currently obsessed with (do yourself a favor and crank up the sound on your speakers before playing - it's that good):
Love Jann Arden's stuff.
I'm not at all keen on this song's video, but for those who prefer them, here it is.
And the one I'm currently obsessed with (do yourself a favor and crank up the sound on your speakers before playing - it's that good):
Friday, May 16, 2008
Want Published? The Oddville Press (online Magazine)
My apologies for my absence to date, Dear Reader, but I have a very good reason. For the last little while I have been working on something near and dear to my heart. To that end, it has been my privilege and honor to work with some of the most talented, hardest working folks on the internet, watching a kernel of an idea grow into something truly lovely, truly tangible, truly amazing. Now that we're ready to rock, I'm very excited and anxious to tell you all about it. So I will.
It's my sincere pleasure to introduce you to The Oddville Press.
Artwork courtesy of Clara Natoli. Please do not copy without her permission. To see more of her Clara's wonderful work, visit her "new blog."
The Oddville Press is an online non-profit magazine dedicated to bringing high quality Fiction, Poetry and Artwork to the forefront and whose mission is to promote today’s geniuses and tomorrow’s giants. The Oddville Press will consider material submitted by any writer, established or not. Our guidelines are simple: submissions must be original, well written, creative and compelling. Serious, thoughtful, yet accessible high-quality fiction, poetry and artwork will constitute the majority of our acceptances, and of course humour is most welcome.
"So, why the name 'The Oddville Press'?" you ask.
Simply put, the word "odd" is something all writers know very well, the first twinge experienced the first time someone asks us what we do. Yes, writers are odd. We know it. And the looks on the faces of the folks we tell says they know it too. So, why not embrace it? The "ville" part is the sense of community we writers gravitate toward. Writing is very much a solo act, and though being unique is kind of cool in itself, being lonely is a real killer. So we tend to group up on writing forums, writing work shops and creative writing classes, in real life and in internet life, helping ourselves by helping each other. Hence, the name The Oddville Press.
Ah, but this magazine is unquestionably for you, Dear Reader. We bring quality Fiction, Poetry and Artwork from around the world to the public by respecting the minds of those we are invited into, publishing the professional and the burgeoning—today’s geniuses and tomorrow’s giants.
So if you're a writer, poet or artist, why are you still here reading this? Give us your weird and wonderful. Give us something "odd." Get yourself over to The Oddville Press, see the Submission Guidelines, then submit. Your public awaits!
We look forward to reading you.
It's my sincere pleasure to introduce you to The Oddville Press.
Artwork courtesy of Clara Natoli. Please do not copy without her permission. To see more of her Clara's wonderful work, visit her "new blog."
The Oddville Press is an online non-profit magazine dedicated to bringing high quality Fiction, Poetry and Artwork to the forefront and whose mission is to promote today’s geniuses and tomorrow’s giants. The Oddville Press will consider material submitted by any writer, established or not. Our guidelines are simple: submissions must be original, well written, creative and compelling. Serious, thoughtful, yet accessible high-quality fiction, poetry and artwork will constitute the majority of our acceptances, and of course humour is most welcome.
"So, why the name 'The Oddville Press'?" you ask.
Simply put, the word "odd" is something all writers know very well, the first twinge experienced the first time someone asks us what we do. Yes, writers are odd. We know it. And the looks on the faces of the folks we tell says they know it too. So, why not embrace it? The "ville" part is the sense of community we writers gravitate toward. Writing is very much a solo act, and though being unique is kind of cool in itself, being lonely is a real killer. So we tend to group up on writing forums, writing work shops and creative writing classes, in real life and in internet life, helping ourselves by helping each other. Hence, the name The Oddville Press.
Ah, but this magazine is unquestionably for you, Dear Reader. We bring quality Fiction, Poetry and Artwork from around the world to the public by respecting the minds of those we are invited into, publishing the professional and the burgeoning—today’s geniuses and tomorrow’s giants.
So if you're a writer, poet or artist, why are you still here reading this? Give us your weird and wonderful. Give us something "odd." Get yourself over to The Oddville Press, see the Submission Guidelines, then submit. Your public awaits!
We look forward to reading you.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
It's Time To Get Clued In
Another school shooting on a growing list of school shootings, and as I’ve said before (and I’ll say again): I believe the fault lies with everyone, and the key to stopping it is everyone.
Now hear me out.
We are a self-centered, don’t-want-to-get-involved, “me” society, where we see things going on around us—everything from the huge and obvious to the “just a little off”—and let it go. Because we let it go, we are enablers (and accomplices, I might add) by not getting involved. Because we don’t get involved, the fault lies with us. We. We’ve dropped the ball, people. The old and true saying “It takes a community to raise a child” isn’t happening in this society, and that’s a damn shame.
Off the top of my head. This sort of thing can be (most times) be prevented. With that in mind, I have to ask: Where were the parents in all of this? Where were the kid’s friends? The teachers? Even the casual observer who lives down the hall and has a gut feeling that the guy is “weird” and/or may be going off his nut? They (we, in fact) are busy being enablers (and accomplices—I can’t stress that word enough), that’s where. People say afterward (why is it always afterward?) things like, “He stopped his meds and was getting more and more erratic” or “He was bullied,” etc., etc. So why didn’t anyone speak up before? Were they afraid? And if so, of what? If they’re wrong, great! If they’re right, it might save lives.
As for the bullies. Why weren’t they put to the mat when they first started bullying? Our school board here has adopted a Zero Tolerance policy on bullying, whereby, if warranted, the offender will do their schooling off grounds via the Outreach Program, where they can’t hurt anyone. It’s not the end-all / be-all answer, but it helps. Of course, if the offender decides to retaliate off school grounds, the retaliatee’s parents can always make use of the legal system (assault, uttering threats, etc., etc.).
And speaking of parents. If you’d stop touting your kid’s right to privacy and start getting your butt into their bedroom, you might be able to prevent some of these terrible things from happening and save your own kid in the process. Ah, I know what you’re thinking: I’ll break the trust. Well here's a reality check for you: It could cost them their lives if you don't. But just to make you feel better, let's try looking at this another way. If you thought for one second there was something in that room which could cost your kid their life, wouldn't you be in there in a heartbeat? Sure you would; I guarantee you would. I can also guarantee that no where on your apartment lease or deed of your house will you find is your kid’s name. That makes it your house, not your kid’s. It's time to get clued in.
In all honesty, the “it’s none of my business” mentality has got to go. Instead, what we need to do is to get involved because only through it will we have a hope in hell of stopping this.
Now hear me out.
We are a self-centered, don’t-want-to-get-involved, “me” society, where we see things going on around us—everything from the huge and obvious to the “just a little off”—and let it go. Because we let it go, we are enablers (and accomplices, I might add) by not getting involved. Because we don’t get involved, the fault lies with us. We. We’ve dropped the ball, people. The old and true saying “It takes a community to raise a child” isn’t happening in this society, and that’s a damn shame.
Off the top of my head. This sort of thing can be (most times) be prevented. With that in mind, I have to ask: Where were the parents in all of this? Where were the kid’s friends? The teachers? Even the casual observer who lives down the hall and has a gut feeling that the guy is “weird” and/or may be going off his nut? They (we, in fact) are busy being enablers (and accomplices—I can’t stress that word enough), that’s where. People say afterward (why is it always afterward?) things like, “He stopped his meds and was getting more and more erratic” or “He was bullied,” etc., etc. So why didn’t anyone speak up before? Were they afraid? And if so, of what? If they’re wrong, great! If they’re right, it might save lives.
As for the bullies. Why weren’t they put to the mat when they first started bullying? Our school board here has adopted a Zero Tolerance policy on bullying, whereby, if warranted, the offender will do their schooling off grounds via the Outreach Program, where they can’t hurt anyone. It’s not the end-all / be-all answer, but it helps. Of course, if the offender decides to retaliate off school grounds, the retaliatee’s parents can always make use of the legal system (assault, uttering threats, etc., etc.).
And speaking of parents. If you’d stop touting your kid’s right to privacy and start getting your butt into their bedroom, you might be able to prevent some of these terrible things from happening and save your own kid in the process. Ah, I know what you’re thinking: I’ll break the trust. Well here's a reality check for you: It could cost them their lives if you don't. But just to make you feel better, let's try looking at this another way. If you thought for one second there was something in that room which could cost your kid their life, wouldn't you be in there in a heartbeat? Sure you would; I guarantee you would. I can also guarantee that no where on your apartment lease or deed of your house will you find is your kid’s name. That makes it your house, not your kid’s. It's time to get clued in.
In all honesty, the “it’s none of my business” mentality has got to go. Instead, what we need to do is to get involved because only through it will we have a hope in hell of stopping this.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
writingforums.com (Writing Forums)
Since Writing Forums dot com (WF.com) is down again, and since there are thousands of us displaced WFers looking for a place to hang out, get information, set up a second (third, forth, twelfth) home...
Now you know I don’t usually recommend writing forums on The View (I‘ve only ever recommended one thus far), but the potential of this months-old forum makes it another exception and definitely one worth checking out. Introducing:
Writing Discussions: Forums for Writers is a friendly and new kind of writing forum made by writers, for writers. Just a few of its super features include:
* An excellent, experienced and very approachable staff.
* Talented members from beginners to the published.
* Enough forums for writers of all walks, tastes and genres, including five viewable by members only Writing Workshops in the categories of Fiction, Poetry, Non-Fiction, Scripts, Other Writing (meaning first rights are protected in all five Workshop forums).
* The Hothouse—another first rights protected forum, The Hothouse is a new concept in writers' forums. It's a private, invitation only and first rights protected area devoted solely to the 'hothousing' of writers and their work in preparation for publication.
* Writing Exercises and Challenges forum—a place to flex your writing muscles. Join a challenge or create your own and challenge your friends.
* NaShoStoMo Forums. Think you’ve got what it takes?
* Member Blogs. Yes, you heard that right. As a member, you can create your own member Blog. They come complete with a Calendar, Archives, Categories and all the extras.
And if that’s not enough, then hang on to your goodies, folks, because they aren’t done adding yet. Have a suggestion or a feature you'd like to see? Let them know and they'll see what they can do. (Yes, there’s even a forum for that.) This place aims to please.
So if you write or are an avid reader and haven’t yet checked out Writing Discussions: Forums for Writers, I urge you to do so. And tell ‘em Hawke sent you.
Now you know I don’t usually recommend writing forums on The View (I‘ve only ever recommended one thus far), but the potential of this months-old forum makes it another exception and definitely one worth checking out. Introducing:
Writing Discussions: Forums for Writers is a friendly and new kind of writing forum made by writers, for writers. Just a few of its super features include:
* An excellent, experienced and very approachable staff.
* Talented members from beginners to the published.
* Enough forums for writers of all walks, tastes and genres, including five viewable by members only Writing Workshops in the categories of Fiction, Poetry, Non-Fiction, Scripts, Other Writing (meaning first rights are protected in all five Workshop forums).
* The Hothouse—another first rights protected forum, The Hothouse is a new concept in writers' forums. It's a private, invitation only and first rights protected area devoted solely to the 'hothousing' of writers and their work in preparation for publication.
* Writing Exercises and Challenges forum—a place to flex your writing muscles. Join a challenge or create your own and challenge your friends.
* NaShoStoMo Forums. Think you’ve got what it takes?
* Member Blogs. Yes, you heard that right. As a member, you can create your own member Blog. They come complete with a Calendar, Archives, Categories and all the extras.
And if that’s not enough, then hang on to your goodies, folks, because they aren’t done adding yet. Have a suggestion or a feature you'd like to see? Let them know and they'll see what they can do. (Yes, there’s even a forum for that.) This place aims to please.
So if you write or are an avid reader and haven’t yet checked out Writing Discussions: Forums for Writers, I urge you to do so. And tell ‘em Hawke sent you.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Writing Forums dot com Is Down
Since writingforums.com is down (which leaves several thousand people temporarily displaced, myself included), and since I stumbled upon the site Writing Discussions: Forums for Writers (please see the link in my "Must Reads"), not to take away from other sites listed in my 'Must Reads' mind you, I thought I'd point Writing Discussions: Forums for Writers out as being another either temporary or perhaps permanent first or second (third, forth, twelfth) home.
Posted right at the top of Writing Discussions: Forums for Writers (in News & Announcements) is the topic "Writing Forums is Down..." by Selorian. That post reads as follows:
"It appears that writingforums.com is down. If you're a member there looking for someplace to hang out until the problem is resolved, feel free to sign up and use Writing Discussions.
"Abide by the same rules you would there and enjoy.
"I'll try to update the status of WF as the information becomes available to me."
Thank you so much for your kindness, Selorian. WD is truly a lovely writing forum, and one I'm proud to have joined.
Might I also recommend for the writingforums.com displaced another lovely writing forum called Literary Mary (please see the link in my "Must Reads"). There you'll find many familiar faces, an excellent staff, mad-skills talent and enough forums to satisfy any writer.
As for writingforums.com. No—I have no idea why it's down, nor can I guess when it'll be back up. Like Selorian, I'll also try to update the status of WF (here) as the information becomes available to me. Knock on wood it'll be up soon. Meanwhile, write on!
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Posted right at the top of Writing Discussions: Forums for Writers (in News & Announcements) is the topic "Writing Forums is Down..." by Selorian. That post reads as follows:
"It appears that writingforums.com is down. If you're a member there looking for someplace to hang out until the problem is resolved, feel free to sign up and use Writing Discussions.
"Abide by the same rules you would there and enjoy.
"I'll try to update the status of WF as the information becomes available to me."
Thank you so much for your kindness, Selorian. WD is truly a lovely writing forum, and one I'm proud to have joined.
Might I also recommend for the writingforums.com displaced another lovely writing forum called Literary Mary (please see the link in my "Must Reads"). There you'll find many familiar faces, an excellent staff, mad-skills talent and enough forums to satisfy any writer.
As for writingforums.com. No—I have no idea why it's down, nor can I guess when it'll be back up. Like Selorian, I'll also try to update the status of WF (here) as the information becomes available to me. Knock on wood it'll be up soon. Meanwhile, write on!
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Monday, December 24, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Christmas Song Quiz
Try to identify the carol from the clues. Some are pretty tricky! The answers are at the bottom... don't peek if you want to try it for yourself.
1. The apartment of 2 psychiatrists.
2. The lad is a diminutive percussionist.
3. Decorate the entry-ways .
4. Sir Lancelot with laryngitis.
5. A B C D E F G H I J K M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z.
6. Present me naught but dual incisors for this festive Yuletide.
7. The smog-less bewitching hour arrived.
8. Exuberation to this orb.
9. 288 Yuletide hours.
10. Do you perceive the same longitudinal pressure which stimulates my auditory sense organs.
11. The red-suited pa is due in this burg.
12. Stepping on the pad cover.
13. Uncouth dolt has his beezer in the booze and thinks he is a Dark Cloud's boyfriend.
14. Far back in a hay bin.
15. Leave and do an elevated broadcast.
16. That exiguous hamlet south of the holy city.
17. Behold! I envisioned a trio of nautical vessels.
18. Listen, the winged heavenly messengers are proclaiming tunefully.
19. A joyful song relative to hollow metallic vessels which vibrate and bring forth a ringing sound when struck.
20. As the guardians of little woolly animal's protected their charges in the shadows of the earth.
21. Frozen precipitation commence
22. Monarchial triad
23. Oh, member of the round table with missing areas
24. Boulder of the tinkling metal spheres
25. Vehicular homicide was committed on Dad's mom by a precipitous darling
26. Wanted in December: top forward incisors
27. We are Kong, Lear, and Nat Cole
28. Cup-shaped instruments fashioned of a whitish metallic element
29. Oh small Israel urban center
30. Our fervent hope is that you thoroughly enjoy your yuletide season
31. Parent was observed osculating a red-coated unshaven teamster
32. May the Deity bestow an absence of fatigue to mild male humans
33. Natal celebration devoid of color, rather albino, as a hallucinatory phenomenon for me.
34. Obese personification fabricated of compressed mounds of minute crystals.
35. Tranquiltiy upon the terrestrial sphere.
36. Have hitherward the entire assembly of those who are loyal in their belief.
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And the answers are:
1. The Nutcracker Suite
2. Little Drummer Boy
3. Deck The Halls
4. Silent Night
5. Noel (No L)
6. All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth
7. It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
8. Joy To The World
9. 12 Days Of Christmas
10. Do You Hear What I Hear?
11. Santa Claus Is Coming To Town
12. Up On the Housetop
13. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
14. Away In A Manger
15. Go Tell It On The Mountain
16. O Little Town Of Bethlehem
17. I Saw Three Ships
18. Hark the Herald Angels Sing
19. Jingle Bells
20. As Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night
21. Let It Snow
22. We Three Kings
23. O Holy Night
24. O Christmas Tree
25. Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer
26. All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth (again)
27. We Three Kings (again)
28. Silver Bells
29. Oh Little Town of Bethlehem (again)
30. We Wish You a Merry Christmas
31. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
32. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
33. I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas (or Walkin’ In a Winter Wonderland ?)
34. Frosty The Snowman
35. Peace On Earth
36. O Come All Ye Faithful
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Christmas Video Chuckles
Since we’re doing the Christmas video thing (aren’t we?), I thought I’d post a couple of chuckles for you. I know I could sure use a good giggle at this time of year, but anyway...
Hope you enjoy.
And for my fellow Canadians...
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Hope you enjoy.
And for my fellow Canadians...
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Monday, December 17, 2007
Traditions (Or How To Avoid Buying Into The Commercial Christmas) again
Thought I'd drag this one out of last year's mothballs, dust it off and repost it.
Can someone please tell me when we went from the true meaning and joy of Christmas, to commercialism and hype? When peace, love thy fellow man, “Merry Christmas” wishing, cease-firing (during wartime, no less), warm and fuzzy feelings and family and traditions were replaced with camping out in front of stores, fist fights in lineups, “Seasons Greetings” wishing (if we say anything at all) lest we offend someone, bitching each other out, paying double on e-bay, Christmas tree dismantling in airports, and walking over each other's dead bodies if necessary for a chance at that elusive, must-have-no-matter-what, whatever-the-hell-it-is piece of what’s-it at what-ever-the-hell price?
And after all that, after we've warmly and fuzzily beat some line-jumper nearly to death and/or drove ourselves into depression, the very kids we did it for (depending on their age, of course) will either play with said “must-have” once or twice and then play with the box or bow instead, or, if older, snub their noses at the (for example) $100 plus IPod as though you’ve just handed them slug guts in a box, utterly disgusted that you didn’t get them the $300 “black” number they only told you a bazillion times to get—the status symbol everyone has. Pul-ease.
And we do this... why?
The kids won’t remember everything they get (and from whom) this year, anymore than they remember everything they got (and from whom) last year.
Go ahead—ask them. I can wait.
What they will remember is the cat knocking over the Christmas tree. Or Grandpa taking out his dentures and making funny faces. Or Aunty Deb baking Nanaimo squares. Or the Christmas meal, in menu-like detail, including their first sip of wine. Or dad throwing everyone out of the kitchen to make his famous potato dressing. In other words, you can’t buy memories, but you can make them.
Gee, what a concept.
Can someone please tell me when we went from the true meaning and joy of Christmas, to commercialism and hype? When peace, love thy fellow man, “Merry Christmas” wishing, cease-firing (during wartime, no less), warm and fuzzy feelings and family and traditions were replaced with camping out in front of stores, fist fights in lineups, “Seasons Greetings” wishing (if we say anything at all) lest we offend someone, bitching each other out, paying double on e-bay, Christmas tree dismantling in airports, and walking over each other's dead bodies if necessary for a chance at that elusive, must-have-no-matter-what, whatever-the-hell-it-is piece of what’s-it at what-ever-the-hell price?
And after all that, after we've warmly and fuzzily beat some line-jumper nearly to death and/or drove ourselves into depression, the very kids we did it for (depending on their age, of course) will either play with said “must-have” once or twice and then play with the box or bow instead, or, if older, snub their noses at the (for example) $100 plus IPod as though you’ve just handed them slug guts in a box, utterly disgusted that you didn’t get them the $300 “black” number they only told you a bazillion times to get—the status symbol everyone has. Pul-ease.
And we do this... why?
The kids won’t remember everything they get (and from whom) this year, anymore than they remember everything they got (and from whom) last year.
Go ahead—ask them. I can wait.
What they will remember is the cat knocking over the Christmas tree. Or Grandpa taking out his dentures and making funny faces. Or Aunty Deb baking Nanaimo squares. Or the Christmas meal, in menu-like detail, including their first sip of wine. Or dad throwing everyone out of the kitchen to make his famous potato dressing. In other words, you can’t buy memories, but you can make them.
Gee, what a concept.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Christmas Sing-Along!
Ah, Christmas. Are your stockings hung, your credit cards maxed out, the mall's a madhouse, and you've decided you're gonna take up heavy drinking if you don’t find a good Christmas sing-along to pick up your spirits? Then you've come to the right place!
Oh come on. You know you wanna.
Enjoy.
Oh come on. You know you wanna.
Enjoy.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
The Great Neighborhood Tree War
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
~Trees by Joyce Kilmer
No, I’m not talking about Lord of the Rings and Ents here… though Treebeard was a pretty cool character. What I’m talking about is the healthy, massive, heritage Oak tree in my back yard.
I’ve no idea how tall or how old it is; the farmer who owned the land here back in the day—back when it was farm land and not houses on postage-stamp-sized lots, that is—planted it, and a Spruce, on either side of his driveway. Ages later, when they built this house, they were careful to keep the tree as is. I’m careful too. After all, I love the big old boy. And it actually works for its keep too, providing shade for this house and the nice neighbor’s house as well. See, it overhangs the nice neighbor’s fence, and has for years… long before I ever moved here, I‘m guessing. But no one minded. In fact, the nice neighbor asked that the tree remain exactly as it is as well, which suited me just fine. I mean, it’s not like I can jump on a ladder and trim it up anyway—it being the biggest somebitch within a five mile radius, matched only by the heritage Spruce, which is still alive and well in the nice neighbor’s back yard, thank you. So, everything should be happily ever after, right?
Wrong.
The nice neighbor sold his house last Spring to a company based out of Sylvan Lake, who promptly turned it into a duplex and rented it out. Still, it shouldn’t be a big deal, right?
Wrong again.
I received a letter from the city yesterday. Seems the company doesn’t much care for my big old Oak tree. It wants the many massive limbs hacked off at the fence line between our two properties, which may or may not kill the old Oak outright. Now it’s a big deal.
Anyway. So I looked out today and noticed that the heritage Spruce in their back yard is half in my back yard, the Spruce snug up tight against the fence between us, its limbs hanging well into my property. Hmm. Dilemmas, dilemmas. See, I’m thinking this could quickly become ‘neighbor rage‘—right? Yep, it sure could. Not that I have anything against the people living there. I don’t. They only rent the place. No, it’s the company from Sylvan that I have a problem with. Especially if removing the offending Oak’s limbs (that are a good thirty plus feet off the ground and so are not in anyone’s way nor apt to be a nuisance) ends up killing something almost as old as the town itself.
To me, writing is very much like a tree. It starts out as an sapling of an idea and, once planted, takes root and grows. Of course, not everyone will like every bit of your tree/work, including you. So some pruning will be needed, and that begs the question: how much? How much can one prune before the story isn’t the same story anymore?--before you‘ve killed or ruined it? That then dominos into the next question: should you write for the readers, or for yourself? Depends on how popular you want to be, I suppose. Like me and the overhanging Spruce I’m about to report. Oh yes, I’m not going to be very popular I think. But hey, all’s fair in love and tree wars.
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
~Trees by Joyce Kilmer
No, I’m not talking about Lord of the Rings and Ents here… though Treebeard was a pretty cool character. What I’m talking about is the healthy, massive, heritage Oak tree in my back yard.
I’ve no idea how tall or how old it is; the farmer who owned the land here back in the day—back when it was farm land and not houses on postage-stamp-sized lots, that is—planted it, and a Spruce, on either side of his driveway. Ages later, when they built this house, they were careful to keep the tree as is. I’m careful too. After all, I love the big old boy. And it actually works for its keep too, providing shade for this house and the nice neighbor’s house as well. See, it overhangs the nice neighbor’s fence, and has for years… long before I ever moved here, I‘m guessing. But no one minded. In fact, the nice neighbor asked that the tree remain exactly as it is as well, which suited me just fine. I mean, it’s not like I can jump on a ladder and trim it up anyway—it being the biggest somebitch within a five mile radius, matched only by the heritage Spruce, which is still alive and well in the nice neighbor’s back yard, thank you. So, everything should be happily ever after, right?
Wrong.
The nice neighbor sold his house last Spring to a company based out of Sylvan Lake, who promptly turned it into a duplex and rented it out. Still, it shouldn’t be a big deal, right?
Wrong again.
I received a letter from the city yesterday. Seems the company doesn’t much care for my big old Oak tree. It wants the many massive limbs hacked off at the fence line between our two properties, which may or may not kill the old Oak outright. Now it’s a big deal.
Anyway. So I looked out today and noticed that the heritage Spruce in their back yard is half in my back yard, the Spruce snug up tight against the fence between us, its limbs hanging well into my property. Hmm. Dilemmas, dilemmas. See, I’m thinking this could quickly become ‘neighbor rage‘—right? Yep, it sure could. Not that I have anything against the people living there. I don’t. They only rent the place. No, it’s the company from Sylvan that I have a problem with. Especially if removing the offending Oak’s limbs (that are a good thirty plus feet off the ground and so are not in anyone’s way nor apt to be a nuisance) ends up killing something almost as old as the town itself.
To me, writing is very much like a tree. It starts out as an sapling of an idea and, once planted, takes root and grows. Of course, not everyone will like every bit of your tree/work, including you. So some pruning will be needed, and that begs the question: how much? How much can one prune before the story isn’t the same story anymore?--before you‘ve killed or ruined it? That then dominos into the next question: should you write for the readers, or for yourself? Depends on how popular you want to be, I suppose. Like me and the overhanging Spruce I’m about to report. Oh yes, I’m not going to be very popular I think. But hey, all’s fair in love and tree wars.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Writing Fall Flowersicles
“If a guy hits .300 every year, what does he have to look forward to? I always tried to stay around .190, with three or four RBI. And I tried to get them all in September. That way I always had something to talk about during the winter.”
~Bob Uecher
Ah, Fall. The mere mention of the word signals the beginning of the end of most of the things I’d mentioned in my “Spring” entry (green grass, fresh air through open windows, BBQ’s, hot apple pie cooling on the windowsill (which I’ve never done) and walking the dog without bundling up to the eyes). It also means the neighbors will still be out in their backyard on their lawn chairs smoking pot while their comedian cum jailbird teenage son puts hotdogs in everyone’s mailboxes and bananas in everyone’s tailpipes, only now, they’ll be wearing sweaters. On the bright side, the wasps and creepy crawlies will also be no more, the flyswatters and bug killers neatly stored away until next Spring. Oh bliss!
It was so wondrous to see the Canada Geese training their young for the big trip south. Far less wondrous will be the sure knowledge of the return of Winter. Leaves of every make, model and color will soon decorate the trees… including the giant heritage oak tree in my back yard that dwarfs literally everything within a three-mile radius, and who’s annual leaf dump literally and absolutely buries every living (and nonliving) thing not only in my back yard, but in at least three other back yards on either side. But that’s okay. We’ll be ready for it. We’ll go to Home Depot and corner the market again, this time on every new fangled rake, blower and gas-powered picker-upper imaginable, right? Yep, we certainly will. We’re still outdoorsy types who know we‘re gonna be shut-ins again, and nothing—nothing—is gonna turn our Summer Utopias into Fall nightmares one moment sooner than they have to be, including Fall.
Speaking of Fall, there is nothing more depressing to a cold-weather hater like myself than to hear the furnace kick on in the morning. Almost as bad is knowing that the idiot-proof flowers you spent a small fortune on in the Spring and then cursed and grudgingly coaxed into living throughout the Summer are at that very moment being turned into frosty flowersicles. But so it goes, right? Seasons change and we have to change with them. So it’s into the closet to dig out the coats we’d happily stuffed away during our Spring cleaning days that seem like… oh, I dunno—last week, maybe? And while we’re in there, we may as well get out boots and hats and scarves, and our flannel sheets and comforters as well. Oh, and let’s not forget the leftover window Saran Wrap-like stuff—the stuff that takes us an hour to put up and our cats a second to shred down. And the ice picks—don‘t forget the ice picks. After all, we’ll need something that’ll chip assorted frozen foodstuffs out of the bottoms of our mailboxes, left courtesy of that knee-slappingly funny teenager who unfortunately still lives next door.
But most importantly, Fall brings thoughts of renewed ambition. Specifically, writing! We may as well, yes? I mean, what else will we have to do? So enjoy it. Clean that thing you call a writing desk and then stock up on paper, pens, stamps and sticky-notes. And while you’re at it, don’t forget a warm throw blanket and a bag of hotdog buns. After all, it’s Fall!
~Bob Uecher
Ah, Fall. The mere mention of the word signals the beginning of the end of most of the things I’d mentioned in my “Spring” entry (green grass, fresh air through open windows, BBQ’s, hot apple pie cooling on the windowsill (which I’ve never done) and walking the dog without bundling up to the eyes). It also means the neighbors will still be out in their backyard on their lawn chairs smoking pot while their comedian cum jailbird teenage son puts hotdogs in everyone’s mailboxes and bananas in everyone’s tailpipes, only now, they’ll be wearing sweaters. On the bright side, the wasps and creepy crawlies will also be no more, the flyswatters and bug killers neatly stored away until next Spring. Oh bliss!
It was so wondrous to see the Canada Geese training their young for the big trip south. Far less wondrous will be the sure knowledge of the return of Winter. Leaves of every make, model and color will soon decorate the trees… including the giant heritage oak tree in my back yard that dwarfs literally everything within a three-mile radius, and who’s annual leaf dump literally and absolutely buries every living (and nonliving) thing not only in my back yard, but in at least three other back yards on either side. But that’s okay. We’ll be ready for it. We’ll go to Home Depot and corner the market again, this time on every new fangled rake, blower and gas-powered picker-upper imaginable, right? Yep, we certainly will. We’re still outdoorsy types who know we‘re gonna be shut-ins again, and nothing—nothing—is gonna turn our Summer Utopias into Fall nightmares one moment sooner than they have to be, including Fall.
Speaking of Fall, there is nothing more depressing to a cold-weather hater like myself than to hear the furnace kick on in the morning. Almost as bad is knowing that the idiot-proof flowers you spent a small fortune on in the Spring and then cursed and grudgingly coaxed into living throughout the Summer are at that very moment being turned into frosty flowersicles. But so it goes, right? Seasons change and we have to change with them. So it’s into the closet to dig out the coats we’d happily stuffed away during our Spring cleaning days that seem like… oh, I dunno—last week, maybe? And while we’re in there, we may as well get out boots and hats and scarves, and our flannel sheets and comforters as well. Oh, and let’s not forget the leftover window Saran Wrap-like stuff—the stuff that takes us an hour to put up and our cats a second to shred down. And the ice picks—don‘t forget the ice picks. After all, we’ll need something that’ll chip assorted frozen foodstuffs out of the bottoms of our mailboxes, left courtesy of that knee-slappingly funny teenager who unfortunately still lives next door.
But most importantly, Fall brings thoughts of renewed ambition. Specifically, writing! We may as well, yes? I mean, what else will we have to do? So enjoy it. Clean that thing you call a writing desk and then stock up on paper, pens, stamps and sticky-notes. And while you’re at it, don’t forget a warm throw blanket and a bag of hotdog buns. After all, it’s Fall!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Is it in your soul?
If you’d like to sing along, here’re the lyrics:
Ever since I was a little kid
I have always thought
I could run faster than the wind
Stare up to the sky with open spaces
I could live and die
Man you can't find that in no book
You never find that in no book
Someone will drag you down
And try to knock you under
Hey mama said with her words of wonder
Don't matter cause, cause it's in your soul
(I have always felt
That I had to prove it to myself)
No salvation from the firin' line
(A million dreams won't set you free)
God I know there's something trapped in me
There's no refuge from the ride
No shelter ever saved a man his pride
(Give you pain and never feed you hunger
I won't close my eyes when it rain and thunders)
Don't matter cause, cause it's in your soul
(And when the night is overcome
And I've been racin' down a road
That's got no trace, no face
If I could live by the words I've sung
And carry all the choices I've made)
I swear, I swear I'll be there
'O no no, na na
Hey mister don't shadow box with me
'Cause I don't wanna someday be
An old man cursin' what I might have been
Now I realize what I see
That the wind was never chasin' me
And I don't feel so alone
I can close my eyes I'm goin' home
(Behind the clouds the sun is shinin'
Some rain will fall no use in cryin')
'O no
'O no not me
(Got a picture in my head that won't let go of)
Young man running in search of
Count your blessings
'Cause it's in your soul
'O it's in your soul
[Soul]
In your soul
'O no
[In your soul]
Ever since I was a little kid
I have always thought
[Ah he always thought]
Young man running
[Always thought]
Keep on running - and a running - and a running
Keep on running
Saturday, June 23, 2007
BBQ!
After months of cold and rainy weather, we are finally coming up to summer and BBQ season.
Therefore it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking activity, as it's the only type of cooking a 'real' man will do, probably because there is an element of danger involved.
When a man volunteers to do the BBQ the following chain of events are put into motion:
Routine...
1) The woman buys the food.
2) The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert.
3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill - beer in hand.
Here comes the important part:
4) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.
More routine....
5) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.
6) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he deals with the situation.
Important again:
7) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.
More routine....
8) The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces, and brings them to the table.
9) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.
And most important of all:
10) Everyone PRAISES the MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts.
11) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed "her night off." And, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there's just no pleasing some women....
Therefore it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking activity, as it's the only type of cooking a 'real' man will do, probably because there is an element of danger involved.
When a man volunteers to do the BBQ the following chain of events are put into motion:
Routine...
1) The woman buys the food.
2) The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert.
3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill - beer in hand.
Here comes the important part:
4) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.
More routine....
5) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.
6) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he deals with the situation.
Important again:
7) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.
More routine....
8) The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces, and brings them to the table.
9) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.
And most important of all:
10) Everyone PRAISES the MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts.
11) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed "her night off." And, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there's just no pleasing some women....
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