Judy Collins and synchronicity

I’d been having a bad day. Sore neck, problems at work, problems with my latest plot, dog crapped on the carpet, and it’s raining AGAIN. But I tried to set it all aside last night, when my sweetheart and I went to the Orpheum to see the incredible Judy Collins in concert with the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra. (Romance is alive and well in this marriage!)

In a fortuitous bit of synchronicity, as we’re climbing over the people in the seats next to ours, I suddenly recognize the person whose lap I’m about to fall into: Donna Milner, a writer friend of mine. She shrieks, I shriek, we hug, it’s a beautiful moment. But the concert was about to start, so we saved it for intermission.

The music was amazing. The VSO, well, what a treat. And Judy? For a 70-year old gal, she’s still got it. Wow.

At the break, we caught up on each other’s lives in the bathroom line-up. Donna happened to be in Vancouver visiting family, so she and her husband got tickets to the concert. She and I met at a writers’ conference many years ago. Since then, we’ve kept in sporadic touch, but only see each other every few years. Of course, we follow each other’s careers with sympathy and interest. She asked about me, I shrugged and said, nothing new to tell. (I didn’t mention the sore neck or dog crap.) Just said I’m still writing of course, but no one’s buying at the moment.

She looked shocked. Horrified, actually. Why hasn’t the publishing industry recognized my genius? Why hasn’t my brilliant writing launched me to heights of stardom? She was quite wonderfully put-out on my behalf.

I changed the subject.

Donna’s story is more interesting, anyway. She hit it out of the park, first time out, with her book After River, which I’m proud to say I own both in hardcover and in Advance Reader’s Copy. I’m talking a two-book contract, major publisher, hard-cover and paperback, with rights sold in numerous countries in a variety of languages. Donna deserves the success; it’s a wonderful book. She told me, with bewildered pride, that the Germans in particular love her and have done a trailer for the book.

My high-school German is pretty much gone, but here’s the backcover blurb that’ll give you the idea:

“There was something different about my mother that day. On wash days she usually wore a kerchief tied in a rolled knot in the middle of her forehead. That afternoon, bobby pins and combs held up her hair. Wayward blond locks and wispy tendrils escaped around her face and at the nape of her neck. But it was more than that. She was distracted, flushed even. I was certain she had applied a touch of Avon rouge to her cheeks. Earlier she had caught me studying her face as she fed my brothers’ jeans through the wringer… She was expecting him. She wasn’t expecting the heartache that would follow like a cold wind.”

Isn’t that beautiful?

So, surrounded by wonderful music flavored with nostalgia, I was reminded that I have good friends out there, who are rooting for me as much as I’m rooting for them.

And that my dear husband, who occasionally buys tickets to great concerts totally spontaneously - just because - is my biggest fan.

And I’m his.

PS: My neck feels better today, and I’ve figured out one of my plot problems. Coincidence? I think not.

Warning: life is risky!!

Wow. An article in today’s edition of the Vancouver Sun gives us quite a newsflash: U.S. government researchers reveal that pets can be dangerous to your health. To whit: one could trip over the leash while walking one’s dog, or a water bowl could spill, resulting in a dangerously wet floor. One could (shudder) sprain a wrist.

About a third of dog-related falls happened because the person tripped over the dog (hey, it happens) one-quarter just while walking (what does this mean??)  one-fifth because the dog pulled them over (get a Halti, take a class, or don’t get a Mastiff if you weigh 120 pounds, how ’bout that?) 3% while running from the dog (idiot) and 0.5% while breaking up a fight (just let Darwinism work here.) Two-thirds of cat-related injuries are from tripping over the cat (shit happens, move on) 12% involved chasing it (why? Just why?)

The article goes on to detail the worst perpetrators (88% dogs, 12% cats) the largest age group injured (children under 14) and the worst-injured group (people age 75 and over). If I understand correctly, this research informs us that when kids play with pets – dogs mostly – they sometimes fall down and skin their knees. Old people who play with pets might fall down and break their hips.

The researchers went on to offer tips on avoiding such catastrophes, suggesting people educating themselves on how a pet behaves during “risky activities such as walks.” Obedience training is highly recommended, as is ensuring that rooms with a lot of pet and human traffic be well-lit.

To think that just last night, when we were curled up in the family room watching The Office, our safety and well-being was in jeopardy. Not only was the room dimly lit, but we had three dogs and a couple of cats lurking nearby, just waiting to trip us or spill water in our direction. (You know how much pets love being stepped on.)

Now you’ve wasted nearly as much time on this subject as I have.

If I’m still chasing my dog at 75, I’ll take the risk of breaking a hip, thank you very much.

Writing at the Ginger Cat Cafe

Animals and writing have always been linked, for me. I work with animals, I live with them, I read about them, I write about them. Fiction and non-fiction.

My writing room is filled with pictures

and paraphernalia about our various pets, and orange tabbies feature prominently. They’re not the most glamorous cats, at least the ones I end up with. But they have such great personalities! Right now we have two orange short-haired boys. Bryan, the exception to my rule, is gorgeous. His sleek fur is a rich, deep mahogany in the classic swirled pattern. He’s also about twenty pounds and most (not all, I’m not completely delusional) of it is muscle. Mylos, on the other hand, looks remarkably like my first orange boy, Simon. That is to say, the one that makes people ask, ”What’s wrong with your cat?”

As it turns out, there is something wrong with Mylos. He’s got diabetes. Not that unusual in older felines, and definitely treatable. So, he gets insulin injections twice daily and I monitor his food intake and generally keep an eye on him. Bryan and the girls (Tabitha and Sophie) try to steal his food whenever they can, so it’s a bit of a job. But he’s worth it.

Mylos, with his face in the food-bowl.

What does this have to do with writing, you’re asking? Before I got serious about fiction, I earned my Wheaties writing articles for the veterinary and pet-owning market. (FYI, I made more writing about animal health than I ever did practicing it in hospital. Veterinary technicians are notoriously undervalued. But I digress.) I wrote about dogs, cats, rabbits, horses, donkeys, goats and I think, an iguana once. I covered hairballs, house-training, inappropriate peeing and constipation (are you seeing a thread here?) Dental health, obesity, senior preventive health, pediatric spay/neuter protocols and puppy socialization were all ever-green topics that kept me in cat litter. But I also got some interesting assignments on less-known subjects, such as assessing the potential stud dog, and most memorably, cats that … um…licked themselves. Too much. If you know what I mean. The last, to my knowledge, never saw print, thank goodness. I got paid anyway.

Poodle sculpture in front of first-edition Rudyard Kipling, open to The Power of the Dog.

The work was fairly reliable, I met my deadlines and even won awards for my articles. Because I wasn’t practicing as an animal health technician, it also kept me current on medical topics, which allowed me to keep my license. But eventually I realized that I’d rather remove my eyes with a spoon than write one more piece on flea prevention.

So I turned to fiction.

Newsflash: Fiction pays even worse than animal health articles. With non-fiction, you pitch ideas, get the contract, write your thousand-or-two words and wait for the cheque. Start all over again next week. With fiction, you write a hundred-thousand word novel, then pitch it and wait for the rejections to roll in. Do this every year and you’ll be famous before you’re 120. “Fiction,” I moaned, “is so much HARDER!”

I’ve been writing primarily fiction since 2006. I’ve got one novel out and a couple of short stories in anthologies. I recall those lovely non-fiction assignments where someone asked – ASKED – me to write and promised to pay me for it. I recall the slightly delayed gratification of seeing my words in print. My by-line. “Ah,” I thought, polishing my rose-tinted specs. “Those were the days.” Who are you kidding? the doubts whispered. You can’t be a novelist.

Typical writer stuff.

Shortly after Mylos was diagnosed, I figured I might as well write about our experience, exercise a few different writing muscles. Fiction was going nowhere at the moment. I hadn’t pitched to the animal health market for awhile; I’m doing the research anyway. Why not get paid for it? Plus, I’d get to interview the top people in the field and ask questions about my very own cat.

Board-certified feline specialists gave me advice and helped me shape a pretty good, if I do say so myself, informative and engaging piece on feline diabetes. I learned a lot about how to give Mylos the best treatment and it was good to touch base with the pet writing world, that small community of dedicated pet-lovers and talented writers.

I also discovered something else: I couldn’t wait to get back to fiction. I kept wanting to add tension, conflict, dialogue and character arcs. Unfortunately, that’s not really what Catnip newsletter had in mind. “Non-fiction,” I reminded myself, “is so much HARDER!”

I’ll probably continue to do the odd article now and then, when the topic strikes my fancy, just for the variety. But that spoon stays on my desk, to remind me of the ever-present threat of DIY eye enucleation.

Resetting the Bar

Last October, I once again attended the Surrey International Writers’ Conference in Surrey, BC, where I pitched my novel to Valerie Gray, executive editor for Mira. I’ve done this a few times, so I wasn’t, you know, cramping, but I still had a few butterflies. Mira, after all! But Valerie instantly put me at ease. Better yet, she took my brief synopsis, identified a couple of very specific problems and then – get this – spent about twenty minutes figuring out with me how to make it work. Never, did I expect an editor to engage like that with someone who’s never been published with them.

Then, after a full day of workshopping and appointments on Saturday, Valerie joined the RWA GVC cocktail party. As a brand new member (yay!) I enjoyed the opportunity to chat with numerous authors and aspiring authors. Among the already-famous were the lovely Kay Gregory, Mary Jo Putney, who is a fabulous speaker, and Anna deStefano, a relatively new writer who’s rocketing to stardom. What a treat to learn from these savvy writers!

 Anyway, I was all set to participate in November’s annual National Novel Writing Month, but through various workshops, the realization came to me that first drafts are something of an avoidance technique for me. I need to focus on revision, not the creation of new material. I’ve got three – that’s THREE – full-length manuscripts completed, but in need of pretty extensive revision. Among these are 1) the second in my Shelby James veterinary mystery series 2) a Mennonite family saga that I suspect might be best left in the drawer and 3) my first category romance novel. Oh, and I’ve got over 50K words in my third Shelby James book, from last year’s NaNoWriMo. You see? I need to polish and submit before I let myself get distracted by what Anna calls the “shiny new idea.”

So tomorrow, I begin looking at major structural changes to the romance manuscript. Once that’s done – and SUBMITTED – I’ll get the mystery done to my – and hopefully my editor’s – satisfaction. Then and only then will I allow myself to indulge in a shiny new idea.

Hm. So why am I posting on my blog, instead of working? Well, that was another goal I identified at the conference. Darren Barefoot gave us some fabulous workshops on the need for all authors, emerging and established, to create and maintain a web presence. Well, I’ve had a website for a few years, but have gotten so lazy about updating it that I couldn’t remember how to log into the admin page! Even I know that’s bad. So here I am, shrugging off my Luddite tendencies and embracing the web.

And it’s not even lunch-time yet.

Not Giving Up

I read an article in the Vancouver Sun recently, about the latest Inspector Banks novel by Peter Robinson. In it, he talks about his process, the arc of the novels, (18 novels in this series, over 21 years)what fresh hell he’s put Banks into most recently, and at the end, his work teaching creative writing. He doesn’t teach much anymore because producing a new book every year doesn’t leave a lot of free time (go figure.) He remembers, though, being struck by how few promising writers hung in there long enough to achieve success. “I came across a lot of people who I thought were talented as writers, but they didn’t do it, they gave up on it, for various reasons. It’s often difficult to find the time if you have family or a demanding job. I’ve been through all that, I’m lucky I don’t have to do any other job now, but I’ve been there and it’s tough.”

Every year at the Surrey writers’ conference, I hear a variation on this theme: If you want to be a successful writer, just keep at it, because everyone else will quit and eventually, you’ll be the only writer left and they’ll *have* to publish you. But you have to be disciplined and you have to get through that “million words of crap” to reach the gem that is your particular wisdom to share. Some writers get up at 4:30 in the morning, to get their word count in before work. (I am not in this group.) Others stay up late, with dark chocolate. Some write on their lunch hour. Or while the baby’s sleeping. On the bus. On the train… in a boat….with a goat.

I love seeing the same faces at the conference, pitching new manuscripts, or showing off brand new books. I might only see them once each year, but I count them as my friends and I’m thrilled to buy their books and read their work. Pam, Susan, Kathy, Rose, Nick, Donna, kc, Carmen, so many people who keep on writing, year after year, getting better – and finding more success – with each completed project. But each year there are a few faces I look for but don’t see, which makes me sad. Have they stopped writing? Have they given up? Maybe their lives have moved in different directions. No shame in that.

But those who want it bad enough, who truly believe we have something to say that’s worth saying, hang in there. We get up early (like 8 am) or we stay up late. We write despite headaches or surgery or teething puppies or three kids with chicken pox. We write about the death of a friend, the birth of a child, the color of a leaf on the surface of the lake. We dare to talk about depression, about wanting to run away from home, about whether or not chocolate is better than sex. (The answer… seriously??)

And wherever our words appear, in a book, blog, magazine, newspaper, billboard or a note in a lunchbox, if they reach into the reader’s heart and remind them that they are not alone, or make them laugh, or cry or wonder, magic happens.

And that, dear reader, is why I keep on writing.

Getting there…

Sunday – Fairmont Hotel, YVR. Dave and Cheryl drove us to the airport so we wouldn’t have to leave our car there. Had a wonderful dinner that night, sable-fish and some kind of awesome hot potato salad. Grainy mustard, white wine vinegar and a bunch of other stuff I can’t remember right now. Yum. And sable-fish, oh what a treat.

Monday – 4:30 am is not friendly to anyone. Had gross hotel room coffee until we got to the secured area where we inhaled a couple of Starbucks lattes. We both slept on the plane, until we got to LAX, where we considered getting lunc during our “layover”. Ha. Good thing we decided to find our terminal first, instead. We barely made it in time to buy a sandwich before boarding for the next leg. Oh, and there was an exciting bit where I got on a down esclator that wasn’t going where I expected. Picture me dashing up against the current while Ray yells “Rox, Rox!” from the parallel escalator. Good thing no one was behind me.

Napped again on the plane, then arrived bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (yeah, right) in Maui, where our cabbie gave us an entertaining explanation for various things, some of which might have even been right. We had enough energy after checking in to get a bite and sup at the bar-and-grill before crashing.

 

Tuesday – Fresh meat, lightly seared

Yeah, yeah, we're asking for it.

End of our first full day and we’re both suffering from a sun overdose… it NEVER looks like a burn until it’s way too late. But we took a dip in the ocean outside our hotel, swam around in the pool, then lay in the sun at what was in BC time early afternoon. In fact, it was high-noon and we’ve got the skin to prove it. Dumb. Then we took the shuttle to Lahaina town and did a bit of shopping. Had dinner at Cheeseburger in Paradise – yum! Then walked to the shopping center at Hilo Hattie’s (or, as Ray calls it High-Lo Hooties) and caught our shuttle back. Now we’re ready to hit the hay. Tomorrow we’re taking the new snorkel gear into the water around Black Rock. Turtles, here we come!

And what do you know...

... we got it.

Maui 2009 Wednesday

Ray got us coffees, pineapple and pastries at the Lion’s Coffee stand here in the resort. Then we strolled over to Whaler’s Village shopping for loose pants for me. Do you think I could find anything? Nope. Finally found a pair of cheap yoga capris and a cute, comfy sundress that is gentle enough for my sunburn. Later, we took our gear down to the beach and tried snorkelling off Black Rock, but it was pretty windy and murky. Will try again another day. Had dinner at the hotel, filet mignon and stuffed prawns. Awesome.

Maui 2009 Thursday

Yoga was on the agenda this morning and it was pretty good. Ray enjoyed himself and wants me to sign him up for a beginner class with my instructor. (Yay!) This one was more challenging than I was expecting, actually, enough that we definitely appreciated the hot tub afterwards. Ouchie on the burn. Then we want to Lahaina, for more shopping at Hilo Hatties where I finally found the pants I wanted, then we had lunch at the Hard Rock cafe. Our friends Darryl and Tracy are here for five weeks, in a condo near Wailea, and thrilled to death to have someone else to visit with. They invited us for dinner, so we drove out to Makena to spend the afternoon/evening with them. Always a wonderful time.

Maui 2009 Friday

Today we visited the Maui Ocean Center in Wailea. Since it was raining, we figured we’d do something indoor-ish. It was fantastic, and this is considering the Vancouver Aquarium. Green sea turtles, lots of different fish and coral, and interesting exhibits about local flora and fauna. When we came out, the weather had gotten even worse. We’re talking a torrential downpour. Wind, driving rain.

Before we headed back to Kaanapali, we took a little shopping trip to Keihi that was an interesting experience all in itself. Kihei seems to be the Aldergrove of the area. On the drive back after dark, we both lost a few years off our lives, fighting a tropical downpour – and I mean WALLS of water – coming down on the black, winding road.
We unwound with a couple of much-needed stiff martinis and a plate of sushi and sashimi in the lounge, then headed back to our room for the night.