Category: adventures of ragdoll

Ouch

Things happen in threes. At least that’s what my life has taught me. And here goes the three things that happened in the last few days:

1. I dropped an envelope with $1000.00 in it on our garage floor. Not only was this renovating money to pay a contractor but it was was a THOUSAND dollars. A lot of money by anyone’s standards, I forgot the envelope was on my lap and totally blanked as I left the car last Thursday night after the RRHB and I went to see a performance of Susie Burpee’s The Spinster’s Almanac (which I enjoyed, but especially enjoyed because of Christine Fellows hauntingly beautiful and bird-centric music).

2. I fell down the stairs at work coming out of our building. Landed totally on my face. I fell so hard that a fellow who was trying nonchalantly to eat his street meat hot dog inside and away from the brewing storm, shouted, “Oh my god are you okay?”, promptly transferred said dog to the other hand, and tried to help me up. I couldn’t even look at him I was so embarrassed. If only my life was a chick lit book and I wasn’t already married…

3. On Saturday night, while out with said RRHB and some friends from high school, I fell off my chair. And now, my tailbone hurts so much that it’s actually causing me to feel nauseous. It hurt a bit yesterday but nothing like today when just sitting in my chair at work makes me want to pass out. Ouuuuchhhh.

Sigh.

The adventures of Ragdoll indeed.

Bloody Brilliant Barbara

Last night Zesty and I met for our usual foray into author events at the Harbourfront. While I didn’t end up in tears like the last time after seeing Colm Toibin, I certainly felt the wit and wisdom of Barbara Gowdy was well worth the price of admission. But first, the readings.

Up first was Nuruddin Farah, who read from his latest novel, Knots. Suspenseful and mysterious, the piece he read followed a young Somalian woman Cambara (pronounced “Ambara”) who ends up in Mogadishu looking for answers (in this piece in a mysterious house where a stranger has given her water) or even meaning behind a great tragedy in her life. The second book in a trilogy, I’m inclined to order the first book, Links, as the Somalian entry in my Around the World in 52 Books challenge. Farah had a lovely aura about him: soft, supple, yet smart and exceptionally serious. It was a good reading, even if it didn’t hold my attention firmly throughout.

But the superstar of Wednesday night was absolutely Barbara Gowdy. Trim, with her hair tucked back by a barrette, she approached the podium and read a section from her new novel, Helpless. Never one to disappoint, Gowdy, instead of reading any of the more sensational aspects of the novel, read from a portion of the book that delves further into the backstory of Ron, the man who steals young Rachel away from her mother. The short reading described Ron’s life after his mother died tragically on his birthday, moved into how Ron coped with her absence, and described how everything changed once his father’s lover and her daughter moved into their home. A touching bit to read especially when all the audience knows of Ron is that he’s the man who is responsible for the unpardonable action within the novel.

Once the reading was finished, after the break, we were treated to an on stage interview between Gowdy and Now magazine’s Susan G. Cole. The most interesting parts of their discussion revolved around Gowdy’s own point of view when it came to the complex and conflicted character of Ron. In Gowdy’s mind, he’s an almost-pedophile. A man not unlike Lewis Carroll who felt “urges” but didn’t act on them, never taking his obsession too far, as if the act of kidnapping Rachel, because of its motivations, didn’t necessarily cross the line. It’s an interesting distinction, and sort of what I was trying to get at in my review of the book, that while Ron’s actions are abhorrent, he maintains a certain level of control over his deplorable urges. In short, Gowdy insists, his actions are driven forward by love.

When asked about her own writing process, Gowdy told Cole that it was a long, painful process. She agonizes over ideas for almost a year until finally finding an anchor for a new book and describes her writing work as “putting the hours in.” Her house is spotless for all of her procrastination, something all of us aspiring writers can most certainly relate to. All in all, it was a great old literary evening.

Downtown

The roads, as you well imagine, are a mess. This morning I got the car stuck in a snowbank coming out of the laneway behind my house. And when I tried to turn on the car, it wouldn’t work.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t panic. Instead, I calmly got out, walked the few houses over to our front door, and shouted, “RRHB, I need your help.” We dug the car out and I was on my way.

My new office? Yeah, it’s downtown which means I’ll calmly sit on the streetcar as it rumbles along plowing all of the snow in its way in two days time. I really, really hate driving.

The other scary winter driving story? A couple weekends ago when I went to the spa with my stepmother? I got the car stuck on a snowy hill when it started rolling…in the wrong direction. Soon, I was barrelling backwards down the hill and couldn’t slow down. For the very first time in my life, you know what I did? I used the emergency brake. After all, it was an emergency.

Come to think of it, I didn’t panic then either. But I was a bit nervous on the roads today, with the Curse of St. Valentine’s looming over my head and all.

Ann Equals Awesome

This morning at work we had a breakfast for YA superstar Ann Brashares. I’ve read and loved every one of the books in the Sisterhood series, and so it was a real pleasure to see her in person and have her sign a copy of the latest book Forever in Blue.

First off, she’s absolutely gorgeous, and had just come from her appearance on Canada AM, so the first thing she said was something along the lines of ‘that explains all the makeup.’ (And I’m probably paraphrasing).

She spoke for a few minutes and then someone asked if she wrote the books chronologically or if she wrote each character separately. And, in fact, it’s the latter. Brashares has colour-coded cue cards for each character and maps out what’s going to happen to each of them in one fell swoop. She spends as much time as she needs with each one, notes out all of their scenes, and then spreads out the cards all around her house to plot out the book.

It was inspiring to hear her speak about her creative process. She writes the books in that way because she feels that every character deserves her full attention, which I was fascinated with because it’s not the way that I write at all. I might try it though considering she’s finished, ahem, many books and I’ve never completed a one!

And Carmen is her favourite character, which sort of surprised me. But when I went up to talk to her and get my book signed, I told her that Bridget, being a motherless-daughter herself, had a special place in my heart. She also asked me a lot of questions about me and what I did at the company etc., etc., and I said, “I’m not here to talk about me!” And then we laughed. As a writer, she told me, she’s always more interested in other people’s lives than speaking about her own. Delightful, I say, absolutely delightful!

On the whole, she’s just wonderful, well-spoken, intelligent, everything you hope and expect an author to be…

Organic Beer…

…doesn’t give you any less a hangover.

Sigh.

Shhhh. I have news.

Yesterday, I quit my job. Not to worry, I have another one to go to in about three weeks, and I’m super excited about it.

I mean really excited.

Hence the imbibing of St. Peter’s organic beer until the wee hours.

And now, I hurt.

So I’ve been listening to my new favourite songs and trying to do the dishes for about forty-five minutes. There aren’t that many dishes. It’s just hard to, ahem, stand up.

If you’re wondering what my iTunes is cooking this morning:

1. A Mirror Without, Royal Wood
2. Under Control, The Strokes
3. Jolene, Dolly Parton
4. Snow (Hey Oh), Red Hot Chili Peppers
5. Save It For Later, English Beat

Oh yeah, that’s inspired me to re-write the first sentence of my long story about seventeen times. It keeps getting longer and longer with more commas, lots of adjectives and a really interesting metaphor that I can’t wait to try out on you all.

Happy Saturday!

I. Can’t. Stop. Smiling.

Readings Dot Org Indeed!

Last night Zesty and I braved the cold to attend a truly spectacular evening of readings at Harbourfront. Part of their weekly series, last night Vikram Chandra, Colm Tóibín and Neil Smith read from their new works. Of the three, Toibin, of course, stands out, the headliner who read last, he honestly brought tears to my eyes.

Sacred Games is a huge (and I mean massive) novel by Chandra, who read first. His readings were a bit dense but they did capture my interest both in terms of their subject matter (modern-day, crime-addled Mumbai), and their descriptive value. The third reading, of the passages the author selected, was by far the best. I’m not sure if it’s enough to pull me up and out into the novel, but there was a bit about women and marriage in his passage that grabbed me by its plaintive ache and sort of held on.

Neil Smith read about half of the first story from his Bang/Crunch, the collection that’s launched him as part of Knopf Canada’s New Face of Fiction this year. Tall, thin, impeccably dressed, Neil Smith’s reading was humourous and intriguing at the same time. The story, about a premature baby and her mother, and by extension her sperm donor of a father, was funny, insightful and urged me to read more.

But, as I said above, the true highlight of the evening for me was Tóibín. Wow. He sauntered on to stage looking like a middle-aged English professor in his jacket and thin tie, and his face has such deliciously deep creases that you could even call them folds. He started to speak immediately as he stepped behind the microphones, telling lovely stories about music festivals, troubles in Armagh and a trip to Australia. At first, you wonder where it’s all going, and then he read “A Song” from Mothers and Sons, and you slowly, as the narrative unfolds, realize that he’s showing you all of the inspiration for this particular story. I’m telling you, it brought tears to my eyes. Tears.

A Bird In The Hand

Last night, despite feeling utterly under the weather, I headed out in the cold to my first Sweater class at Knitomatic. I arrived, of course, without needles, but luckily there were some in the store I could use and, after I did my gauge swatch, it was a good thing I hadn’t bought needles because I work tight so I needed to go up a size anyway.

We’re knitting a raglan sweater in the round, which I’ve never done before, so I’m excited about it. I’ve got this rich grey wool with lovely white strands through it that looks very old fashioned. I think it’ll make a grand sweater.

The owner of the store has a lovebird named Pluto. He’s really sweet and affectionate and took quite a liking to me. At one point, he was perching on his owner’s water glass, after dropping himself in more than once for a quick drink, he looked and chirped at me until I paid attention to him. I held out my hand so he could jump on. Then, he hopped up to my shoulder and trilled in my ear as I chatted with him.

And then he pooped on my new coat.

Heh.

It’s good luck, isn’t it? When a bird poops on you?

Anyway, I’m taking it as a sign that my sweater will turn out brilliantly.

Millbank, Ontario

So, on Saturday, my RRHB and I went to Millbank, Ontario. I wanted to see where my Irish ancestors settled, and even though I didn’t know much about it beyond the fact that it’s where they farmed after coming to Canada and where they died, it was actually kind of cool.

There’s a great furniture shop there, we saw Amish carriages carrying very cold bearded men along the two-lane highways, and despite the cold, I had a great day. We stopped in Stratford for some lunch, ate some candy, and walked around a bit looking at some of the great old buildings in the very lovely town.

And it gave me a real idea of what life was like in the winter in Millbank, and some good ideas for description for the long story I’ve been working on. But, of course, I discovered where the old coot was buried (my Irish forefather) AFTER we got home, which just means there’s another road trip on the horizon. Not in winter. Not on the coldest day of the year. And not during a snow storm. But soon, that’s for sure.

Now if I can only figure out where in Ireland a) they came from and b) when they got here (they were here for the 1851 census, I know that for sure), then I’d be cooking with oil. I know they were from the north, which would have good to know, oh, I don’t know, when I was THERE two summers ago.

Sigh.

Tragic Right Updates

Okay so it’s been a pretty busy few days, with lots going on, and I love lists, so here we go:

1. 24 kicked all kinds of crazy ass last night, but my favourite part? When Jack retired for eleven minutes. Awe-some. His retirement was even shorter than Jay Z’s. And let’s talk about 99 Problems: nuclear bombs, presidential bomb shelters with cell phone signals (heh), crazy sibling rivalry, and Rena Sofer as the ‘wife’ character, like someone that hot would end up with angry short man McCrane, but whatever. Enjoyable!

2. Editing and re-editing is super-hard work but I’ve handed in my third draft, just minutes ago, of one of my Classic Starts. I’ve been doing them forever in my spare time and I’m super-exhausted and really want to start working on my other projects.

3. I’ve been attempting to find a version of microwave popcorn that isn’t completely and utterly disgusting. See, I hate butter, love cooking with it, hate the taste and smell otherwise, but every single version of the damn popcorn has way, way too much fake butter on it. And I can’t seem to find a damn box of ‘original’ anywhere. It’s very annoying. We tried “corn on the cob” (oh my god it’s nasty) and cheddar (equally nasty) and are now about to give up entirely. But hell, maybe that’s a good thing as I supposed to be dieting anyway.

4. Tina Fey’s 30 Rock is damn, damn funny. So funny that I actually rewound this bit from last week’s episode about Tracy Morgan (aka Tracy Jordan) “writing” his “memoirs” because it cracked me up so much.

5. I am going to see Colm Toibin on February 7th. I just finished reading his new book of short stories Mothers and Sons, full review to come tomorrow, and it’s bloody brilliant. I’ve also started The Master, which is on the 1001 Books list and my Around the World challenge.

6. I saw Dreamgirls on the weekend and really enjoyed it. Beyoncé was kind of flat but utterly gorgeous, but I totally agree with all of the reviews of Jennifer Hudson, man she completely steals the show. Wow. And I hope that Eddie Murphy wins the Oscar, but who knows…I’m not making any predictions just yet but I have a feeling that all my Oscar ballots will be from the heart, which is always the death of me in our company-party pools.

7. I read Don Hannah’s Ragged Islands. Although not on either of my lists, I’m still saying its #7 for the year, and I have to say that I did enjoy it. Quickly, it’s the story of Susan Ann, an elderly woman brought to the hospital on her last days, that floats in and out of consciousness. When she’s in her ‘dream’ state, she’s all over her life, from start to finish, and it’s fantastical, mystical and whimsical all at the same time. There is a central mystery to her story that never gets solved but I think that’s okay because the book is more about the fact that life simply doesn’t give you the answers. Hannah, a playwright, borrows heavily from Laurence and Shields, but that’s okay, there’s room in CanLit for more than two ornery old broads.

Whew! What a week already…

Books Are In My Blood

As if I didn’t know that already, but yesterday, when I should have been editing my latest Classic Starts, I got sucked into doing some ancestral research. When I was in Vancouver visiting my aunt and uncle in November, we were talking about the history of the family, a familiar topic, when it was mentioned in passing that my great-great grandfather was a publisher in London. Now, a publisher of what or when exactly, not to mention whether he worked for someone else or for himself, has still yet to be discovered.

However, I did find some fascinating things. His grandfather, John Mardon, was a Bookseller (as listed in the 1841 census) in St. Sepulchre, or at least that’s the parish where he lived when the census was taken. Now, I got to thinking that he too must have published books because, well, if you sold them back then most likely you published as well, and low and behold, here, I’ve found what I think must be a pamphlet he either published or distributed in 1833.

Now, it’s only 50 pounds, so I might buy it, but honestly, how cool is that?