Thursday, or Thereabouts - March 9, 2023

"I arise today

In the name of Silence
Womb of the Word,

In the name of Stillness
Home of Belonging,

In the name of Solitude
Of the soul and the Earth."

John O’Donohue, Irish poet and philosopher
“Matins” (Morning Prayer)
From To Bless the Space Between Us
https://johnodonohue.com/

Wrapped in warmth and sunshine I sat in the sunroom yesterday, my body comfortable in my writing space, my home. The many months since I last wrote a blog post or even a journal entry have been event-FULL while still wrapped in the pandemic. I could re-visit all the happenings, ups, downs, and sideways, but why bother with stuff in the rear view mirror? Today is a new day so I'll begin there and see where my "write" hand takes me.

In my journal writing I have noticed that in a frantic attempt to keep up with my thoughts, my pen moves onto the next word without finishing the last one. The page becomes messy with angry cross outs only to be replaced with a similar error and another cross out. My joy in writing comes in large part from physical act of writing longhand with a fountain pen. Errors in that process are truly annoying! Perhaps I need to make an effort to write more slowly. The thoughts can't disappear that fast can they? Maybe they can...I mean sometimes when speaking I start a sentence and then forget where I was going with it. Normal perhaps for one pushing 70 but not welcome. 

Just this morning I spent an hour looking for one of my favourite fountain pens. I was sure that I had tucked it away in a safe location before we went on vacation. This pen is my most expensive and I didn't want to come home to find it missing. Yet that is exactly what happened, no break in or theft required. I searched all the likely hidey holes umpteen times then went on to the highly unlikely but you never know places, before coming back to the more usual drawers and cupboards. 

The man then joined in the search, no doubt drawn by the sound of drawers slamming and expletives. Standing in the kitchen I looked across the harvest table to engage my husband in a discussion of search strategy.  I was about to open my mouth when my brain registered what my eye had seen amongst the clutter of stuff on the table - a tan leather case standing upright in its usual place, the case I had bought at the Toronto Pen Show in October. My inner critic screamed in my head, "You IDIOT! It's in the pen case the one YOU bought to hold all the precious fountain pens!"

Oh crap, Really? Well, yes there it was right where it belonged, tucked safely upright, hidden in plain sight. Humbled but not defeated, I headed to the warmth and light of my writing space, opened a brand new journal and began to write again. 

It's another sunny day here today and sunroom beckons. See y'all later.

 

Thursday, or Thereabouts – February 4, 2021

Noon Report: 7°C (45F) in brilliant sunshine outside my door.

It is a joy to sit at the table in the sunroom, writing these words. The groundhog apparently declared an early Spring on his day of prophecy, February 2 and so here we are basking in the thick of it. It won’t last of course. The official forecast does not uphold the rodent’s prediction but rather declares a return to minus double digits by the end of this weekend. Ah well, it is still luxurious to simply sit in the sun-warmed room without being encumbered by woolly sweaters. It’s soothing to let sunlight energize dreams of warmer days, buds and flowers, BBQ's and butterflies.

I picked up a whack of birdseed this morning (curbside of course), so I’m ready for the return of hungry fliers as well as keeping the hardy ones that stay all winter well fed. This year is the first time that I have had crowds of redpolls at the feeders. Usually I’m lucky to see even just one or two each year, but this time often both tube feeders are full stacked with these finch-type birds while the ground beneath the feeders a half dozen or more are gleaning. Without our resident canine here to bark or chase them away, the squirrels have returned in number. They also glean the seeds that fall to the ground.

The bottom line for today is

“It’s a beautiful day in the neighbourhood!”

Away from the news, the tweets and posts of the virtual world, away from the chirps and pings of electronic devices, this is a perfect day to be in the natural world right outside my door in the warm sunshine. Cant’ beat that!

 

©2021 April Hoeller

Thursday, or Thereabouts - Thursday, May 2, 2019

... according to the calendar, but the weather gods seem to have had different months in mind lately. March-like ups and downs buffeted by winds typical of November bringing snow, freezing rain, sleet, and heavy rains have dampened spirits and caused massive flooding. Fortunately, my part of Ontario has been spared while points to the north, east and south have not been so lucky.

The prophets of weather now point to the good stuff coming in mid-May. They said the same thing about March and April too. Eventually, they will be right and I will dance with the sheep, chickens, cows, pigs, and ducks of May.




But all is not grim and dreary in my world. I am just back from my annual five-day writing retreat along the shores of Rice Lake.

I had three simple goals for my time away:

     Rest

          Re-set

               Write

And I scored the hat trick - I accomplished all three! In spite of the weather, (which wasn't all bad as one can see in two of the photos), or because of it, I got the job done. I wrote a few new segments and re-worked six chapters. 

I was in the company of an inspiring group of writers. Our collective creative energies powering us all through the twists and turns of our stories. We were well fed and 'watered'

But most of all I was nurtured, cajoled, and even spurred when needed to get on with the writing. I am indebted to Ruth E. Walker and Gwynn Scheltema-Anderson for offering such consistently great leadership. Namaste...

©2019 April Hoeller

Thursday, or Thereabouts - November 8, 2018

Forty-eight hours of enlightenment, inspired guidance, skilled encouragement, camaraderie and laughter, all at a lakeside resort serving up excellent meals (none of them requiring my prep, serving, or clean-up!) and a cosy chair by the fireplace  - what's not to love?

Even though the sun was unable to make a full commitment, the great day star did gift us with a few brilliant cameo appearances.

Saturday brought a mixed bag of weather - rain, sleet, and wet snow. Still, we were spared a full blast of winter, unlike the Turning Leaves retreat of 2013.

Turning Leaves November 2013

Turning Leaves November 2018

In short, even the weather was set up to encourage writers of all stripes to gather indoors, learn a thing or two and WRITE. The Writescape team of Ruth E. Walker and Gwynn Scheltema truly do know how to craft, not just a good, but a great retreat for writers and the 2018 edition of Turning Leaves was no exception.

For this, Writescape's Tenth Anniversary, bestselling author Andrew Pyper was the guest author and workshop leader. He led us deeper into consideration of the often muddy midpoint of our works in progress. In the memoir I've been writing I've been struggling for substance and clarity on just this section. I had a beginning and an end but no idea how to connect them in the middle. Using Andrew's workshop insights, I discovered that I actually did have a midsection written pretty much in full. Thank you, Andrew! I now need to put some more flesh on the beginning but I can no longer whine that the middle doesn't exist. Score!

Andrew Pyper

But that's not all! I went on this retreat deliberately leaving the storage box, the one full of all the notes, partial manuscripts, and reference material for the memoir, at home under my desk. I wanted to allow a new muse, one that has been tapping on my shoulder for some months now, a chance to write. It took until Sunday morning for her to get my pen moving, but once the words were flowing on the page she did not and has not stopped! At first, I thought the piece was going to be at most a few paragraphs of free-writing, but now at nearly 3000 words, I'm thinking it's at least a short story and maybe even a novel. I can't quite discern a more specific genre beyond fiction at this point, but it just might be that some of Andrew Pyper's penchant for horror rubbed off on me. What I do know is that I'm adding to the story whenever I can and when I can't I'm thinking about the next scene and ones after that. Score - Again!

Oh! There was also a six-line poem that emerged from my pen tip Sunday morning. That was a huge surprise. Other than an off-colour limerick from time to time, I've never written any poetry. Score #3 - a hat trick!

I am indebted to Gwynn and Ruth for providing such a fruitful experience and for offering the opportunity to meet and learn from Andrew Pyper. I'm also grateful for the community of writers, both familiar friends and new, with whom I shared this time. It's amazing what happens at a writers' retreat!

For now, I'm back home and writing.
Life is good.




©2018 April Hoeller

Monday Moanings - September 24, 2018

Well, here I sit at the top of the last week in September wondering just where the month went! No point in languishing in the past, it's time to kick off into the week, beginning with a blog post. But, what to write? Some days fishing is a good metaphor for my writing process - just throw out a line and see what's biting. Let me give that a try.

A grand overhand cast sends the line out over the placid lake of my mindfulness. I watch it drop into the water, ripples fanning out in perfect concentric circles of potential. With my lips pursed and breath full of anticipation, I begin a slow retrieve of the line. I don't want to miss a single tug of a good idea on the line. Nothing.

Undaunted I again cast my line out over the water. Nothing.

 I check my tackle and recast the line, aiming for the quiet pool just beyond the reeds, just over the rock ledge, that ... perfect ... spot. Nada, not even so much as a nibble of interest.

Off the end of a dock or from a canoe on the lake, just the casting of a line is a happy pursuit. Perfection of the technique is a reward, and it's a very happy one for me. Not so with the writing rod and reel. Instead, I am quickly frustrated, discouraged by the empty retrieve. I give up, stomp away from my desk in a huff.

I'd rather be fishing!

 ©2018 April Hoeller

Monday Moanings - August 13, 2018

On the Wagon...

Sitting on my wagon rocking back and forth at the top of a new week. My fountain pen is fully loaded with fresh ink; a stack of fine paper is at the ready; my inner critic is bright-eyed and mouthy as usual. "When are you going to get down to some serious writing," she scolds.

I fell off the blogging wagon in July of last year but managed to crawl back on (with gusto!) for the A to Z Challenge of daily posts for the month of April. And I've managed to hang on with two blog posts a week ever since (less three weeks vacation time). That's the good news.




The bad news is that work on the book has ground to a halt. I'm not stuck, it's not writer's cramp. There is a host of scene skeletons neatly suspended in the file folder just waiting for some flesh and connective tissue. So what's the hold-up?





Well here's the truth: I spend way too much time with this question in the percolator while my write hand guides and clicks a mouse through the intricacies of Sudoku puzzles and Mahjong Titans. Such activity while apparently good for my aging brain and the consumption of time, does little else of benefit to either me or the world. In other words, the only muscles getting a workout are the ones having to do with procrastination.

What I need is a mousetrap, but where oh where does one find a trap for such a mouse? And how then does one set it?

Actually what I need is serious 'backside in chair' time, somewhere out of reach of that blasted mouse. I'm thinking the library will be a good place to settle my pens, paper, and derriere.

So let's tighten up that chin strap on my helmet, lower the goggles into position and push off...

Wherever you are, have a great ride this week.

©2018 April Hoeller

A to Z Challenge - Z is for Zowie!

zowie  -  exclamation, expressing pleasurable surprise astonishment or admiration.
   Origin
         North America, informal, natural exclamation

Fits me to a tee on this last day of April and the last letter of the A to Z Blogging Challenge. I am pleasantly surprised that I hung in for all twenty-six posts. I'm rather pleased with myself. Prompted by a fellow blogger, I accepted the challenge as a way to re-start my writing.

For over seven months, my stories had gone unseen, not just on the blog, but anywhere. No work on my memoir manuscript, no blog posts, no story notes scrawled on scraps of paper. Would the A to Z Challenge be the rigorous exercise program that my flabby writing muscles so desperately needed?

Well, ZOWIE! It was all that and more! Thank you to all those who followed, liked, retweeted, and re-shared my posts. A profound bow of gratitude to all who commented. You made my day. My only regret is that too often I was unable to read and respond to you. However, despair not! Over the coming week, I plan to revisit your posts.

Plans are important, and beyond perusing the posts of fellow A to Z bloggers, I plan to return to posting on this blog twice a week. I also plan to investigate podcasting as a possible medium for the memoir stories.

What are your plans for blogging/writing in May and beyond?

Same time next year? You bet - God willing and the creek don't rise.

©2018 April Hoeller

A to Z Challenge - V is for Victorious in Violet

 I'm just back from a writing retreat. I'm calling it successful -- better than that, VICTORIOUS!





My goals were accomplished.  They were not as lofty as in previous years. I set no word or page counts, no outline, chapter or book completions.
Still, there was a mountain to climb and I climbed it!


I am indebted to Gwynn Scheltema and Ruth Walker for providing such a supportive environment. I am also grateful to my fellow writers at the retreat. There is nothing quite so inspiring, encouraging, and refreshing than to write in community with other writers.


Head and heart, I reconnected with the memoir I've been working on for a number of years.

Saturday morning, I opened the document box that had been untouched for nearly a year. Over the next two days, I sorted through all the bits and pieces it contained. I tossed some junk - multiple copies of the same chapters, irrelevant notes, and three pens that no longer worked. I re-ordered what remained, taking time to explore the stories one by one. And I enjoyed the process!

Monday, my plan was to keyboard the chapters written at last year's retreat, but I found that I had no desire to park myself in front of a laptop. But my "write hand" was twitching for exercise, longing to move a pen across paper. I abandoned the keyboard and picked up my fountain pen. I wrote - not a lot but several linking passages and paragraphs that tied up a few loose ends and secured the bond between writer and story.

In the midst of all this triumphant growth, Monday also brought a violet pall of sorrow as news of the tragedy in the beloved city of my birth unfolded. The apprehension and arrest of the van driver who had mowed down 24 people, killing 10, was accomplished without a single gunshot. Politicians kept their responses low key and the media did not jump to radical conclusions. We all waited for the facts and while we waited, as we were able, we offered care and compassionate support. And the outpouring of compassion continues. This is my Toronto.

Once assured of my family's safety on Monday, I took myself on a walk away from the news. I visited the lads up the hill.

The confident thumps of big hooves, snorts of camaraderie, and the quiet wisdom in those big eyes, did much to comfort my soul.

As I headed back along the lake to the main building, these crocuses seemed to sum up the weekend - victorious in violet.

Tuesday morning dawned with promise and healing colours.

©2018 April Hoeller