Thursday, or Thereabouts - January 23, 2014

Moving right along...

Old man winter responded to Monday's "Dear John" letter by unleashing yet another blast of bitterness. Yesterday morning it was -32C (-26F) outside my door, a record low in these parts for the thirty-six years we've live here. In fact Winter scored a hat trick of superlatives yesterday - super cold, super bright and super blue sky. I am however prevented from saluting or even bowing in recognition to this achievement due the restriction of movement imposed by the multiple layers of clothing I'm wearing.



Perhaps I should also warn you that the snowblower is back from the shop and is fixed and ready for action. All of which goes to say that it is winter and it is moving right along as it should. The switch to Eastern Daylight Time - Spring Forward - arrives March 9, and eight weeks from today, at precisely 12:57pm EDT on March 20 the spring equinox will give winter the boot.
The light is returning.

My writing, beyond this blog, has languished since the end of October due to an as yet undiagnosed visual impairment, but in the past two weeks frustration and a stubborn disposition have driven me to get back on track. I can manage almost a half hour in front of the laptop screen before annoyance and fatigue set in, and if I have the patience to take the time to get the lighting just right, I can sit and read a book for almost an hour. I can personally attest to the benefits of fonts with serifs to ease reading.

So moving that right along, a friend and I have partnered up to be each other's beta readers and I have already sent a few chapters of the memoir off to her. Also, I have finally downloaded "Scrivener" , something I've been meaning to do for the better part of a year. I dutifully pushed my poor eyes through the entire tutorial - that took two days - still I was impressed and excited, sure that this was just what I needed to energise me back into the work. I set up my new project and began the document import. It took less than five minutes for me to be utterly stumped and even more utterly defeated. I heeded my beta reader friend's counsel, stepped away from the program and took a deep breath. The past two days I've dared to stick my toe back into the Scrivener pond and have actually made some progress with it. There have been enough "aha" moments, flashes of understanding, to keep me motivated. Phew!

I've not written anything new in the memoir yet, but rather I am taking the time to reacquaint myself with the story: the people, the places, the events, and along with all of that of course, the emotions. I am re-discovering the reason why this story is important and that's a good thing, a really good thing.
The light is indeed returning.
Cheers!

© leo tomić  – fotolia.com

©2014 April Hoeller

Chores, Nightmares and Books: The Writer does not Read

It feels like ages since I last wrote anything!  In fact it's only been five days.  What?  FIVE days?!  Okay, so on second thought it appears my internal judge, who is always on the look out for violations, has pounced on me.  Five days without writing IS a long time.  In my defence I can report that I have not be idle all this time, but in fact rather busy.  The kids were down from Petawawa this past weekend and it was fabulous to see them looking so well and happy -- just as newlyweds should.  I've knocked a ton of chores off the list and I've been to the gym four times (I worked out too!).  I've even registered for a writing course this Fall (big accomplishment for me).  Oh and I've been reading.

What? Reading? You?  Well yes, I do admit it is a little out of the ordinary.  Okay, it's hugely out of the ordinary.  You see, I am not a reader.  There, I've admitted it.  It's a worrisome fact as I embark on a writer's path.  You know, all the serious writers read tons and are in fact well read people.   Well, I don't read much.  I never have.  So where does this leave me?  Discouraged, disheartened, embarrassed -- this is the stuff of nightmares...

There I am at the first writing class, a fresh faced newbie, and I'm being asked, 'What are you reading now?'  Alarm bells clang in my head, the room spins, all the saliva in my mouth instantly evaporates and there is that unmistakable prickling sensation on the back of my neck.  With my eyes firmly fixed on the floor I mumble, 'Nothing', then quickly add, 'at the moment.'  I am panic-stricken. Whatever made me think I could be a writer?  Perhaps I should just apologise and back out of the room. I really want the floor to open up and swallow me, but of course it doesn't.  Instead another question breaks the awkward silence, 'What do you normally read?'  It's asked kindly enough, as though my inquisitor is certain there must be something more to my reading than nothing.   But alas there is not and I am forced to admit it to all -- NORMALLY, I DON'T READ.

Of course I can and do read.  I've read countless textbooks, reference works, philosophies, and the like, all because I had to.  But I have very little experience in reading for pleasure.  It certainly cannot be found among my hobbies.  Somewhere along the line I never developed a love of reading and I didn't inherit anything of if from my mother.  She was a voracious reader.  Every two weeks she'd walk to the library, return the books she'd read and bring home five or six more.  She read in two weeks what I read in a good year.  My father read occasionally.  I suppose I'm more like him. 

Reading has always been somewhat of a chore for me and because I am a very slow reader (my own assessment), it is something that requires time and attention. I cannot read while the TV is on. I cannot read on the bus or the train. I cannot read if other things are going on around me.  But... now I'm retired.  I have time and far fewer distractions and I do enjoy a good story.  Perhaps now is the time to explore reading for pleasure. 

In fact, I've already started!  The gal in Blue Heron Books (www.blueheronbooks.com) nearly overwhelmed me with six possibilities with which to begin this love affair.  I bought three of them and I've read (and enjoyed!) one: The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein.  Next up is Baking Cakes in Kilgali by Gaile Parkin.  This is going to be a bit more of a challenge to read as the writing is more dense,  but still I think I'm up for it.  So far, so good.

Normally, I just might be a reader.
Cheers!