Category: Readings
Wednesday, May 7, 2014 | Driving, Fun, Girl Runner, Interviews, Publicity, Publishing, Reading, Readings, Running, Work, Writing |
I sponsored the two older kids’ rep soccer teams this season by “buying a sleeve.” We decided to add “A NOVEL” to the title GIRL RUNNER, thinking that a team of 13-year-old boys might not appreciate having to wear that label during games.
This was our dining-room table, Monday afternoon. Two sets of page proofs, one galley, one sharp red pencil, and one mother announcing to all who entered after school, “There will be no eating or drinking on or near this table until I AM DONE!”
I am done.
All may eat and drink here again.
Last night’s reading at DVLB was really fun. I even indulged in a scotch, thanks to the kindness of a friend who treated. Imbibe ye scotches while ye may. Life’s too short not to enjoy the pleasures that arrive. Even if that happens to be on a Tuesday night and you’re running the next morning. And so I did. (And I ran this morning too: Run ye many kilometres while ye may.)
No scotches tonight, however. I’ll be driving to and from Hamilton, where I’m reading at Bryan Price Bookseller, 7pm, with other M Word contributors. (Note to self: look up directions!)
Tomorrow I’ll be at the Anansi offices working on publicity plans for Girl Runner. (Note to self: more directions! Look up!)
Can you read the above? I can’t. File this under Strange Opportunities that Arrive via the Internet. Last month I was contacted by an editor at Unitas, a Chinese-language literary magazine in Taiwan, who wanted to interview me for a special issue they were planning on Alice Munro. (They’d found and loved my review of Alice Munro’s Dear Love in the National Post.) I agreed. And this month, two copies of the beautifully produced magazine arrived in my mailbox, in an envelope covered in fancy stamps. Sometimes the world seems very very small.
I’ve never met Alice Munro, and can’t imagine what I would say to her if we were to meet. It’s an entirely one-sided relationship based purely on my reading of her stories over many years. I’m immersed in MY LIFE IN MIDDLEMARCH right now, a truly wonderful book that combines biography with memoir, and in some way I feel like my relationship with Alice Munro is similar to Rebecca Mead’s with George Eliot; but Mead has the benefit of distance and I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable exploring Alice Munro’s life and work in quite the same way, given that she’s still living, and that our worlds literally overlap in time and space. It wouldn’t be historical exploration. There’s a freedom to digging back into the past, way back. I’m aiming to do it now, in my next novel. Nothing can be perfectly recovered from the deep past, and so one may imagine quite freely.
Yet I’m so admiring and relishing this memoir/biography mash-up on George Eliot — I would do it, if I could figure out my relationship with non-fiction, a form I’m still learning. I’m thinking out loud here, brainstorming as I type. Perhaps not the best way to compose a blog post on which one is about to press “publish.” But if I could figure out how, yes, I would write about Alice Munro.
I think the NMA nomination was especially thrilling (and perhaps seductive) because it was earned for “personal journalism,” aka non-fiction. It’s a form that interests me more and more, that I find myself devouring more and more, and that I want to learn how to master.
Friday, May 2, 2014 | Girl Runner, Prizes, Publicity, Publishing, Readings, The Juliet Stories |
run, Kevin, run
This week has been run, Carrie, run. Next up we have shine, Carrie, shine, as I’ve got a variety of upcoming work-related events and appearances.
Tonight, I’m visiting a friend’s book club to talk about The Juliet Stories.
On Tuesday, I’ll be at DVLB in uptown Waterloo @ 7PM as a “special guest” (that’s what the invite says) at the book launch for new story collections from Greg Bechtel and Tom Cho. I think I’m going to read a Juliet story I haven’t before.
On Wednesday, I’ll be in Hamilton at Bryan Prince Bookseller @ 7PM with The M Word’s editor Kerry Clare, and others. I’ll be reading from my essay in The M Word, but of course.
On Thursday, I’m headed to Toronto to meet with my publicist at Anansi to make plans for launch of Girl Runner here in Canada (Sept. 6th).
On Saturday, I’ve been invited to be a guest bookseller at Words Worth Books in uptown Waterloo. Words Worth is celebrating its 30th year in the business. (!!) I’ll be there around 11AM, if you want to drop by. (Apparently, working the cash register is not a requirement, for which we can all be truly grateful. I hope no one ever asks me to work as a guest waitress. Or guest latte-maker. Both jobs which I tried and at which I failed spectacularly. I would make a pretty decent guest stable-girl, or guest copy-editor, or guest babysitter, however.)
Finally, yesterday I found out that an essay of mine, “Delivery,” which was published last year in The New Quarterly, and also in the anthology How to Expect What You’re Not Expecting, has been nominated for a National Magazine Award. The New Quarterly has invited me to be their guest at the gala, which happens in June. The word gala kind of paralyzes me, I confess. But I’ve never been nominated before, and I would like to go and be a fly on the wall. Maybe in a nice dress? Maybe not. We’ll see.
I think that covers it for now in the shine, Carrie, shine category. But it’s more than enough to keep me running.
Tuesday, Apr 15, 2014 | Chores, Friends, Fun, Girl Runner, Publicity, Readings, Running, Spring, Work |
this morning’s run
I’ve been thinking about readings. Maybe because I read at one last night here in Waterloo, representing Goose Lane Editions, on behalf of their new anthology, in which I’m pleased to have an essay: THE M WORD: CONVERSATIONS ABOUT MOTHERHOOD.
There is a bigger launch party tonight in Toronto for THE M WORD, but while my name is on the poster, I won’t be there. This is due to a calendar error. Plans were in place, carshare car rented, chalkboard schedule adjusted, and then, yesterday afternoon, I saw the listed time on the poster — 6PM. 6PM?! Two hours earlier than I’d thought. Oh no! I emailed the book’s editor, Kerry Clare, to double-check. Yes, the launch starts at 6PM (at Ben McNally Books, if you’d like to hear all those other wonderful writers read). So that meant with Kevin at the dentist and me doing swim lessons, I couldn’t magical think myself to my destination on time. I’m sending regrets, and they are enormously regretful, because I was planning on hugging a lot of writer friends tonight.
This will have to suffice.
*Hugs*
I don’t know about you, but that felt unsatisfactory.
I’ve been thinking about readings, and how some people just seem to come into themselves more fully when on stage. It’s like they’re radiant. Like there’s no barrier between you and them. You could listen to them all night.
the Canadian ARC for Girl Runner exists! (I haven’t held it yet, but it’s on its way)
My fall calendar is filling up with readings: I’ve got invitations to festivals coming across my desk, and a book launch to plan (Sept. 6th is the official pub date for Girl Runner), and I’m so looking forward to the opportunity to speak and read, again. I really do like being on stage — more accurately, I appreciate it. Even though I felt rusty last night, after a few months off, it’s a remarkable place to get to be, standing behind a microphone, talking to people. Walking home along the dark cold streets, I thought myself a most fortunate woman, and most fortunate writer, to get to share what I’m doing in this way.
In other news, which is not exactly news, I’m a tired woman, a tired soul, right now. I am not sure how to remedy this (although I’m sure my mother would remind me to get more sleep, and if I were my mother I would be saying exactly the same thing).
The house is full of dog hair. Every flat surface is covered in piles of maddeningly random objects. The taxes are due. The laundry pile has stamina. The fridge is full of leftovers that need to be magically transformed into suppers-everyone-will-agree-to-eat. And I kind of feel like for sanity’s sake I need another uke night with friends, or a morning coffee get-together, or to invite friends over for dinner, but I can’t figure out how to host fun stuff when the house is full of dog hair and every flat surface is covered in piles of maddeningly random objects. You know?
so I get up and go, despite the snow
Monday, Apr 14, 2014 | Exercise, Kids, Parenting, Readings |
mother bird
I need some “home again” pictures, but forgot to bring a camera to any of this weekend’s events. I’m forgetting a lot, just now. I am kinda zonked. I packed my days as full as I could while in London, and arrived home to the reality that these days are also packed, and that’s not humble-bragging. That’s it-won’t-stop-and-I-can’t-get-off-starey-eyed-exhaustion talking.
Yesterday, I was up at 6AM to take the soccer child to her last indoor game of the season. In Mississauga. I think all the parents were in high-five mode — we made it through all those Sunday morning winter drives! After the game, the child and I continued on to London (not that London), where she had a long-course practice in a 50 metre pool, and I sat for two and a half hours and worked, with a small interlude for a nap when I simply couldn’t keep my eyes open. Eleven hours after rising, we were home again. I felt like the walking dead, but the kid was feeling manic. She wanted to go for a run. So after a supper of baked potatoes served with a ridiculously ample selection of toppings (thanks, Kevin!) we put on our running shoes and ran to the park, enjoying the light and the warmth. But the quick 5-kilometre run she’d envisioned was hampered by a) a nagging hamstring issue (me) b) too many baked potatoes (both of us) and c) the beginnings of an asthma attack (she’d forgotten her puffer). So we walked, then jogged, then ran, then walked, then jogged, then ran. And then she still couldn’t sleep, and stayed up later than me, reading Harry Potter. (I am now officially at the stage where my children stay up later than me sometimes; also, when shoe shopping on Saturday we discovered that her feet are a full size larger than mine.)
I worry about this kid. She does so much. And she doesn’t have much time for fun. Yesterday, she dragged along a huge organic chemistry textbook in order to work on her upcoming science project, and as she sat on the turf holding the book she didn’t seem embarrassed by her soccer teammates’ “why are you reading that??!” questions.
Because I spent so much time with the one kid, I was missing the others. Before supper, I had time to supervise practice for our resident reticent pianist by literally plying her with candy. Great parenting. And on Saturday evening we did hair cuts and hair brushing for all. It took hours!
I’m trying to return to routine, finding it more challenging than anticipated. I wasn’t expecting to still be so tired. I will need a shot of caffeine to fire me through this evening’s reading. Please come! It’s at the Starlight in Waterloo, doors open at 7:30, readings at 8. I’ve got a poster around here somewhere. But I forget where. Here’s a link to the Facebook event page.
I’ll be reading from The M Word. The title of my essay is “How to Fall.” This could be my motto, today, and on most days, as I attempt to balance atop a shifting pile of responsibilities and desires, arms out wide, knowing I’ll fall, and trying to do so with grace and humour, at the very least.
Thursday, Feb 27, 2014 | Kids, Readings |
Can an evening be both packed and relaxed?
After piano lessons yesterday, Kevin and I tag-teamed supper prep: chicken fajitas with leftover refried beans and accoutrements from Taco Farm (radish salsa, pickled jalepenos, cabbage crudito). We were all home to eat together.
I left Kevin with the cleanup, and the girls and I headed off to AppleApple’s open house, where the students had set up displays on their arts projects. (They do a project on social studies in the fall, arts in the winter, and a science project in the spring.) Among the topics were cake-decorating (with slices on offer), magic, opera singing (the student composed and performed her own aria), and radio drama. AppleApple’s scrapbook on Land Art was well-written, beautifully illustrated, and seemed to be well-received; I observed two dads reading her text and commenting on the fascinating strangeness of Andy Goldsworthy’s art. It struck a chord.
After some cake, Fooey and I left AppleApple to mingle with her friends, and we headed off to gymnastics, picking up a carpooling friend on the way. In the quiet car, on the way back to the open house, I caught part of a well-produced profile of Buffy Sainte-Marie. Almost the first thing I heard her say was (and I paraphrase): “I’ve travelled all over, and the lies are always different, but the truth stays the same.” She was saying that the universal truths that resonate between cultures and times don’t change; it’s the lies that are shifty. So speak your truth, people. That’s what I took, anyway. She also reflected on her parentage, saying she was sure she wasn’t pure Cree, but had some European blood in her, somewhere along the line. She put it like this: “It was either an act of war or an act of love.” I was struck by the stark clarity of that dichotomy of possibilities.
I picked up AppleApple and we headed over to the university, hoping to arrive in time to hear Lisa Moore read. It was really cold last night. We got to St. Jerome’s and discovered in the frigid blowing wind that we’d need $4 in change to park in the lot. I had $1.75. “I can’t believe we’ve made it this far, and we might not get to go!” Luckily we discovered meter parking nearby, and purchased an hour, spending every last nickel we could find in our pockets and in the car. After a quick detour to the library to drop off books (some of them on Andy Goldsworthy, in fact), we settled into chairs: just in time.
“Is this what university classrooms look like?” AppleApple wondered. “How do students fit their notebooks onto the tiny desks?”
Lisa Moore, before her reading
I worried a little bit throughout the reading that it might be too intense and at times too imagaic and densely poetical for my 11-year-old, but she listened raptly and clapped with enormous enthusiasm at the end. We were fascinated by Lisa Moore’s answers to questions about her process: she described setting herself a problem when writing her novels, usually of form or structure, that she worked to solve, such as telling the story entirely in flashbacks, or telling the story entirely in a forward-moving trajectory, or telling the story from a cacophony of viewpoints (all different problems for her different novels, obviously). She also talked about being part of a writer’s group, and how important feedback is to her process: she described button-holing family, friends, strangers off the street to read and comment on her work-in-progress. I shuddered to imagine it. My own process is so intensely private. No one reads my first drafts, a) because they’re terrible, and b) because I fear that critique at that early stage could kill or muddle my long-term vision for the project.
Discussing this on the way home, AppleApple wondered if I was insecure about my writing in the early stages, or maybe too much of a perfectionist. Either theory might be true. But I guess what works for one writer doesn’t necessarily work for another. I am a meticulous and hyper-critical editor of my own writing. It isn’t that I don’t want critique, but I don’t want it until I know the project is ready for it.
Here was AppleApple’s take on Lisa Moore’s reading: “She had such a good presence. She was very confident and calm, kind of laid-back but also serious. It’s so different hearing someone read their writing than reading a book.”
“Would you like to do that when you grow up?” I asked AppleApple, who certainly has a facility with language.
“Um … I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m going to be doing that again, very soon,” I said. And I realized I’d spent the reading taking mental note of the very things that AppleApple had observed: Lisa Moore’s calm and welcoming presence, her intensity mixed with humour and lightness, her frank and open manner. I was recalling how much effort and discipline and practice it takes to make a presentation like that flow so naturally — how much energy it takes to be the person at the front of the room; a fully present and true version of yourself. And I was reminded that readings can be quite wonderful events to attend. I’m glad we found that parking meter.
Tuesday, Nov 5, 2013 | Exercise, Kids, Mothering, Readings, Spirit, Work, Writing |
It’s only Tuesday, right? I’m apprehensive about my responsibilities this week. The layers of planning material in my head keep shifting, and I’m terrified of what might be falling to the bottom. It’s dark down there. Things might biodegrade without me even noticing.
I fall asleep to syllabus material, and wake considering supper plans versus ingredients on hand. A small but persistent section of my brain is wholly devoted to identifying time slots in which I can fit in a run. I’m visiting a book club this week, there are teacher interviews to arrange for each child, and I’m in charge of facilitating a panel discussion at the Wild Writers Festival on Saturday, at which I’d like very much to appear a) prepared, b) composed, and c) sane. (If I could actually be all of these things, that would be even better.) The clock is ticking on resolving a gymnastics decision, swim girl has a big meet in Brantford all weekend, and we need to plan a birthday party for next weekend. What else? Oh, the asthma puffer ran out this morning. Our tub tap is leaking rather frantically. Our stove needs repair.
I wrote a piece for Open Book Ontario, which they’ve posted today. I’ll admit it reads rather manically. It’s on my writing habits, and the peacefulness of my office. This office is my calm centre. I’ve started doing yoga in here some mornings, with kundalini music playing, and it’s pure bliss.
Much of my happiness comes from motion. I see my eight-year-old spin on a bar, hold herself upside-down, toes pointed, strong and glowing. I see the game unfolding on the field, the risks being taken. I see my eldest and me racing up and down grocery aisles late at night, revelling in the hunt for bargains, laughing at our impulses and follies: for me, corn flakes; for him, anything new and available for a limited time only, such as the soda that purports to taste like chocolate.
But I’m tired. I’m tired, and I know, too, that much of my happiness comes from points of connection, from stillness within the motion. Holding CJ’s hand on the walk home from the school bus. Washing his hair in the pool showers. Conversations as we drive somewhere together, me and a kid, or two, or three. I’m always looking for what I can share with each child, and that keeps changing. I remember when I gave the kids a bath every night before bed, and they remember how I pretended to be a giant making kid soup. Now we’re splintered and running, and I’m looking for those moments to stretch out my hand and grab on to theirs, figuratively if not literally, as we whirl in our separate circles.
The days look impossible if I try to hold them all at once.
So maybe, really, I shouldn’t try. I won’t try. If there’s any secret to this time, it’s that. Do what you’re doing, be where you are. Make your lists, prepare, yes, but know what you’re waiting for, and recognize it when it arrives, no matter how small it seems. It’s none of it small. You know what I mean.
