Carrie Snyder | Writer

Family time

Saturday, Apr 19, 2014 | Dogs, Fun, Kids, Photos | 0 Comments

(photos look best if clicked on and viewed in full)

Happy Easter, from all of us to all of you.

Art on the driveway: a rebuttal

Thursday, Apr 17, 2014 | Chores, Family, Spirit, Work, Writing | 4 Comments

After re-reading yesterday’s post, let me rebut myself, point by point.

How do you manage to travel, to run to appointments, to make presentations, and dress professionally, and be brushed and unwrinkled and fresh smelling?

You do your best. Sometimes you fake it. You nap when you can, and drink plenty of water. You remember to smile. You find a good deodorant. You carry floss. You gain a few key pieces in your wardrobe that are trustworthy. You apply makeup, if necessary. You give yourself a break.

How do you exercise and eat well and keep a sharp eye on your children’s needs, both physical and emotional?

You do your best. You don’t get down on yourself if you can’t run as fast as you used to. You go as hard as you can, in the moment. You exercise with friends. You pay attention. You listen. You show up.

How do you clean your house and yard and fold laundry and cook food from scratch, and lovingly tuck your children in at night, and read them bedtime stories?

Forget the house and yard. The dog hair matters less than you think. Do the laundry when you get a chance. Let your husband cook. Make your kids do some chores too. And then you’ll have time to read to them and tuck them into bed most nights. And when you’re not there, they can look after each other, because you’ve taught them well, so be glad about that—plus they relish the freedom of independence, so it’s good for everyone some of the time.

How do you go to the soccer practices and piano lessons and swim lessons and travel tournaments and meets?

You don’t go to them all, and that’s the long and the short of it. You represent as best you can. Sometimes you won’t be able to be there. Support them in other ways. Schedule rides, carpool, ask questions, cheer when you can. This isn’t the end of your world or theirs.

How do you teach classes and welcome students and read essays and comment and mentor and remain open and flexible and funny and never bitter?

You treat this as seasonal work. It isn’t year-round, because you’re not a full-time teacher. If you’re fortunate enough to be asked to teach, it means you’ve reached a stage in your career when you have something to offer. Remember the wonderful teachers who nurtured and inspired you. You’re getting the opportunity to give a bit of that back to others. And you learn a great deal by teaching.

Also, you don’t want to be bitter. So don’t be. Easy as that.

Journal. Run it off. Don’t say yes if you really mean no. This is your life. Don’t sleepwalk, don’t idly wish or wait for someone else to point the way. Take responsibility.

you braid your daughter’s hair

How do you host meals and go to parties and celebrate birthdays and be a good partner?

You drop some things in order to do others. You compromise. This is seasonal too, in a sense. You accept that you can’t go to everything, and so you prioritize. You spontaneously dash out to a movie on a weeknight with your husband. You decide not to play soccer this summer so you can save your head, and suddenly Sunday evenings open up.

How do you meditate and feed your spirit and do yoga and stay fit and healthy of body and of mind?

You do. Because if you don’t, you won’t be you. You get up early. You pray. You read. You practice breathing. It works.

How do you continue to make art that is worthy of being called art?

This you cannot answer. All you know is that there is mystery in making art, and it’s none of your business as the maker to judge it worthy or not worthy of being called art. What you do is this. You begin. You dream. You research. You prepare yourself in a million different ways. And when you’re ready to write, you’ll know, and you’ll make time and space for it (with help from your husband, who is the person who reminds you that you still know how to do this).

Also, you keep short-term goals present in your mind. You make lists. You check them off. It all adds up.

Art on the driveway

Wednesday, Apr 16, 2014 | Books, Chores, Friends, Fun, Girl Runner, Kids, Play, Publicity, Publishing, Work | 7 Comments

Change. When you make art on the driveway in winter, here is what happens to it over the course of several months.

I would like to speak today about the idea of being, at least in part, a public person. I wonder how others do it. How do you manage to travel, to run to appointments, to make presentations, and dress professionally, and be brushed and unwrinkled and fresh smelling? How do you exercise and eat well and keep a sharp eye on your children’s needs, both physical and emotional? How do you clean your house and yard and fold laundry and cook food from scratch, and lovingly tuck your children in at night, and read them bedtime stories? How do you go to the soccer practices and piano lessons and swim lessons and travel tournaments and meets? How do you teach classes and welcome students and read essays and comment and mentor and remain open and flexible and funny and never bitter? How do you host meals and go to parties and celebrate birthdays and be a good partner? How do you meditate and feed your spirit and do yoga and stay fit and healthy of body and of mind? How do you continue to make art that is worthy of being called art?

I know I set the bar high, and I know it’s me doing the setting of the bar. We all have our (tragic) flaws. Mine may be that I want to do it all, big and small.

I want art on the driveway. I want books in translation. I want to run fast. I want singing. I want fun. I want to braid hair and apply bandaids and hold hands and honour all the stories. I want deep still quiet reflection. I want to stir. I want to comfort. I want invention.

And I’m sitting here in my office with the dogs, slumped on my stool rather than walking on my treadmill, with eyes at half mast and emails unanswered, wondering how exactly to do all of this. Because I really don’t know.

advance reading copy, i.e. not for sale, still needs to be proofread, but looks awfully book-like

And then this arrives in the mail. Seeming to say: well, you’ve done something you wanted to do, woman. Now, enjoy it for a moment. So I sit on the radiator (because I’m cold because it’s still winter, this spring), and I read the first chapter out loud to myself (and the dogs).

mirror, mirror

How to host fun stuff when the house is full of dog hair, and other laments

Tuesday, Apr 15, 2014 | Chores, Friends, Fun, Girl Runner, Publicity, Readings, Running, Spring, Work | 8 Comments

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

Zonked

Monday, Apr 14, 2014 | Exercise, Kids, Parenting, Readings | 3 Comments

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.

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About me

My name is Carrie Snyder. I work in an elementary school library. I’m a fiction writer, reader, editor, dreamer, arts organizer, workshop leader, forever curious. Currently pursuing a certificate in conflict management and mediation. I believe words are powerful, storytelling is healing, and art is for everyone.

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