Good morning, new season

20220909_071113What a beautiful day. What a beautiful week it’s been. Each day has a slightly different rhythm, but throughout there have been conversations with friends, bike rides, walks, and several runs in the park.

How has your morning routine changed, as the new season begins?

For me, it’s meant waking up earlier, though I’m still figuring out how to get to sleep earlier to compensate. I’m prioritizing daily morning yoga. We are also walking Rose more regularly. After a close encounter with a skunk last month, Rose now has a curfew: she’s not allowed out after dark on her own. Ergo, more dog walks. Kevin and I like to end our evening with a walk around the block with Rose. We often walk together in the morning too, just around the block.

20220912_192419The first two hours of every day are devoted to exercise, yoga, and, often, connecting with friends. The house empties out by 8AM.

As this new season begins, the house feels so much quieter. Our two eldest are at university, and do not live at home. Our two youngest are now both in high school, and growing ever-more independent. So …

What am I to do? I’ve spent 21 years of my life devoted to looking after my children. Their needs are changing rapidly. In the midst of all this quiet, I’ve begun look around and consider what comes next. There is writing, of course, and there always will be. But I’d like to find a job, now, that offers stability and routine, preferably not writing-related, preferably with people. I really love being with people; I love writing solo in my little home studio, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve loved doing that all these years with a bit of cacophony in the background, a swirl of impending chaos. Maybe the disruption and interruptions have been as important to my writing process as the ear plugs.

Your thoughts, suggestions, advice, leads, encouragement would be very welcome, as I begin opening to this new direction, with some nervousness and hope.

In the meantime, on the book front, I’m keeping occupied with some readings, book clubs, and workshops. Links posted below!

xo, Carrie

Friday, Sept. 16, 7PM (tonight!) Bestival Reads with Wild Writers Literary Festival, tickets include snacks and a drink, with Emily Urquhart, Kimia Eslah, and Tanis Macdonald

Saturday, Sept. 17, 2PM (tomorrow!) The Village Bookshop, 24 Main Street North, Bayfield ON, reading and book-signing

Tuesday, Sept. 20, 6:30-8:30 WPL Eastside branch, The X Page Storytelling Workshop, with me and Anandi Carroll-Woolery, a mini-version of the workshop, open to all! Free, but you need to register at this link.

More with less

2022-09-05_01-10-14First park run this morning after spending several weeks away, resting legs and lungs: instead of feeling out of shape, out of breath, I feel strong, my stride free and easy. The rest has done my body so much good.

Rest. It’s such a gift.

Every year it’s the same. I come home and want to replicate that feeling of being away, especially being somewhere with limited access to the internet and email, isolated, quiet. Trying to pin down what feels hard about coming home — it’s the restlessness. At the cottage, I don’t feel restless. I accomplish very little, but I feel content. Here at home, it’s the opposite. I accomplish more, and yet feel anxious and unproductive. I can see the world hurrying by, and time seems like a leaking bucket; maybe I’m more likely to fall into the trap of comparison.

One of my favourite cookbooks is called “More with Less.” It’s a Mennonite cookbook from the 1970s. I’ve always appreciated that ethos: more with less.

At the cottage, away, I’m content with less. Can I carry that concept home?

What’s precious, in a life? In an hour? In a season? What matters to me? I’m the only one who can answer that question for myself. Each of us would have a different answer; and maybe our answers change at different times in our lives, at different ages.

Right now, my wish is to tread lightly on this earth, and in other people’s lives. Do as little harm as possible. Share the joy. Be generous with what I have on hand.

xo, Carrie

PS Thankful for a beautiful review of Francie in The Miramachi Reader. The reviewer summarizes the plot brilliantly without giving anything away (not an easy feat).

Woman with the owl tattoo

2022-08-26_03-35-52This is the lake into which I’ve dunked my full self every day for the past seven days. Some days it has been warm and sunny, even hot. Other days, like today, it is cool and windy, cloudy, rainy, almost cold.

Today, I went kayaking first, to warm up.

I never take my cellphone out kayaking (for obvious reasons), which means I’ve never gotten a photo of those rocks and trees visited only by water. I didn’t kayak the first few days here, because I was waiting to feel rested up and restless, and when that happened, it was bliss to be back out on the lake in the little blue kayak, wearing my baseball cap and favourite blue lifejacket.

2022-08-26_03-35-32I got a very large tattoo this summer (as well as a small one). When I catch a glimpse in the mirror, it gives me pleasure to think: this woman could be an aging rock star, or an aging artist! I still can’t give a particularly good reason for getting the very large tattoo, or even for the chosen image (an owl made of woven ribbons), other than I like it.

I like it. It makes me feel both more myself and more like a different, alternative self, living a much edgier, cooler, artistic life, that probably involves less cooking and cleaning, overall. Fewer challenging parenting decisions.

2022-08-26_03-33-32At the cottage, we mostly unplug and read. I’ve read all the August New Yorkers from cover to cover. I just finished my friend Emily Urquhart’s memoir, Beyond the Pale, which explores folklore and genetics. And I’m currently tearing through a novel called Nightbitch, by Rachel Yoder, a writer with whom I share Mennonite roots (she was raised in Ohio); the book seems to me to be an answer to the question: why is motherhood so confusing and impossible? Or, maybe it’s a theory of motherhood, or an abstract on how to respond to motherhood, including positing motherhood as intensely lived performance art. Whatever it is, it’s deeply weird, hilariously funny, and consoling. I keep reading lines out loud to anyone who will listen.

I recommend pairing Nightbitch with this New York Times opinion piece on the “mothering instinct.”

Bracing. Just like the cool lake water. Some summers I haven’t gone under the water even once. I used to swim no matter what, training and doing lengths back and forth in the deeper water, but after a near-drowning experience a few years ago, I’ve been cautious and nervous in the lake. This summer, I decided to try, at least, to walk in and go under, no matter the weather. I’m fascinated by people who’ve taken up immersing themselves in freezing cold water, hacking holes in icy lakes in the middle of winter. It seems to have become a popular thing during the pandemic. I don’t live close to a body of water that would qualify as a lake, but in truth, even if a handy icy lake existed nearby, I’m not sure I’d have the fortitude for it. My alter-ego with the owl tattoo totally would. But for now, I feel practically heroic for paddling around the shallows of this little bay on an overcast and cool day, limbs tingling and bright, and chasing it with a blissful hot shower, enjoyed outdoors under the pine trees.

2022-08-26_03-33-56Maybe this is where my owl tattoo self lives all the time. I love the sound of the lake water on the rocks at night. I love the isolation. Everything slows, here. My racing mind. Time. Longing. Experience. Expression. It feels like we could always be here, when we are here.

xo, Carrie

Sharing good news

The X Page workshop’s 2022 performance of “Voices” is now available to view online. And the stories have been published online in The New Quarterly.

This year’s workshop ran from the beginning of May through the end of July. We met in person weekly, adapting to the changing pandemic protocols during those months. Miraculously, everyone was healthy and able to be present for our final performance at the end of July. It was momentous to be together again, and to experience the warmth and support of an in-person audience. The flexibility and generosity of everyone involved in this project made it all possible.

It is hard to say goodbye — there’s an intensity to the experience, collaboration and shared energy building toward a final goal. It’s thrilling and then it’s over.

We are always looking for ways to extend the project. Last year, we launched a monthly online “writing club,” and I’m looking forward to helping host those meetings starting in September. The writing club is open to all past, present (and future!) X Page participants and team members — essentially, those interested in staying connected or getting involved are welcome.

If you’d like to learn more about the workshop, please visit the website.

xo, Carrie

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Wherever you've come from, wherever you're going, consider this space a place for reflection and pause. Thank you for stopping by. Your comments are welcome.

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About me

My name is Carrie Snyder. I'm a fiction writer, reader, editor, dreamer, arts organizer, workshop leader, forever curious. I believe words are powerful, storytelling is healing, and art is for everyone.

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