My Christmas Wish

Many things have changed over the past year. Yet my Christmas wish is the same and, in light of world events, remains pertinent. Please click the link below to revisit my post. May the generosity that abounds during the holiday season infuse and sustain us all throughout the year ahead. Merry Christmas!

My Christmas Wish

A Few of My Favourite Things

During this season of love and joy, I thought I'd contribute a little to commercialism and share a few of my favourite things...for those looking for last-minute gift ideas.




A wonderful new Christmas CD to get you in that festive mood.

Or, how about tickets to see a favourite artist? Yep, that's Jann Arden again. Can you tell I just love her? DH surprised me with tickets to go see her in concert this March. He didn't get them because it's Christmas but because she is actually coming to the island, performing 12 minutes away from us and she is so stinkin' good. We've both wanted to see her perform live. I will now be able to put the final check on my Canadian fab three list, since I've seen Diana Krall and Holly Cole.

 I saw this yummy group of guys on Tout le monde en parle. Their voices are even more delicious. Okay, there are some spectacular female voices on it too. Treat yourself. Mikie and Bobbie, I'm looking at you. 

How about a gift certificate to your favourite restaurant? If it has a view like one of our favourite haunts, and sea lions to boot, all the better.

 

A book. Or two. Or three. I bought this one to feed my Outlander addiction. And then I bought another twenty or so to feed more of my addictions...Susanna Kearsley, Genevieve Graham, C.C. Humphries, Terry Fallis, Elizabeth Hoyt, Anna Campbell... J



Consumables. You cannot go wrong, particularly with sparkling wines. This is the absolute best from our local winery Unsworth...also one of our favourite restaurants. You might not all be so lucky as to get your hands on a bottle of bubbly from them...and I'm sorry for that. I'm sure you'll manage to find something comparable...maybe.

I know you want one, but you can't have either of these. If you already have one, snuggle the stuffing out of the wee beastie and tell her/him how much you appreciate the joy and love brought to each day, just by their very existence. They are far too fleeting in our lives, my friends, but their purity of spirit and the memories of faithful companionship last forever.

 

Merry Christmas!

 

Brigadoon

Rain-drizzled windows, swaying trees and awnings creaking in the gusts that sweep across the land—I am in heaven. I arrived here in July and plan on staying here until I am in, well, heaven? The vista is magnificent and the feelings it stirs as the forces of nature wash the canvas anew are indescribable. I yearn, I long and, yet, I am fulfilled.

I was blessed with an amazing school in my last years as an educator. I called it Brigadoon, for surely it rose from the mist just for me each morning; nothing that wonderful could exist in this world, could it?

Well, it seems that I lead a blessed life. I have exchanged one Brigadoon for another. And, if you look at the pictures, you can see not only how spectacular my backyard view is, but can also appreciate how the mists create such a rich image of the impossible, the magical. Of course, if you are not into musicals, you won't even know what I'm talking about…and that's okay too. J Just enjoy the photos. I certainly do. Each and every day, framed by a window while I write.

It is my muse and my escape. It is my home.

Today's rain-swept landscape.

Brigadoon

From Brigadoon to our back view in one hour.

My good luck writing charms...'cause I know some of you look for
 their pictures and because they really are. Each day, as I write, they sit
 beside me and support me, while enjoying the view too.

Writing counts.—Allyson Dickey

November was a busy month for me as a writer. For the first time in a few years I committed to NaNo...sorta. For the uninitiated, NaNo is the short-form term used by writers in reference to National Novel Writing Month. Writers commit to getting 50,000 words down in 30 days. Now, I must confess that I did not officially sign up this year. I love the inspiration but, realistically, I felt I could only produce 30,000 words. So, in my writers' forum, we set an accountability corner where we each established what we felt was our own achievable goal. I set mine:

Goal: 30,000
Goal: 40,000
Goal: 50,000

Nano was freeing. Through the discipline of its daily routine, I have once again found my writing mojo. I didn't make it to 50,000. I made it to 48,437 three days before the end of the month. And, I stopped—not remotely disappointed. I finished because I'd come to the end of my story. Lizzy murmured in my ear every day, and I furiously scribbled down her story. But she was done. I was done. We were both spent.

It is on the low side for a young adult novel count but I am fine with that. I will not need to cut my darlings but embellish them, enhance them, colour around their outlines until their scenes glow. I have left many a […] in the story, indicating that I need to go back and fill in detail, to paint with richer tones than I was able as I chased the plot. For that is what I did in November. I ran, I fumbled, I grabbed it in my hands and slam dunked it. The story.

 

I chose to write this young adult story, not only because it was unencumbered by research, but because Lizzy would not let me be. She wanted to be heard. I listened. I cried. I wrote her from the heart.

This month will be spent on revision—sorting the wheat from the chaff and seeing just how close I am to actually having a finished novel. That's the practical side of this thing we call writing. But, I know what really happened November 2015. The voice that whispered is a compilation of too many I heard in my years of education and, for once, I had the power to make a difference.

 

The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live. —Flora Whittemore

Like many people, I follow a number of forums and blogs as well as Twitter feeds. They are often entertaining and I usually learn some things along the way. In the last few weeks I have been following discourse on some American hot-button issues: gun control, profiling and emergency immigration. I am both enthralled and appalled by the conversations. I equate it to passing the scene of a car accident—you know you shouldn't gawk, but you can't look away.

Politics can be polarizing and it has never been more evident to me than it has been in these online threads. Some folks, when they cannot convince others to concur with their opinions, have resorted to petty statements and personal jabs that fall just shy of getting the boot from moderators. These are folks who are well-spoken, well-rounded and, no doubt, good people. Most of them are Americans banging heads with one another. Now, that's gotta hurt.

As I watch American political candidates grandstanding, listen to the horrific news of mass shootings and police brutality, and then see how it trickles down and plays out on such a personal level in these online venues, I can't help but reflect upon my own country and my own beliefs. And, for the record, I am not looking to present a case or woo the masses. I am merely sharing my thoughts. Feel free to walk away at any time. It's easy. There's a little x in the top corner that works magic at making things disappear. With that out of the way, let me share my immediate thought: I am so fortunate be a Canadian.

Make no mistake, I am not claiming I live in a perfect country. Since it is run, and populated, by humans, I doubt I'll ever be able to make that extraordinary declaration. We too have problems, not the least being our inability to address head on the abuse and murder of indigenous women, our total disregard for mother nature as we continue to support things like the tar sands or grant corporations permission to dump toxic soil near life-sustaining lakes, and the existence of corruption at all levels of government—ranging from Senate scandals down to misuse of funds at the municipal level.

But, there has been a shift. It is small, but a tree grows from a seed; I am filled with hope and optimism for my country. Conversation is once again flowing between our premiers and our prime minister. I don't know if good things will come from this renewed approach, but I know for certain we cannot have cohesion or shared goals when there is no dialogue across our nation.

Much of the dissension, in the social media I follow, stems from the fear ignited by recent terrorist attacks. I acknowledge that fear, for it is substantial and it is real. One cannot un-feel it once it has dug into one's psyche. It is unfortunate that the media encourages it, nourishes it with every news story on refugees. They show images of the flood of people fleeing now, as if they will be the folks who fall over the threshold when we open our doors. This amplifies the anxiety that haunts the best of us: What if there are hidden terrorists seeking an opportunity to wreak more havoc? In truth, the folks who will arrive over the next month or so were vetted long before the terrible events in Paris and elsewhere. It is an incredibly long arduous process and there are much easier ways to get into our country to do harm—if that is someone's agenda. And those desperate souls you see in the news? If they are lucky, they will take our new immigrants' places in the camps and await their turn.

We have slowed the process a wee bit and I think that is wise. It gives Canadians a chance to digest how it is done, to thoroughly understand it so that we don't fear it, and it also allows us a little more time to prepare a warm welcome. For that is what these people need. It is what we all need. A safe place to call home.

I am proud that we are open to new people, that we feel compelled to help out to those who are in need and that we will not demand they shed their heritage at our shoreline. We are a mosaic. A beautiful colourful work of art that glows brightly from sea to sea.
 

 

 

Hooked on Stories

Last night, DH and I attended our first theatre performance since moving to the island. The venue is a wonderful space with perfectly raked seating, terrific acoustics and not a bad view in the house. Musical theatre is my first love, and I waited with great anticipation for the show to begin. It was one I'd never heard of but it drew on music from the fifties, so I knew it would be a treat. It was—just not the treat I expected.

It is billed as a musical and, by definition of a musical, it fits the bill: having pleasing harmonious qualities of music; set to or accompanied by music; of or relating to music. But, I thought I was attending the other kind of musical—a movie or play that tells a story with songs and often dancing. I found myself disappointed despite the fact that it was upbeat with lots of fun songs and terrific dancing. And, it bothered me that I felt let down...until I pinpointed why.

I'm hooked on stories. The main character, based on a real-life DJ, had a story. I caught a glimpse of it a couple of times, but I left knowing very little about him except that he was popular with teens, he met Elvis and he was inducted into the Hall of Fame. I wanted to know more: What roads did he travel down, what did he think about it all, who broke his heart, who made him whole? The teens in the show danced and sang up a storm. But, they had no story either. The hint of a connection would catch my interest but it was just schtick and was dropped as the next number came along, leaving me wanting once again. I wanted a story set to music and what I got was a musical revue.

Once I realized that, I relaxed. It was my expectations that set the stage for disappointment, not the show.  I started to watch the audience as well as the performers. I would put the average age in the theatre at 65 years plus. They laughed, they sang and they reached for each other's hands. Trisha Yearwood sings a poignant song called The Song Remembers When and I slowly realized that that was what was unfolding all around me. These songs were sparking memories, reigniting moments shared and it was a joyous, amazing thing to watch.

There were stories last night—that large auditorium was bursting with them. They were told with a look, with a touch, with a smile. I squeezed DH's hand, sat back and drank it all in. I so love a good story.

A little reading is all the therapy a person needs sometimes.—Unknown

A writer friend of mine is struggling to write a scene that hits too close to something she herself has experienced. It turns out she has never dealt with the incident; she found it too traumatizing. Yet, she is about to incorporate it in her novel. She insists that it must be there for the sake of the plot. I say, you can start a tale anywhere you want and by making it backstory, you don't need to delve as deeply. But, she holds fast to using it authentically. Why? Perhaps, it is time to work through her own anxiety. I think writers have that marvelous and unique opportunity to work personal things out through their stories.

I believe this is true for readers too. Many fictional novels mimic real life events, both on a large scale and on the miniscule level of daily human existence. They make us laugh, they make us angry, and, sometimes, they scare the bejesus out of us. More importantly, they allow us to explore hurt and sorrow, recreating moments that may have caused profound pain in our own lives—letting us weep, wrapped in the comfort and safety of their pages. It can be cathartic.

Other fiction provides delightful diversion as well. Escaping into the other worlds provided by SciFi and Fantasy allows us to leave this one. Thrillers, Mysteries and Adventures keep our adrenalin high and we become heroes for a brief time. Romance is probably the epitome of escapism. There is a reason that Romance novels are among the top-selling genres in the industry. They too can provide emotional release and all of the elements listed above, but they come with a positive caveat not given by any other genre. They guarantee a happy-ever-after.

In light of the ongoing turmoil in the world, I crave comfort. I think I'll grab a romance and curl up this afternoon. At least, for a few hours, I can be assured of a happy ending.