If you've been reading this blog in the last weeks, you might remember a post called Blog Revival, in which I wrote about my reason for coming back to blogging and my new "purpose". I wanted to share my journey to publication.
Then I became a bit vague about all of this, as things started to happen in the way that I didn't expect. I'm not sure I'm ready to blog about this in detail (and if I ever should), but I will say this: all of a sudden it looked very discouraging and almost scary. Things weren't going as well with the publisher I was working with, despite of the several months of basically going ahead with the novel, having a schedule, meetings, discussions, and so on. I spent weeks in a daze--I had to make a decision, and I couldn't force myself to do this. When I imagined myself tossing a coin, neither of the results made me happy. It was torture.
A moment of clarity came unexpectedly, with an email from my mentor. I've never felt such immediate relief, and it was as though the fog I was in was lifted, as if by magic. I decided to walk away from signing the contract with that publisher. (If you are a Canadian writer and already read the deleted blog post where I named this press, and have questions, feel free to email me. You can do so by posting a comment on this blog--they are not displayed without my approval, and if you would like for the comment to remain private, just say so in the comment. Actually, anyone who has doubts about their contracts, feel free to email me. There were wonderfully generous writers who talked to me during this time, and helped me with their advice and encouragement. I promised myself that I will pass the torch. )
The moment I emailed the publisher with my decision things started to happen with an astonishing speed. Good things. Really great things. For now I will only say that my novel is not going to be published in April of 2011. There's no guarantee that it will be published at all, but as an author, I'm in a better position than before.
I will share more about this when the news become official.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Ekleksographia's flash fiction issue is out!
The magazine looks absolutely lovely and the flash fiction issue edited by Mary Miller has all my favorite flashers--Kuzhali Manickavel, Jeff Landon, Claudia Smith, Davin Malasarn, Kim Chinquee and a bunch of others! Check it out!
My flash Lace is there too. I'm so pleased to be in such a great company. Go read LACE and others and let me know what you think, which one is your favorite and anything else you want to say.
My flash Lace is there too. I'm so pleased to be in such a great company. Go read LACE and others and let me know what you think, which one is your favorite and anything else you want to say.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Dreams
Why can't I dream about my characters? Maybe because I want to too much? Every night, before falling asleep, I visit these two people, who for now are called Vera and Simon (or maybe Roman) in the cottage that they are renting. They are the protagonists of my WIP, The Sabbatical. I love transporting myself there and witnessing their lives. I also try experimenting with my consciousness--falling asleep while thinking about them, imagining them--in hopes of a dream.
And then I dream about my teeth falling out! A quick google suggests about a dozen of interpretations--from teeth in bad shape, to fear of biting into things, to manifestations of insecurities. Maybe it is a dream about Vera and Simon / Roman, and not about me? I like this idea. Maybe this is how I dream about them--by dreaming their dreams. Wouldn't THAT be the most amazing thing?
But honestly, I somehow doubt that.
And then I dream about my teeth falling out! A quick google suggests about a dozen of interpretations--from teeth in bad shape, to fear of biting into things, to manifestations of insecurities. Maybe it is a dream about Vera and Simon / Roman, and not about me? I like this idea. Maybe this is how I dream about them--by dreaming their dreams. Wouldn't THAT be the most amazing thing?
But honestly, I somehow doubt that.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Keep calm and have some cheese
I think I should be on twitter with this short message, but I'm here instead. Out of habit. All I really want to say is this:
Especially the carry on part. Or, on second thought, the keep calm part too. I also want to say a bunch of other things, or I wouldn't be so cryptic, but my very strict internal censor won't allow it yet.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Chosen Soldier
Our care package went to Afghanistan this week!!! We included most items from the lists provided, as well as origami cranes made by my daughter. Thank you to those friends who made a financial contribution which allowed us to send this HUGE package (my camera battery was dying, so I didn't take more pictures and you can't really see the size of the box).
If you would like to send a care package to a Canadian soldier, this volunteer programme will coordinate things for you. Packages may be shipped free of charge from some Military Depots or Recruitment Centres in your area.
You can also write to Canadian soldiers.
Sending post cards:
If you do not know the name, rank and section of the person you are sending to, please use the following address:
Any Canadian Soldier
OP ATHENA
PO Box 5058 Stn Forces
Belleville ON K8N 5W6
You can also write to Canadian soldiers.
Sending post cards:
If you do not know the name, rank and section of the person you are sending to, please use the following address:
Any Canadian Soldier
OP ATHENA
PO Box 5058 Stn Forces
Belleville ON K8N 5W6
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
What's the point?
When you start reading a novel, do you ask yourself this question? What's the point of this novel? And if you do, does it bother you, if there seemingly is no point?
When someone asks me about the point of a novel I'm reading, I get annoyed. This is not a question about plot or subject matter, or themes. It is a question about purpose. Does one need to easily articulate this point, or this illusive point can be something like a feeling? An impression? Something that words can't necessarily describe? Does there have to be a purpose, other than just being?
Today I stated reading The Understory by Pamela Erens. I read only the first two chapters, and I'm immersed in images; in the protagonist's perception of life. These chapters made me think about what it means to be mentally handicapped, and how we are all too close to... I don't know...is insanity too strong a word? Mental state is a fragile thing. Always a balance. And I'm intrigued to find more, to learn more about this character. I wish him well in this crazy world into which he is struggling to fit, like all of us struggle to fit, in different ways.
And then I get asked this question.
What's the point of the novel you are reading? And it is not that I can't explain (I just did in the paragraph above), but I feel helpless, frustrated and sad, that something beautiful has to be reduced to a "point", and that many value art exactly this way--by its purpose.
Why it is not enough that the novel makes me think, and feel, and wonder? That it allows me to walk down a China Town street and smell the air? If a novel is to "elevate" or "educate", does it have to be in a certain, easily digestible manner? If a novel is to make one a better person, does this mean the novel's protagonists have to be already those "better" people that we aspire to be?
Ah, I'm ranting. I resent the idea that everything has to have an easily digestible, or like some prefer an already digested, purpose.
Thoughts on this? Am I alone in my thinking? I can't be, right?
When someone asks me about the point of a novel I'm reading, I get annoyed. This is not a question about plot or subject matter, or themes. It is a question about purpose. Does one need to easily articulate this point, or this illusive point can be something like a feeling? An impression? Something that words can't necessarily describe? Does there have to be a purpose, other than just being?
Today I stated reading The Understory by Pamela Erens. I read only the first two chapters, and I'm immersed in images; in the protagonist's perception of life. These chapters made me think about what it means to be mentally handicapped, and how we are all too close to... I don't know...is insanity too strong a word? Mental state is a fragile thing. Always a balance. And I'm intrigued to find more, to learn more about this character. I wish him well in this crazy world into which he is struggling to fit, like all of us struggle to fit, in different ways.
And then I get asked this question.
What's the point of the novel you are reading? And it is not that I can't explain (I just did in the paragraph above), but I feel helpless, frustrated and sad, that something beautiful has to be reduced to a "point", and that many value art exactly this way--by its purpose.
Why it is not enough that the novel makes me think, and feel, and wonder? That it allows me to walk down a China Town street and smell the air? If a novel is to "elevate" or "educate", does it have to be in a certain, easily digestible manner? If a novel is to make one a better person, does this mean the novel's protagonists have to be already those "better" people that we aspire to be?
Ah, I'm ranting. I resent the idea that everything has to have an easily digestible, or like some prefer an already digested, purpose.
Thoughts on this? Am I alone in my thinking? I can't be, right?
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Are these the most confusing song lyrics ever?
A Soviet born Regina Spektor, in her Apres Moi song, sings a couple of lines from the Boris Pasternak's poem Black Spring (I wrote about it yesterday). I liked the song, but kept hearing "I'm from Wisconsin" in the first stanza, and I knew she wasn't, so I googled for the lyrics. They are infiinitely better than the lyrics of the song the kids like to listen to in the car.We got that CD on a yard sale and I keep forgetting to remove it from the van. There's a song on it, with one single line, repeated over and over again. And even though I'm pretty certain the singer sings something like I gotta feel, all we hear is I gotta pee. Not a good song on long drives, let me tell you. And how can one sing a song with a single line repeated for 3 minutes?
Compared to the peeing song, Apres Mois seems to be deep, dramatic, and almost spiritual. After all, there are lines from a Pasternak's poem in it. Yet I can't figure out why the lines are there, and what the song is about, after all. If anyone can explain this to me, I'd be most happy, because I do like the song.
The lyrics, with my comments, below:
I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice
(She must go on standing, but it is not her choice???)
Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi, le deluge, after me comes the flood
(So this is something to inspire me to live my life this way, or am I missing the point?)
Fevrale dostat chernil i plakat
Pisat O Fevrale navsnryd
Poka grohochushaya slyakot
Vesnoyu charnoyu gorit
(I can't figure out how this stanza fits at all, other than youtube commenters declared it sexy, because it is Russian. In Russian this means: Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping, Of February, in sobs and ink,
Write poems, while the slush in thunder, Is burning in the black of spring. Can someone explain this to me?)
Meanwhile, I listened to this song about one hundered times by now, and it is seriously growing on me. She is not from Wisconsin, nope, she isn't.
Compared to the peeing song, Apres Mois seems to be deep, dramatic, and almost spiritual. After all, there are lines from a Pasternak's poem in it. Yet I can't figure out why the lines are there, and what the song is about, after all. If anyone can explain this to me, I'd be most happy, because I do like the song.
The lyrics, with my comments, below:
I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice
(She must go on standing, but it is not her choice???)
Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood
Après moi, le deluge, after me comes the flood
(So this is something to inspire me to live my life this way, or am I missing the point?)
Fevrale dostat chernil i plakat
Pisat O Fevrale navsnryd
Poka grohochushaya slyakot
Vesnoyu charnoyu gorit
(I can't figure out how this stanza fits at all, other than youtube commenters declared it sexy, because it is Russian. In Russian this means: Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping, Of February, in sobs and ink,
Write poems, while the slush in thunder, Is burning in the black of spring. Can someone explain this to me?)
Meanwhile, I listened to this song about one hundered times by now, and it is seriously growing on me. She is not from Wisconsin, nope, she isn't.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Black spring! Pick up your pen...
It is almost spring, and I feel spring energy. In the 90km/h wind and the roar of the trees around our house last night. In the damp and heavy, but already warm air. I don't feel like hibernating anymore. I am more positive and more motivated. New chapters to write, new books to read (I just got one in the mail that I can't wait to start), new paths (literal, in the nearby park, and metaphorical) to explore.
As I wrote the first paragraph, one of my favorite poems by Boris Pasternak came to mind. This is an excellent transation. I got it here: http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/30397-Boris-Pasternak-Black-spring--Pick-up-your-pen--and-weeping---. Enjoy.
Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping,
Of February, in sobs and ink,
Write poems, while the slush in thunder
Is burning in the black of spring.
Through clanking wheels, through church bells ringing
A hired cab will take you where
The town has ended, where the showers
Are louder still than ink and tears.
Where rooks, like charred pears, from the branches
In thousands break away, and sweep
Into the melting snow, instilling
Dry sadness into eyes that weep.
Beneath--the earth is black in puddles,
The wind with croaking screeches throbs,
And--the more randomly, the surer
Poems are forming out of sobs.
And in Russian:
Февраль.
Достать чернил и плакать!
Писать о феврале навзрыд,
Пока грохочущая слякоть
Весною черною горит.
Достать пролетку. За шесть гривен,
Чрез благовест, чрез клик колес,
Перенестись туда, где ливень
Еще шумней чернил и слез.
Где, как обугленные груши,
С деревьев тысячи грачей
Сорвутся в лужи и обрушат
Сухую грусть на дно очей.
Под ней проталины чернеют,
И ветер криками изрыт,
И чем случайней, тем вернее
Слагаются стихи навзрыд.
As I wrote the first paragraph, one of my favorite poems by Boris Pasternak came to mind. This is an excellent transation. I got it here: http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/30397-Boris-Pasternak-Black-spring--Pick-up-your-pen--and-weeping---. Enjoy.
Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping,
Of February, in sobs and ink,
Write poems, while the slush in thunder
Is burning in the black of spring.
Through clanking wheels, through church bells ringing
A hired cab will take you where
The town has ended, where the showers
Are louder still than ink and tears.
Where rooks, like charred pears, from the branches
In thousands break away, and sweep
Into the melting snow, instilling
Dry sadness into eyes that weep.
Beneath--the earth is black in puddles,
The wind with croaking screeches throbs,
And--the more randomly, the surer
Poems are forming out of sobs.
And in Russian:
Февраль.
Достать чернил и плакать!
Писать о феврале навзрыд,
Пока грохочущая слякоть
Весною черною горит.
Достать пролетку. За шесть гривен,
Чрез благовест, чрез клик колес,
Перенестись туда, где ливень
Еще шумней чернил и слез.
Где, как обугленные груши,
С деревьев тысячи грачей
Сорвутся в лужи и обрушат
Сухую грусть на дно очей.
Под ней проталины чернеют,
И ветер криками изрыт,
И чем случайней, тем вернее
Слагаются стихи навзрыд.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
POV thoughts
The WIP, the novel currently titled The Sabbatical, seems to be asking for at least two alternating point of views. I feel having two narrators will give the novel more depth--almost like adding several new dimensions with one additional POV. It will be much more fun to write, that's for sure. However, as a reader, I strongly prefer novels with a single point of view. Whenever I encounter a second POV in a novel, I tend to stop, or at least pause. I hate switching between characters. At best, I'd be putting such a novel aside for a couple of days. At best, I'd be flipping through the pages, searching for the original POV, and reading ahead one character's story only, then going back for the second character.
However, I love novels in stories, and enjoy various POVs in them. How can that be? I've tried to figure out what's the difference. A novel in stories, offers, by design, a somewhat disjointed world view--I love this. The more gaps I need to fill in, the better. A new POV is almost an independent entity. It is a photo album of snapshots. In a more traditional novel, I wonder if adding a POV is a bit like cheating. It is a portrait, in one big frame, but there are other people competing for my attention, and one of them is necessarily more in focus than the others.
Now back to my novel. I think I'm going to stick to a single POV. I find this more challenging, and therefore, it is a different kind of fun. I wonder if I can achieve the dimensionality I crave with a single POV. If not, I can add a POV later.
I am wondering whether I'm the only one who is not so keen on multiple POVs while reading, and more excited about them while writing? Please share!
However, I love novels in stories, and enjoy various POVs in them. How can that be? I've tried to figure out what's the difference. A novel in stories, offers, by design, a somewhat disjointed world view--I love this. The more gaps I need to fill in, the better. A new POV is almost an independent entity. It is a photo album of snapshots. In a more traditional novel, I wonder if adding a POV is a bit like cheating. It is a portrait, in one big frame, but there are other people competing for my attention, and one of them is necessarily more in focus than the others.
Now back to my novel. I think I'm going to stick to a single POV. I find this more challenging, and therefore, it is a different kind of fun. I wonder if I can achieve the dimensionality I crave with a single POV. If not, I can add a POV later.
I am wondering whether I'm the only one who is not so keen on multiple POVs while reading, and more excited about them while writing? Please share!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Three little things plus one
I was scrolling through forums on absolutewrite.com and instead of "Ask the Agent" I read "Ask the Therapist." Maybe the Universe is throwing a hint.
My new washing machine informs me of the end of the cycle with a nice melody, instead of a simple boring beep. This is rather delightful.
The phone company screwed up, and we won't have the phone connected for another week. I'm enjoying it.
MS Word keeps highlighting in red "I'm enjoying it," and I'm too sleepy to figure out if there's anything wrong or Word is messing with my mind. We are back to square one: maybe I need a therapist.
My new washing machine informs me of the end of the cycle with a nice melody, instead of a simple boring beep. This is rather delightful.
The phone company screwed up, and we won't have the phone connected for another week. I'm enjoying it.
MS Word keeps highlighting in red "I'm enjoying it," and I'm too sleepy to figure out if there's anything wrong or Word is messing with my mind. We are back to square one: maybe I need a therapist.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I sent spam
So something happened and a virus got into my email account and spammed my friends with a link to Viagra. Pretty embarrassing, huh? Especially as some of my friends turned out to be so convinced in my infallibility, good nature, and absent mindedness, that they opened an email from me with no subject line and no content, other than the link, and actually opened the link (Pssssssst! Never do this again!). And then I got emails asking me why on earth I would send them a link to Viagra. Oy.
When I tried to email all of my contacts with an apology, and spent 5 minutes clicking on the contacts in my address book (yahoo wouldn't let me select them all), I got a notification from yahoo that I was trying to spam my friends, and that I needed to go into time out for that. I wasn't allowed to email anyone for 2 hours. Nice.
Then I emailed a big sorry to everyone in batches. Only to have friends tell me they never got any spam from me (other than the apology spam, that is.)
If you receive an email from me with no subject line and no content--well, that's not me! I'm all for the subject lines. I even think too much about them. I noticed that if I receive an email with a "hi" in the subject line from an unfamiliar name, I tend to delete it without opening (yeah, I suspect spam / virus). So I tend to have subject lines like "Hi, this is Ania, and we met in the store last week" or something like that.
So my apologies to those who opened "my" spam email. And my apologies to those who haven't received the spam email and now claim I have an exclusive spam list, and they are not on it. When I decide to spam you with my novel publication date, you will all be on my spam list. And I will have an elaborate subject line and lots of text inside, and some links too.
When I tried to email all of my contacts with an apology, and spent 5 minutes clicking on the contacts in my address book (yahoo wouldn't let me select them all), I got a notification from yahoo that I was trying to spam my friends, and that I needed to go into time out for that. I wasn't allowed to email anyone for 2 hours. Nice.
Then I emailed a big sorry to everyone in batches. Only to have friends tell me they never got any spam from me (other than the apology spam, that is.)
If you receive an email from me with no subject line and no content--well, that's not me! I'm all for the subject lines. I even think too much about them. I noticed that if I receive an email with a "hi" in the subject line from an unfamiliar name, I tend to delete it without opening (yeah, I suspect spam / virus). So I tend to have subject lines like "Hi, this is Ania, and we met in the store last week" or something like that.
So my apologies to those who opened "my" spam email. And my apologies to those who haven't received the spam email and now claim I have an exclusive spam list, and they are not on it. When I decide to spam you with my novel publication date, you will all be on my spam list. And I will have an elaborate subject line and lots of text inside, and some links too.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Cold and Hot
Staying under the blankets was so delicious, it took some willpower to drag myself out. I had a little dialogue with myself going, and I don't know how the responsible part of me managed to convince the sleepy part of me so early in the morning. The house is poorly insulated and gobbles up quite a lot of heating oil, so we are trying to keep it cool. I'm not a big fan of cool. I'm dressed in three layers now, but I'm sure most people would be comfy just in a long sleeved shirt, or maybe a thin sweater. Yesterday the blankets won. Today I was quite stern with them and kicked them off. 1000 words--ta DA--done!
After completing my morning chunk of writing, I'm procrastinating. I need to start re-reading (I'm dreading this part) Swearing in Russian, as I need to make some factual changes and who knows what other changes to the novel before I hand it over to my editor.
Instead, I find myself thinking about this: Scientists have created the hottest temperature ever in the lab -- 4 trillion degrees Celsius -- hot enough to break matter down into the kind of soup that existed microseconds after the birth of the universe.
After completing my morning chunk of writing, I'm procrastinating. I need to start re-reading (I'm dreading this part) Swearing in Russian, as I need to make some factual changes and who knows what other changes to the novel before I hand it over to my editor.
Instead, I find myself thinking about this: Scientists have created the hottest temperature ever in the lab -- 4 trillion degrees Celsius -- hot enough to break matter down into the kind of soup that existed microseconds after the birth of the universe.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
The year of the tiger!
Rrrrrrrrrr! Today we suddenly recalled that in Toronto, Chinese restaurants 'Mandarin' usually had fabulous feasts on Chinese New Years, and decided to go and celebrate (we are always eager for a celebration and good food!) in the local Dragon King Buffet. There was not a single mention of the New Year. There was a small sign about Valentine's Day. The restaurant was half empty. The good thing was that for the month of February children eat free, so it was like my husband and I were no a date sans kiddos (financially speaking). The food was okay, but definitely not a celebration, and definitely, no comparison to 'Mandarin'. Though of course superbly cheap.
The new house makes me inspired to tidy up in the evenings, so that I can have peaceful solo mornings while the kids are still asleep. I'm looking forward to writing tomorrow, sitting by the fireplace that we will fix next year. But sometimes imagination is just enough. My coffee will be real and fresh. And I should be only moderately sleepy.
The new house makes me inspired to tidy up in the evenings, so that I can have peaceful solo mornings while the kids are still asleep. I'm looking forward to writing tomorrow, sitting by the fireplace that we will fix next year. But sometimes imagination is just enough. My coffee will be real and fresh. And I should be only moderately sleepy.
Friday, February 12, 2010
The Sabbatical--my new WIP
I've been thinking about this (new) novel for over a year. I had the setting, the characters, the opening, the ending, and a vague idea of the middle. I remember the dinner I had with my friend C. in Iqaluit at the Frob, just over a year ago. I told her about the plot, and we brainstormed a little. She's a writer too, so she understands. I remember being stuck on my protagonist's intentions--why would she do this? I wasn't sure. Then for the entire year I thought about writing it, but something held me back. Meanwhile I revised Swearing in Russian for yet another time, moved to Halifax, bought a new house and moved there, and didn't feel like writing. I convinced myself that thinking about writing was actually good enough. And actually, it was! I came back to the novel (tentative title is The Sabbatical) and the outline came out of me. This is pretty new, as I usually struggle with outlines and do better without them. But after working with Victoria, I started to internalize some of her principles of tension building and pacing. And this is how the outline just happened, with this basic idea that one conflict leads to another and yet to another. I don't have a very thorough outline, I don't think I will enjoy that, but I have a functional outline that helps me to navigate to the ending, with some basic ideas of how relationships between my characters develop.
This morning I woke up 2 hours before the first kid woke up (3 hours before the second, 4 hours before my night owl who will go to bed after midnight)...This is all courtesy of the City of Halifax, who needed to dig up our water pipe this morning, so that the plumber could replace the shut off valve, so that he could hook up my washing machine. Did I tell you we just moved into an OLD house? Yeah, most things don't work. Yet, I love being here.
I wrote about 900 words. What a pleasure to be finally writing it! I feel like I'm weaving with words. It is the joy and the energy of a first draft--rough weaving, no worries, just the process. But I can see the characters are already much more defined that in my previous opening chapters. (I had written about 15000 words of it already, but I'm writing from scratch now, and might use the previous work in later revisions, or I might not. The focus is somewhat different--there's much less of the supernatural in this version. I simply don't want to have a ghost in every novel!)
Lessons learned: thinking about a novel, even for more than a year, is a good thing; outlining can be learned (but I think it comes easier to some than to others); writing is a true pleasure; quiet mornings are an inspiration.
This morning I woke up 2 hours before the first kid woke up (3 hours before the second, 4 hours before my night owl who will go to bed after midnight)...This is all courtesy of the City of Halifax, who needed to dig up our water pipe this morning, so that the plumber could replace the shut off valve, so that he could hook up my washing machine. Did I tell you we just moved into an OLD house? Yeah, most things don't work. Yet, I love being here.
I wrote about 900 words. What a pleasure to be finally writing it! I feel like I'm weaving with words. It is the joy and the energy of a first draft--rough weaving, no worries, just the process. But I can see the characters are already much more defined that in my previous opening chapters. (I had written about 15000 words of it already, but I'm writing from scratch now, and might use the previous work in later revisions, or I might not. The focus is somewhat different--there's much less of the supernatural in this version. I simply don't want to have a ghost in every novel!)
Lessons learned: thinking about a novel, even for more than a year, is a good thing; outlining can be learned (but I think it comes easier to some than to others); writing is a true pleasure; quiet mornings are an inspiration.
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