i haven't had any time to write in the last weeks, and i blame it on my novel. when i mostly wrote flash, i always wrote flash, and i had the time. now i feel i need uninterrupted chunks of time. and i never have them. i thought i had one now, but i am too sleepy, and all i managed to do was to read my previous chapter, write a couple of sentences, and a short summary of the chapter that i was planning to finish today. it is better than nothing, but it is not enough, and i get antsy that i am not writing.

the binnacle micro fiction contest deadline is approaching, so maybe i should focus on something that is 150 words long. this feels more manageable, and i love the challenge. i was short listed last year, and the rumour goes that you get your copy of the deck of cards with the flashes on them only after you submit again. this is a joke, don't quote me on this.

my mentor from the humber school of writing correspondence course had mailed me my comments. they are not here yet. he thought i'd have them wednesday. nunavut is apparently not canada. oh, in so many ways too.

okay, i am going go force myself to write 500 words for my chapter. i can do it. i don't care if it will be crap. it will be crap that i can edit later.

now.

i am going to do it now.

the novel is moving along. slowly and steadily. not too slowly, actually. i am happy with the pace. a new structure has evolved, so the fist several chapters had to be restructured.

i feel i need to be printing everything out in order to have a better view, especially of the spatial stuff, but i'm also stingy with paper. gotta get over this block.

i also want to dig in the storage room and find my voice recorder, so i can record some passages and then listen to them.

interesting thoughts come late at night, when i am falling asleep, and i repeat them several times in order not to forget, but i still forget. maybe i should force myself to get up every time this happens, and type them up. though i hope the same thoughts will return when i am working on the relevant chapters.

George Ilsley

i just read his flash in Event (volume 35, issue 2), "Basket Will Always Be Basket (Gertrude Stein , Paris, 1946)" and i am in love with it. interestingly it is presented as poetry.

i want to write to him and tell him that i am in love with his flash / prosepoem. maybe i will.

my second resolution. and it isn't even new year's eve yet. okay, here it is: if i read something that i love love love i will write an email to the author. (within limit, of course. i don't think i will ever write to margaret atwood, though she says, in her interveiws, that many write to her and she loves the feedback. but this i just can't.) i won't be embarrassed. what's the worst that can happen? nothing, really. and i'd love if someone wrote to me after reading one of my flashes. fat chance.

though while i was still reading for Vestal (i resigned as i kept having log-in problems due to me being on baffin and some server timing out on me before reaching the needed hop, whatever this means) i received a submission from someone who read healing sweetness and loved it and decided to sub to vestal because of that. or maybe he / she was sucking up. which is more likely, of course.

happy holidays to all.

i've been avoiding posting as the new blogger required me to sign in every time, and well, i don't like this. but hey, i tried today, and it remembered me. no more excuses. maybe.

i've been addicted to Miss Snark's crapometer. what fun. after reading through the hundreds of entries i realised i do have a hook myself. this is like learning a new language by immersion. who would have thought i had a hook?

my process report: i haven't been tweaking old chapters and thinking holistically about the layout -- i have these 3D images in my head of how the novel should be structured. pretty bizarre, actually. i imagine it as tapestry, but obviously it won't work in print.

i've been reading Inuit mythology, and it is said that a story is not true unless you add to it. i love it, as i am definitely adding to it.

after the crapometer the complexity of the novel got to a different level, and i am enjoying it.

i think my mind now needs some processing time, as i am eager to think and talk about the novel (i just need to find someone to talk to me about it who doesn't think it is a waste of my time and a total pile of shit), but i am not as eager to write. this tells me that my mind needs time to adjust.

i'm working on a short story which is as structurally weird as the novel, though absolutely different in content. so i will see how this works out.

i need to make a resolution though -- this time next year i will be querying agents. just watch me.

read my flash 'sunrise' in the december issue of flashquake.

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per contra just recently made it public that i am the recipient of The Evelyn Sullivan Gilbertson Award to an Emerging Artist in Literature.

borat, the movie, came to iqaluit for the usual 5 screenings. the weather was mild, balmy -12C, and only -17C with the wind chill factor. i enjoyed the walk to the frobisher inn, where the astro theatre is located.

i've heard, of course, how hilarious the movie is; how people can't stop laughing. for days after.

there were a couple of scenes where i chuckled. the rest? i was alternatively deeply saddened, horrified, or grossed out.

cohen's character, borat, through his own anti-semitic and other hatred provoking antics, exposes anti-semitism and homophobia, and some misogyny in the us. the subjects that reacted 'the best' were simple minded, working class, mostly elderly, in rural texas, as the producers had to choose areas with little cable tv exposure.

the movie is full of gross out stunts that expose nothing about 'cultural' differences, and they dilute the message that the movies struggles to achieve. borat defacating in a public area; borat trying to kiss strangers on the lips; borat and his buddy running around naked in their hotel. the reactions of bystanders, if anything, show how tolerant and polite most people are.

i was impressed by the etiquette expert who was guiding borat through a dinner party situation. her composure was spectacular.

the scenes with the prostitute were poignant, but i seriously doubt she wasn't in on it.

sacha cohen claims to have over 400 hours of tape for this 82 minutes movie. if this was his best material, i doubt most people's reactions were as 'bad' as he wanted them to be.

a laught-out-loud movie? hardly. depressing? somewhat. interestingly, out of 8 people in the theater no one even chuckled. this is not a very representative sample, of course, but still.

random updates:

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i was sick for 2 weeks in november, so i haven't finished my nano novel. but i am working on it at a slower pace, and it is coming together. in addition to writing i started researching today inuit and gypsy / roma legends and folk tales. if anyone knows of a good source, let me know.

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they can't get me the right type of olives in our food mail order! the first time they wrote that the store was out of olives. this week they sent two cans of pitted black, while i ordered kalamata, copying everything from their flyer. yes, i add 'accept substitutes', because i realised i have a much better chance of them getting me what i want if they are not mad at me. our neighbour never gets his milk right -- they want 1% and they get either skim or homo or 2% most of the time. at least we get the milk right. but i want my kalamata olives!

at least they sent me white wine vinegar this time, not plain white vinegar.

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today in the library i picked up a copy of Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye, hard cover, as they were giving it away for free. i already have a copy. i love this book. so silly of me to pick up another, but it was FREE.

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when i was sick i finished reading Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood. Oryx is Zenia's twin, if you know what i mean. good book, but not her best.

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i also finished rereading Cancer Ward by Solzhenitsyn, and this is an absolute must for every one to read. there was a handwritten note on the first page: May 1974. someone read it before i was born. someone read it when the soviet union was still a super power. someone read it the year Solzhenitsyn was deported.

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taking both kids out just for a walk at -25C feels somehow heroic. and oddly enjoyable.

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it is almost 2AM and i am absolutely awake. this freaks me out.