muy lindo

stars, eggs, editors, and other bright lights

~ carin ~ 14 Comments

Must be the way the stars are lined up. Or something. February’s darkness and promise of light? The way the snow crunched under my boots this morning? A perfectly poached egg?

Whatever it is, I’m full of the joys today.

Could be that I’ve begun serious revisions on the ms with the help of a freelance editor—whose help I should have enlisted moons ago. But one has to be ready, there’s marinating time, other things to be written and (thank god) published in the interim. Other games to play.

‘Games’ as in both politics and pure fun. The first is a given, everyone’s up to their necks in that, but the second, the play, the lightheartedness that allows for pleasure in the ‘process’—that sometimes gets overlooked, shoved aside for later. And when later never comes Jack turns into such a cranky pain in the butt.

And yes, I know, I know, the sky is falling over publishing, and true, the industry may not be perfect and the work may sometimes feel like dancing in cement and no one understands us or treats us with respect…wah wah… but jeezuz, would you really rather be doing anything else?  

Here’s what I’m saying: there’s altogether too much grumbling out there.

My ears and eyes hurt from it. I’m thirsty for positive thinking. Maybe we could look at the problems as opportunity?? A new world to embrace, even be enthusiastic about, rather than cynical and bitchy. Some very novel things happening on this front, as revealed over at Book Madam.  More of that please. Constructive action, not whinging, is what we need.

Let’s talk about what works, celebrate the good stuff—because it’s happening out there. Just maybe not to the naysayers. Or not at the moment. Or maybe it’s happening and they’re just not seeing it because they want what the other kids have. Wah.

So much is perspective and, granted, on another day in another mood, I might not be writing any of this. But today I’m feeling (annoyingly?) perky.

Truth is much of my current perky joyful positivity has to do with good news received by two writerly friends in the space of just a few months. 

No one is more surprised at how their success has added a zing to my own spirits.

The first is Steven Mayoff, whom I met at a workshop a few years ago on the beautiful shores of PEI and whose short story collection Fatted Calf Blues was not only short listed for the ReLit Award, but went on to win the PEI Book Award. The second, a former Humber classmate, Darcie Friesen Hossack, whose (also short story collection) Mennonites Don’t Dance has just been short listed for the Commonwealth Prize.

Egad. I should be knotted up with envy and bitterness, no? Both Darcie and I had work nominated for the 2009 Journey Prize, neither of us made the cut. She went on to make a book. I’m still revising. I should be asking myself: why am I still revising? But oddly, I’m euphoric rather than frustrated. Could be symptoms of a mania, but actually, I think it’s more honest to god joy that maybe the sky isn’t falling. That good things— yes they do!—still happen.

The bonus is that when they happen to really good people, it’s impossible not to be thrilled.

And revelling in the success of others, it seems, is not only good for the soul, but for the writing. An inspiration and a happy reminder that anything is always possible.

As for me, sir, I’ll take my pleasure anyplace I can…

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sunday things

~ carin ~ Leave a comment

 
Lazy morning, Jake The Cat curled up in bed beside me, washing his face and both of us listening through sunny open window to birdsong and neighbours chatting.

Peter delivering a pot of tea.

A new book to read, begins like this:

“Saturday night, midwinter. The farmhouse has been dark for hours and the crew has all gone home. We light a fire and open two bottles of our friend Brian’s homemade beer, and as I wash up the milking things Mark begins to cook for me, a farmer’s expression of intimacy…. Humming, he rummages through the fridge and comes out with a pint of rich, gelatinous chicken stock and a pomegranate, the latter a gift from my friend Amelia, who brought it up from New York City.

“…. The steak he has broiled medium rare and sliced thin across the grain and drizzled with a red wine reduction. There is a mix of leek, carrot, and kale, sautéed in butter and seasoned with juniper berries, and next to this, vibrating with colour, a tiny pile of this year’s ruby sauerkraut, made from purple cabbages. We are out of bread, but he found a little ball of pastry dough in the fridge, left over from making a pie, and he rolled it out and cut it in triangles and cooked it in a hot skillet, and voila, biscuits. But the unlikely star of the plate is the radish….The variety is called Masato Rose. Creamy white with shades of green on the outside, and bright pink on the inside, they are about the size of an apple, and, when you cut them, they look like miniature watermelons. These are a favourite appetizer served raw with a little sprinkling of salt. They look so fruitlike the biting taste is always a surprise, a disagreement between the eye and the palate. Tonight, Mark braised them in stock, which hardly dimmed their brilliant colour but mellowed out their flavour. He added a dash of maple syrup and balsamic vinegar, and at the end tossed in a handful of the tangy pomegranate seeds, the heat bursting some and leaving others whole to amuse the tongue. This is why I love my husband: given these opposites to work with, th earthiest of roots and the most exotic of fruits, he sees harmony, not discord.”

—from The Dirty Life: On Farming, Food, and Love, by Kristin Kimball (Simon & Schuster, 2010)

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happy new year from the tropics

~ carin ~ 4 Comments

—Otherwise known as southern Ontario where, yesterday, I raked leaves, chatted with my niece in the States while sitting on our patio, and wasn’t a bit cold in the backyard in my pjs at midnight listening to neighbourhood fireworks.

Today it’s foggy, tropical temps falling and snowshoes tapping their merry little aluminium toes in the hall. Though no sign of flakes.

Piles of books and magazines and a pot of green tea make the waiting more than bearable.

~

ways of spreading holiday cheer: #1

~ carin ~ 1 Comment

Find a lonely tree that needs some love.

Add baubles.

—Voila!

When I saw two very merry women giggling in their sneakers, throwing tinsel onto this tree—all rosy cheeks and grey hair (god bless femmes d’un certain age)—I just had to stop, didn’t I.  They looked a little tense as I walked over, then one says Oh, man, for a minute there we thought you were the cops. I considered pointing out that I drive a toast coloured Toyota, but they’re already back to laughing and when I ask why they’re decorating the tree, they say for fun.

Of course!

Makes sense to me.

Although popcorn or cranberry garlands are preferable to tinsel. Better for wildlife.
And don’t forget to clean up after the hols!

~

a runcible fruit

~ carin ~ Leave a comment

The quince crop this year is just enough to fill the house with bowls of fragrance (gorgeous fresh scent for weeks as they ripen); not enough to make jam. Which makes me very happy.

I’m not in a jam-making mood.

They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
    Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
    They danced by the light of the moon,
          The moon,
          The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

—from The Owl and the Pussycat, by Edward Lear

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