NUMBERS OR WORDS?

This one person who has been reading my blogs for awhile sent me an e-mail. “Have you ever thought of writing for a living? If not, you should.” he wrote. I replied with “XOXOXO…” all over the page, adding a footnote that he had made my day. I’d have reacted the same way if someone, in those good old days when I played the game, would have asked the same question, substituting ‘playing professional hockey’ for ‘writing’. Dreams. We all have them; few of us pursue them. We get caught up in the everyday effort of making a living.

My teachers thought I would be working in the writing industry too. Not one of them ever imagined I would end up in accounting, except maybe Mr. Papa – our science/geometry/trig professor. I can remember being ordered to meet him in the library for a serious discussion. It was during the ‘boys-boys-boys’ year. He was adamant about warning me that I was letting things go; my marks were losing ground; I had stopped paying attention; I could and should do better. Because I respected him, and was surprised that he cared (this kind of meeting really wasn’t his style), I listened. He probably had much to do with me being okay today. (Hear that, Auslander?) By the way, he was also the one who was present for our after-grad party, and endured my drunken, maudlin expressions of thanks until I went outside to up-chuck all those rum zombies I had imbued during the evening, LOL!

But back to my coveted e-mail. I have been writing all my life; diaries, letters, little stories, poems, fairy tales for my kids, homemade greeting cards. It’s part of me, even if it’s not the professional part. I usually have three to four stories started, but not completed, at any one time on my computer. I keep thinking that when I retire, I’ll get more serious about it. I’ll do my homework in the writer’s market, send out manuscripts, have more time, etc. I’ll become a writer. The revenues will be a welcome addition to my pension. Okay, noted, but in no way certain. Maybe if I wrote a book on procrastination…but that’s been done. I’ve read bits and parts of it, and it didn’t help at all.

Just for fun, I’m going to copy a few lines of a one of my projects here. Feedback would be nice, but not necessary.

The directions from the anonymous voice had been chilling, but accurate. Fifteen minutes later, they found the body. It was exactly where the caller said it would be, but nothing had prepared them for the state of the cadaver. In spite of the multitude of blowflies, the atrocities were easily discernable. Staring down, the Sheriff fumbled for the handkerchief in his pocket, yanked it out to cover his nose and mouth, forcing himself to keep from gagging. The young rookie made a noise, then turned away and started to retch. Well hidden, the voyeur smiled as he shifted the binoculars. He watched them until the hearse arrived, then crept silently away. He would contact them later that night with another tip, just when they’d be thinking everything was over. It was only beginning.
And that’s it for now folks. I have work to do, dog food to buy. Wishing you all a good day, with many adventures and lots of SMILES!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

RELEXIONS ON A BIRTHDAY

Some years back I followed a course with the Children Writer’s Institute. Because I was in a full-time job, and my kids were quite young, the only way to focus on the studies without interruption was to be an early riser – very early. Before turning in for the night, I would set the coffee machine for 3:30 AM and prepare whatever project I was to tackle the next day. Beside the typewriter I would stack a thesaurus, a dictionary, piles of paper, and many, many corrector tapes. I can still remember my small portable typewriter. I had saved up for months to buy it, but couldn’t afford to spring for the deluxe model with its auto-corrector. My typing left much to be desired, so any work was done repeatedly before it could be deemed presentable. I’m sure I’ve gone through yards and yards of corrector tapes in my day. I can also remember reading about ‘word-processors’, and dreaming of owning such a handy machine. It would save me hours of labour. With it I could concentrate on the actual story subject instead of the grunt work.

Et voilà! Today I’m sitting in front of my computer, that miracle of miracles, writing in ‘Word’. The program has its own dictionary, allows me to erase, correct, displace sentences or full paragraphs...and corrector tape is now only a vague memory. The ‘grunt’ in the work has been greatly diminished, therefore the stories should be pouring out, right? Ummm – not quite.

My friend, Kilroy, whose Blog I read on a regular basis, mentioned how sometimes he can sit for hours trying to write a short piece. It wasn’t that easy, he told me. Anyone who writes will agree. Computers have facilitated whatever is required for the presentation, but the transfer of your thoughts to the page still demands work, and plenty of it. All along the ‘grunting’ has been the task of my imagination. Go figure!

Today is my birthday. Another one. It used to be just a cause for celebration. As I get older, it tends to also become a day for reflexion. Am I where I wanted to be at this age? Probably not, at least not exactly. I’m not griping, mind you. There is so much good in my life that I count myself extremely lucky. Everything that is important to me is pretty okay. That, therefore, should give me time to concentrate on making the other things better. One of those things is writing. I’ve been doing it off and on since learning how to string together the A-B-C’s; sometimes diligently, sometimes not. My excuse was that the need to make a living got in the way, but I suspect the truth is mostly my being lazy. Corrector tapes aside, writing, however pleasurable, still IS hard work.

I’ve promised myself that I will try harder. I will write something each day. To be continued.

Right now I’m going to celebrate with my family & friends. There’s some story material! How easy is that?

I’m sending you all a big, warm SMILE – when you catch it, please pass it on!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.