on being an author/writer


And yet I often can’t find the words, or even more often the will, to write about it. I feel stymied because I am required to be in the moment rather than record it physically.  So much of what I want to say and write about comes to me when it isn’t polite to whip out my notebook (which is always with me) and begin to write it down. 

For example, at grief group last Saturday I was struck again at how politically incorrect I am in my own observance and practice where mourning is concerned. I simply can’t sit and nod and pretend that I don’t know what I know or haven’t lived what I have lived. Well, I suppose I could. And should. I have been told often enough over the course of my life that I am not like other people to know that my way is the road seldom taken.

But I wanted to pull out pen and paper and pour my life onto it as I listened to what the others were saying. I am beginning to feel hampered by my obligations to courtesy and people in general.

Which brings me to the blog. Many of my gentle readers remind me that they will survive if I take a break, but they don’t realize that the blog is a creation in itself I am tied to by more than just the fact that they read it. It would be as possible to not breathe as it would be to just quit. Even if I were to do so for a short time. Until I finish a book – which I plan to do by summer – this blog is the most polished and substantial piece of writing I have ever produced and is enormously important to me as an artist. Perhaps it will not always be so, but for now, it is. 

A dear friend who knows me from back in the heyday’s of high school and university reconnected with me via Facebook recently. She reads the blog and mentioned that she loves my pieces on family and myself. I feel that I am straying a bit from that in the interest of privacy. Mine. Rob’s. The girls’. I wonder if I am being disingenuous by not sharing the struggles we have had along our journey to couple and family as much as I share the highlights and joy? Perhaps I take for granted that some who read here simply for that story-line realize that struggle co-exists with happiness and the re-establishment of normal life? Life is not a sit-com or a rom-com. Although life is so much more grounded in contentment that it has ever been in my entire life, work, patience and perserverance have been involved as well as sacrifice, trust, faith and a positive outlook.

And this brings me to the future. I have been mapping out the coming months. I don’t think my calendar has ever been this full. Suzy’s 10-10-10 interview on The Today Show reminded me that I have been avoiding doing some serious planning as well. I cannot continue to coast along. I need a day job to go along with the writing and I know I cannot go back to teaching pre-teens and teens. I haven’t the patience for them or the system that cocoons them. University beckons and beefing up my own degrees probably cannot be avoided. 

God, I don’t want to go back to school. I am not a good student. Mostly because I am a very good teacher and I don’t run into them often at the advanced levels. 

Rob thinks I should go for a doctorate. English? There is no MFA program nearby and the only distance one ( U of Victoria) takes about twice as long as an onsite program. I can fill in with a B.A. program through the local college. It’s a degree in writing alone but I would only do it if I could talk them into giving me credit for the required courses – most of which are English courses I could teach and so prefer not to take.

But what are my values? How do I want to live? What’s important? A good tenning is in order.

Which brings me back around to writing. Jenny, the Bloggess, recently wrote a post on quitting her day job to write because she felt she simply couldn’t go on bursting at the seams and shortchanging her family and her job in the process. Writing was consuming her and pouring out onto napkins and post-it’s and pulling her attention inward too much because there wasn’t enough time in the day. Time in the day, of course, is no guarantee. Being the SAHM is far more consuming than I thought it would be, but that is mainly because as a working mom, I ignored the house stuff, the cooking stuff and most things domestic.

There are decades worth of writing to catch up on, but I need to work a few more things out before I am really ready to throw down and do this.


I received my first rejection email  the other night. It was from an online poetry magazine called Blue Skies. I believe that it is run by a member or former member of the Fort writing group. I had gotten word of an open call for submissions from the leader of the Fort group and submitted three poems before the first of the year. They were about Alberta places: the Fort, Edmonton and a range road near our home. The rejection was short and to the point, which was “sorry, but I don’t like your poems”. At least that is how I read it. 

Poetry, in my own opinion, is one of the most subjective forms of written expression, and for the most part I don’t enjoy reading others poetry or even listening to them read it. I think that is because many poets are pretty ordinary writers and it shows in their choice of topic, theme, word choice, comparisons and structure. By far the most common has to do with emotional upset, particularly of the romantic variety, and consequently it reads like the bad poetry of a heartbroken 15 year old. Plaintive and cliche. Of course there are those poets who write about things – like their cats – or are “landscape” artists who drone on about flowers and meadows and the brilliant blue sky.

I didn’t really love the poems I submitted because I was tied to writing about Alberta as a place. That was the theme. The work was a forced and I guess it showed too much. Oh well, I am not a poet by nature though I can write it and an ever inspired to do so spontaneously on occasion, but I really just consider poetry a writing exercise more than something to do on purpose day in and day out.

Since I haven’t much invested in these poems, I am going to publish them myself here and on my Anniegirl1138 site. 

Prairie Canopy

Sitting atop the earth like a crown

A canopy covering

Cloudy or crisply stark 

Close enough to touch

Where far off rains occasionally drape its horizon

And the moon might hold a mid-day chat with the sun

A clean blue awning over all I can see

That darkens gradually from the prairie to become a backdrop for the clouds

Range Road 213

East past the tracks in Josephburg

Right at the gymkhana field

Forest lined but for acreage drives, canola fields and ponies grazing

Rolling and narrow it leads to the Yellowhead

From there, anywhere

Edmonton Skyline

Just past the Camrose exit 

Heading west on Yellowhead Trail

And nearer than it looks 

Sits Edmonton

So much like a cutout, 

A child’s toy,

Waiting to be reached for 

Scooped and carried

Away from refineries 

Hazy obscurity

That the problem with writing to order. It’s soulless.