February 22, 2006

Gone plantin'

Forgive me, reader-people who keep hitting this site even when I flake off. Spring blogging will be sparse. I'm off to Vancouver Island to stick some trees in frozen ground.



Email will be equally unattended. It might take me awhile, but I'll get back to you.

Happy February through June.

February 19, 2006

Digital donations

Various editor-people have been asking me for treeplanting-related bits and pieces. I send them a nice Word attachment or whatever and they go, send us photos. Have I got anything with nuclear-devastation-type slash in the background? Snow flying sideways? Have I got evidence?



The last camera I owned was a disposable purchased from the IGA in Port McNeill. I've got dozens of super-scintillating photos of my own arm, my rubber glove, a little cedar tree. But that's about it. So, if anyone has some digital images they'd like to donate, I'd be grateful to the gazillionth power. There's (probably) no money in it, but I promise to ask permission before sending them anywhere. Plus you get a photo credit. Hit here for my email.

February 17, 2006

Please send the cheque to my home address

My blog is worth more than I am: $564.54 USD.

The overgrown super-shit

My sister used to be a bibliophile of the highest order. I think she started reading in utero, a scenario kind of mirrored by this scene from later on in her childhood: Ma G used to catch her standing the in shower, thumb in mouth, a book peeking out from the curtain. (Hopefully she won't kill me for the thumbsucking detail--she still says "nothing compares to the thumb"). Much later on, she got a job in a Toronto bookstore where she and her co-workers collectively wrote a lurid bodice-ripper in the back office. They also invented this acronym: STLR. Which was used, apparently, for books of such rare and staggering mediocrity they weren't even worth the human energy required to shelve, repackage or remainder. Hence, the Straight To Landfill Release. She doesn't read so much any more. I think some days she might even claim she was chased from Canada by bad writing. So really this word, which I learned today, is for her. SaumassigeSchreibmaschiene, which translates roughly into “putrid garbage typewriter prose.” Those Germans, they really get to the point.

February 16, 2006

Cooking with gas

I always thought the Canlit scene was strangely bereft of juicy feuds until I figured out it was all happening in Toronto. But these catfights always seem to unfold in private, and the gossip leaks its way west in a reverse jet stream well after the fur has flown and drifted away into insignificance. (For bitch-slappings, prurience, public floggings, see America.) Here in Vancouver we're all pretty friendly--gaggingly kumbaya, I know. How delightful for us there's this barney going on between Leah McLaren, G & M columnist and author of the recently released The Continuity Girl, and Ryan Bigge, author of a book McLaren supposedly dissed in print some time ago. Suggestions of payback. You know it's really going on when talk-show hosts weigh in. I don't know either party, nor have I read their books, but my personal faves are the comments left behind at Bookninja:
The only thing worse than reading this book, I imagine, was having to listen to her at the launch say things like: "If I knew how hard it was to write a novel, I never would've done it!", "In London you can really tell that there are class differences, it's not like in Toronto. You can smell the really cheap laundry soap on people!" and "interviewing celebrities is like being a hooker!" Gems, all of them. It was difficult to keep from stabbing myself in the eye with my cocktail stir-stick.
Just the sort of pals you make sure to invite to your book party. Wheee, indeed!

February 14, 2006

Heart-melting goodness

Happy Valentines, people. The thing about cheesy Hallmark holidays, I find, is that they come to get you in the end, no matter how hard you try to resist. While stumbling into coffee-making this morning I found this waiting for me in the fridge:



Naturally, I was touched. But on closer examination, I noticed that the contents of the box wasn't in fact chocolate but "chocolate flavoured confection." What exactly is chocolate flavoured confection? KT and I examined the list of ingredients, and we discovered that cocoa doesn't feature in the mix at all. "Hmm," said KT. "I wouldn't actually eat those if I were you."

Chocolatey passing itself off as chocolate, I complained, is like Astroturf pretending to be grass. Hair extensions as a substitute for a brush and some patience. James Frey passing himself off as someone I should cry for.

KT added, "I notice I didn't get any chocolate at all. Just a card with two dogs that look like cats. At least you have the facsimile of chocolate." Huh. I guess he's got a point there.

February 9, 2006

A Swiss former architect enters 21st century

My boss, literally the biggest man in silviculture--not kidding, when he hugs me I think he's going to crack my ribs--is now legitimately online. Check out the website of Bivouac West Contracting. I notice he stole many of his photos from my site. Which I, in turn, stole from one of my favorite girl-pounders, Sacha. I talked to Sacha tonight. She remarked that there are no photos of her at all on the official Biv website. Sort of disconcerting seeing she's usually the last one standing at the end of the season, grinding up some god-forsaken logging road with 108 cross-ditches when everyone else has run for the hills. We call it guts-and-feathers duty, also known as The Shit Patrol. Some are more well acquainted than others.

February 6, 2006

Fries or salad with your dirty burger?

The nice thing about eating unwittingly in a restaurant plagued "unwittingly" by hepatitis is that you get a shot for free. You're just more prepared for that trip to Calcutta. And if you fail to find out about the shot within the two weeks post dining experience, it's a wicked excuse for not sharing your cheesecake. Or fending off houseguests. Or delaying a visit to the dentist.

February 5, 2006

I could live in Toronto, I really could

First there's no money. Then all of a sudden there's money, kicking about in the form of an arts prize:
The main recipient of the award wins a cash prize of $35,000, but will also have the chance to nominate a promising newcomer in the same field for a prize of $15,000.
Not to be outdone, B.C. has created its own cultural award. For artsy things, or whatever. If you win you get a bag of weed and a lawn chair.

February 2, 2006

Summer course

I'm teaching a five-day fiction workshop July 16 - 21 in Victoria. The Victoria School of Writing website hasn't been updated yet, but here's a sneak preview. This year's instructors include Maria Coffey, Gary Geddes, John Lent, Susan Musgrave, Billeh Nickerson, and Kevin Patterson. When it comes to writing, I believe in mentored bumbling more than instruction-critique, hence my zen approach. Here's the official spiel:

The Writing Samurai

We like to worry as we write, doublethinking ourselves into tight little creative corners: Is this good? Will the ending work? Will I ever get to the end? It's strangely counterintuitive, but by forgetting about "quality" and finished product, we find what we're really after. Actual ideas. And sentences, good ones, like white-hot vapour trails of the imagination. We'll explore writing as a practice of the "immovable mind," a two-stage odyssey involving freewheeling creativity first, editorial objectivity second. The nuts and bolts of fiction-writing (storytelling principles, style vs. voice) alongside creative musclebuilding (effective writing habits, conquering mental resistance) in a friendly workshop environment.

I'm not sure how much it costs, but I'm sure it's embedded somewhere in program info.

February 1, 2006

Dude, your blog is growing moss

A few weeks ago I went to see this friend of mine perform stand-up comedy. One of her comic cohorts was this guy (I can't remember his name, which is too bad, since I'm poaching one of his jokes) who wondered why Canadians have no superheroes of their own. He thought up two: Super Busy and Best-Effort Man--I'll leave you to imagine the rescue scenarios. Currently, I'm trapped inside the body of Monkey Mind, the hero who swoops down at the scene of a car crash, bleeding victims, the whole tragedy, only to wander off into a shoe store--OMG, the Pumas are, like, totally on sale!

And so here is my melange of recent things, which also serves as my low-blog excuse:

Sometimes you take a trip and it leaves you going, "Ehn?" Such was the trip to England. We enjoyed the weird crannies and random events more than the sites themselves. For example, one afternoon, my sister took us through the inner passages of Houses of Parliament. At the gate we got frisked, despite our visitor's badges. KT, presumed to be some sort of hood-type threat, had to remove his shoes for inspection. Inside it's troglodytic, a small musty city done in dark wood and old carpet, everything connected by long corridors, quadrangles and flights of steps. Like a Wonka factory, really--easy to get discombobbed. When you get a job there, as my sister did, I think they give you a GPS. We had salmon wellington in the subsidized cafeteria--the cheapest London meal by a landslide. In fact KT and I ate multiple entrees out of poverty consciousness, slabs of meat and slathered British things, at least one out of every steaming tray. We had pints after that and it nearly blew the buttons off our jeans. There's a pub in the lawmaking buildings. It smells fittingly like a racetrack.

Upon return from the UK I disappeared again to a meditation retreat (see "Monkey Mind" above). The experience deserves a serious blog-o-rama of its own, really. A summary of what I learned 1) It's amazing how you can grow to like or dislike strangers in total silence, based on nothing more or less than the way they walk around in sock feet. 2) I used to think this: neurosis is to creativity what tumour is to brain. 3) Dinnertime comes too late. 4) It's possible (but not preferable) to get up at 4 a.m. without coffee. 5) It's basically all in your head. 6) But you feel it everywhere else.