Health and job

Well, I've had the xrays done. It's no longer bursitis in my knees that's bothering me. It's arthritis now.

My doctor suggested that I try to find a new job; one where I'm not having to keep getting down on my knees to dig into the backs of cupboards, and one where I'm not on my feet for seven or eight hours at a stretch. I have some ideas and have been getting some good feedback from customers about what companies are good to work for in this area.

Have been occupied with FB

I've been ignoring my blog in preference for Facebook. It seems to be an excellent way to stay in touch with many of the people I care about, all in one place.

So, I haven't written here for a while, but I learned huge amounts from the course I was in this fall -- Writing the Novel: An Introduction.

The prologue for my historical novel (set in 1582) has been cut from seven pages down to one and a bit. The first chapter has been tightened up considerably, as well. Altogether the two sections dropped from 31 pages to 20 -- and it's much better now.

The last assignment was actually the hardest. We had to do a five minute report on one of the books on a list -- and the only ones on it that I'd heard of, I'd had to read in high school. Apparently, several other people in the class weren't too thrilled with the list, either.

The teacher finally gave us the opportunity to select any book we wanted. I chose Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett. I went through it and studied how he handled some of the problems I was facing in my work, like vocabulary that would be known in the period (or, in his case, place) but might be unfamiliar to the average reader.

Learned a lot from Pratchett ... now the hard part: to implement what I've learned.

Gearing up for the 3 day novel contest

I've wanted to enter this contest for years. Last year I thought about doing it because it was the first Labour Day weekend when I didn't have something else on the go, but I was in so much turmoil emotionally, that I had trouble concentrating. Now, I'll finally have the opportunity -- and the mindset.

We are allowed to have an outline beforehand, but can't start the actual writing of the piece until midnight of Friday on Labour Day weekend. We have to stop at midnight of the Monday.

It's a story that I've had in mind for the past 27 years. Originally, I wanted to make it into a play, in the style of the 1590's, but the friend who was going to help me work on the script died in the mid-1980's. For a long time I wasn't able to work on it without missing him and now I think I'm finally ready to do it.

Here is my outline.

# # #

The Tragedy of Chloe

Back story
A few thousand years ago, on the island of Crete in the Mediterranean Sea, lived a king named Minos who had commissioned the famous architect, Daedalus, to build the most magnificent palace in the world in the city of Knossos. The palace was so huge that the local people referred to it as 'The Labyrinth' because it seemed to have hundreds of rooms and halls that went on forever, and it was easy to get lost. Since this project took many years to complete, Daedalus brought his son Icarus to live with him in Crete.
After the palace had been completed, the King was so proud of the new structure, that he imprisoned Daedalus and Icarus in order to prevent Daedalus from building anything more magnificent. But Minos was a canny man. He wanted the most magnificent palace in the world, but he also wanted to keep Daedalus alive, because he was renowned for his genius in other fields as well as architecture. So, he imprisoned the father and son together in a tower by the sea, where they could see the water and the sky, but could not escape. They were allowed to go for daily walks, accompanied by guards. Minos set one of his most trusted servants, Karpos, to organize the guard for the prisoners, with instructions to bring him word if Daedalus was seen working on anything that might prove useful.
One of the palace servant girls, a beautiful Athenian, was given the tasks of bringing food to the prisoners and cleaning the tower. Her name was Chloe and, although she was beautiful, she wasn't very clever. She soon fell in love with Icarus, but he never seemed to notice her much. She did not despair, however, and quietly went about her business, telling only her good friend, Karpos, of her feelings for the handsome young prisoner.
Another young man did notice her, though -- Prince Theron, nephew and heir apparent of Minos. Theron dared not declare his love to her because if his uncle ever learned of it, he could easily have her removed or even killed. So he, too, went about his business, trying to pretend that all was right with the world. The only person who knew of the Prince's passion was his faithful servant, Sophron.

Story
One day, Karpos sent word to the King. Daedalus, who had been collecting feathers from the seashore for months on his daily walks, was finally making something with them. Minos replied that he would visit the prisoners the next day, so Karpos arranged to be with the guard for that shift.
That night the stars fell thick and fast from the sky. Many members of the court, including Minos, watched in awe from the palace windows. The next day a storm blew in from the sea and Minos, taking both of these events as portents of evil, postponed his visit to the prisoners until a more auspicious time. By late afternoon the weather cleared and the king, advised by his right hand man Philokrates, decided to see Daedalus the next day. That night even more stars fell from the sky, but Minos decided to continue with the visit anyway.
The following day was warm and sunny. Theron decided to go hunting with some of the other young men of the court, rather than visit the prisoners.
On such a beautiful day, Chloe was light-hearted as she took breakfast to the prisoners. When she emerged, she told Karpos that she was certain that she was starting to win a place in Icarus' heart, because he smiled at her and thanked her for his food.
Suddenly, the King's retinue arrived at the tower and Chloe was about to hurry out of the way with her tray of dishes, when one of the courtiers shrieked and pointed at the sky. All eyes turned heavenwards and pandemonium reigned when they realized that the strange-looking birds flying away from the island, were none other than Daedalus and Icarus, using the feathers that they had so painstakingly gathered and formed into wings.
The King was furious. He stormed up to the stupefied Karpos and demanded to know who was the last person who had been in the prisoners' company. Karpos pointed to a stunned Chloe, who was unable to look away from the flying men. Minos ordered Chloe brought to him. Only when two of the guards had grabbed her arms, causing her to drop the tray and dishes with a crash, did she tear her horrified gaze away from the sky and become aware of the people around her.
When brought before the King, Chloe was stunned to learn that she was being blamed for the prisoners' escape. Minos said that she should have reported the unusual activity in the tower to the guards. Chloe tearfully replied that she hadn't noticed anything -- except that Icarus had been polite to her.
Minos ordered her to be shut in the tower prison until he could decide what to do with her. He was so angered by the escape of his prize that he was looking for someone to serve as a scapegoat.
No one was willing to defend her, in case they should be forced to take her place.
Karpos led her away to be imprisoned but allowed her to stop and pick a flower when the King wasn't looking.
Meanwhile, Minos dismissed all the courtiers but Philokrates. They strolled through an olive grove and, thinking that they were alone, the King spoke freely about the punishment he would inflict on Chloe as an example to the rest of the servants. Minos told Philokrates’ that, because of his clever way with words, he would be leading the questioning of the prisoner at her ‘trial’ that afternoon.
Unfortunately for the King and his advisor, Sophron, personal servant of Prince Theron, had hidden himself nearby and hear the whole conversation. After the plotters returned to the palace, Sophron left the grove and immediately ran off to find Prince Theron and the hunting party.
Later that day, Karpos led Chloe from the tower to the palace for her trial. On the way, Chloe burst into tears and told Karpos about how she had seen her belovéd Icarus fall from the sky into the sea. Never had she felt so helpless. She had cried out for someone to take a boat to rescue him, but no one had heard her and she was certain that he had drowned.
As they entered the court, the king looked formidable, indeed, upon his throne. Under Minos' harsh stare and the relentless questioning of Philokrates, Chloe was completely bewildered. She kept trying to explain and only ended up contradicting herself. Her story became hopelessly muddled as Philokrates continued to insist that she had been an accomplice in Daedalus’ plan, thereby causing the King to lose a valuable tool.
Poor Chloe! She wasn't very good at staying out of the verbal webs that Philokrates was spinning and, realising that she was doomed, began crying again. Finally, Minos declared her tears to be an admission of her guilt and delivered the judgment that Chloe should be entombed in a cave on the very seashore where Daedalus and Icarus used to take their walks accompanied by guards.
Karpos led the shattered young woman away to her fate. A few moments after they left, Prince Theron rushed in, still muddy from hunting. He pleaded with his uncle to release Chloe, arguing that such a perfect face and body could never harbour an impure soul. After some discussion, Minos, who had a soft spot for his nephew, rescinded the penalty and ordered Chloe’s release. Elated, the Prince ran from the court to find her, closely followed by Sophron.
While all the discussion was taking place in the palace, Karpos and his henchmen were down at the beach with the prisoner, standing by an open cave which had a large stone in front of it. Karpos asked Chloe if she wanted to have a poison to drink which would make her drowsy, causing her to die painlessly in her sleep. She said no, but he put the flask in the cave anyway and then moved away so that his men could roll the stone into place. As they sealed the tomb, they could hear Chloe singing a lament for Icarus -- and how she would join him soon in the land of the dead.
After their work was done, Karpos and his men decided to broach an amphora of wine at a tavern in town. Executions were always an unpleasant business, even when bloodless.
A short while after Karpos and his men had left, Theron and Sophron rushed onto the beach and started trying to push the rock away from the mouth of the cave containing Chloe. Unfortunately, the two of them alone couldn't move it, and when they paused to get their breath, they decided to look for Karpos and his men to help them.
They looked and looked, and finally Sophron found them, but they were just drunk enough that they didn't believe his story about the stay of execution. It wasn't until Prince Theron appeared on the scene, that they finally believed there had been a reprieve, and they hastily accompanied the Prince back to the seashore to release Chloe.
But when they arrived and rolled away the stone it was too late. Chloe, despite her earlier intentions, had taken the poison and was drifting into a deep sleep. Theron carried her out of the cave and set her down on the beach where he told her of his love for her. Within a few moments of their arrival, she died.
Theron returned to the palace where he vehemently cursed the King -- that Minos would be humiliated by his wife falling in love with a bull, that his daughter would betray him by allying herself with his enemy, and that Minos, himself, would live to see the fall of Knossos and the destruction of his magnificent palace by earthquake and fire.
Then Theron left Knossos and set out to wander the world, lamenting the needless death of Chloe until he, too, died and joined her in the realm of shades.

More visitors in town

Today, we spent most of the day around Tobermory, playing in the waters of Georgian Bay, then down to Sauble Beach for a late afternoon dip in Lake Huron.

Tomorrow, we're playing black light minigolf. Should be interesting ... I've been trying to convince the junior member of the group that high score wins. No luck so far.

Stratford's offerings this year

Last week some friends were in from Ottawa and we went to see three shows at Stratford. This time, it was
- Ever Yours, Oscar
- Bartholomew Fair
- Cyrano de Bergerac

I don't recommend Ever Yours, Oscar. It was reading a series of letters to, and from, Oscar Wilde. Most of them, I had already read over the years.

I found Bartholomew Fair absolutely delightful. Fast paced and highly amusing. Unfortunately, one of my companions was confused at the beginnning and found the whole thing incomprehensible.

Cyrano de Bergerac, however, was just amazing. It was so well done that I was in the grip of the story from the very first scene. When Cyrano dies at the end, I was in tears. This is one show people should try to see if they can.

We also found a delightful little restaurant, the York Street Kitchen. Tiny, with great food and an excellent selection of wine. Unfortunately, they only accept reservations for six or more. Open 8 to 8. If you want dinner, you better be there right on the dot of 5. We went in at five past, and had trouble finding a table for three; it's that popular.

Crazy busy

I've been so busy with the writer's circle that I've not had much time for anything else. I did, however, take my eldest godson to Stratford to see The Importance of Being Earnest in June. In July, I attended his graduation at Borden. This past weekend, I went to one of the best parties I've ever been to -- the people were actually interesting and intelligent and erudite!

Today, Mike and Tom will be arriving for a visit. We'll be off to Stratford for the next couple of days.

INTP - not fitting in

The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator is a test (some people call it a personality test) that refers to one of sixteen types. The system was developed from Jung's work in his Psychological Types.

I've taken the test many times since I discovered (in the mid-1990's) that it was online and free. My results have almost always been the same: INTP

§ I – Introvert / Extravert: INTPs tend to be quiet and reserved; prefer interacting with a close friend or two, and they find social situations draining (whereas extraverts gain energy).

§ N – iNtuitive / Sensing: INTPs tend to enjoy the more abstract concepts, than concrete facts. The big picture is more
important to them than the details, and on future possibilities over immediate realities.

§ T – Thinking / Feeling: INTPs tend to value objectivity over feelings. In decision making, they give logic more weight than their feelings.

§ P – Perceiving / Judging: INTPs tend to delay important decisions, and prefer to keep options open, in case the circumstances change.

According to studies on Canadian and American people, using the Myers Briggs test results for the comparison, most Americans are extraverts whereas the majority of Canadians are introverts. This doesn't really surprise me. I have cousins in the U.S. They are constantly lamenting the energy it takes to pretend extraversion. Of course, my question to them was ... why pretend?

Well, apparently, in some parts of the U.S., introverts are regarded with something akin to suspicion. It's consid

ered "weird", "not normal", and "you could get over it if you would only try".

Well, there's another problem for me. I'm an INTP. What does that mean? Well, in American terms, it means that people like me (according to Keirsey), make up between 1% and 5% of the American population.

But there's worse. I'm an INTP and female. Thinking is considered a very masculine trait.

Women, at least within the parameters of North American culture, are expected to make decisions based on their feelings. I tend to make decisions based on what I think ... and I think the phrase 'get in touch with your feelings' makes me gag. The doctor I used to go to, kept asking me how I felt about how things were going in my life. After a couple of times, I snapped, "Don't ask me how I feel about something. Ask me what I think about it. That, I can answer."

I commented above that I am almost always an INTP. What happened the times I wasn't? One thing to remember about MBTI is that it's not black and white, but more like shades of grey. Sort of like a ruler with its markings between the two extremes. (Shown below.)

I had found a fairly complete version of the test online

and I decided to do the test at the beginning and end of each work day during a high-pressure contract in order to see what changed when I was under stress. The top graph shows where I land normally.

Well, I discovered that, under stress, I become more introverted, more of a thinker, and that I flip from INTP to INTJ. (Bottom graph.)

This explains why, at the beginning of a project, I say "Oh, just send me what you have and I'll slot it in somewhere and build the book from there." But at the end of the project, I'm more likely to say "I told you that the deadline was x. If you don't give me the information by that date, it won't be going into this version of the manual. Enough is enough."

If you are interested in the test, here's an online one that is, I believe, complete.

http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes1.htm

Oh well

Well, my ex wasn't able to make it today. It was too bad because my godson had done an excellent presentation for church; it was very well received by the congregation.

Time to finish my homework for tomorrow, instead of playing on the blog. I have to make my villain more evil. That shouldn't be difficult, but it has to be consistent with his character in order to be truly believable.

Nothing Like

My mother ran our household
with single-minded rule.
She made our choices for us
for clothes and work and school.
With little say, my Gran and I
looked sadly at each other.
I murmured hopeful words to her
"I'm nothing like my mother."

My mother was well-organized
but lacked imagination.
She claimed I was endeavouring
to rise above my station.
I thought of the ideas she
was quick enough to smother,
and then I said, defensively,
"I'm nothing like my mother."

My mother died of cancer; she
was ill for several years.
I see the way I'm headed and
I'm trying to still my fears.
At the funeral, my friends and I
regarded one another.
I mouthed, again, the desperate words:
"I'm nothing like my mother."

Random

I handed in my entry for the Random House competition on Monday. Yesterday was the deadline, but I wanted to be sure that it got there, so I took it there in person.

Cutting the poems out was difficult at first. Last weekend, I sat down with the print out and was absolutely vicious in my editing. The ones I handed in were:

Nothing Like
Betrayal
The Voice (Parts I, II & III)
The War Room
Caroline Jane
...
and some sonnets, of course!

It ended up being 1,943 words. I could have entered up to 8,000 words, but really didn't think I had enough good pieces to pull that off.

What a weekend!

I'm looking forward to seeing my ex this weekend. It's been over a year.

Sorry, folks ...

... I haven't had time to download the pictures because I'm having too much fun driving! So, while the gas prices are still low, see ya later!

Weary ...

The new course is taking a lot of time and energy, so I've had no time for the blog, but at least it's interesting. Spending all my time on the laptop leaves me disinclined to read e-mails on my desktop; so much so that I've quit several lists that I was on.

Maybe I'll go back to those lists later, but I doubt it. It's much more pleasant to live at my own speed and on my own terms ... with no one else's schedule to make me jump through hoops.

Health Issues and Car Issues

At the end of March, I had a touch of some flu bug which kept coming back to me. I was obviously an amazing host.

Then I was very tired and kept getting migraines. Normally, a migraine prescription lasts me about two years. The last time it was refilled was December ... and, already, I have used almost a third of it. Last week (I nearly spelled it 'weak' ... hmmm) I started to feel so weary and draggy that I was barely making it to work. The rest of the time I was asleep ... and piling up dirty dishes.

The weekend, being Easter (and beautiful weather), I decided to make sure I had plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables in the house because I didn't want to be caught having to pay extra for things that are bad for me anyway -- processed meats, etc. Within a day, I was starting to feel better. So, I've turfed all the foods that I'm even mildly allergic to and eating only the basics that cause no reaction in me.

So far, this week, I've felt so much better that I went out and put down a deposit on a new car. Yes, I'll be getting a new Mini a week from tomorrow. Pictures will be available here soon.

Living History Conference

I went to the living history conference yesterday, in Hamilton, and ran into a friend I hadn't seen in about sixteen years. The last time we e-talked, she was teaching English in Japan. We hadn't touched base since she got home last year.

She introduced me to a number of the reenactors from various groups, and we ended up staying for the dinner and dance in the evening ... even though neither of us had the appropriate clothes. Dinner was fun, very silly jokes were exchanged, and I met some wonderful people from Toronto and Kitchener. In fact, I'm looking forward to getting together with the lady from Kitchener -- even if it's just for coffee -- although, from our conversations, it appears that we have lots in common.

It's made me pine for the works of Austen, Heyer, Byron, and Scott. I think I'll just go and meander through some books. "She walks in beauty ..." seems to be calling my name.

Couple of modern sonnets

I've cut some of the I's out of these, but not all. Do they still make sense?

I walk the silent streets alone at night
And stand bereft on corner islands lit
By graceless rays, while thinking that I might
Attempt to find some quiet place to sit.
In coffee-houses, dark and filled with smoke,
I struggle with ideas that mean nought
And heard the coffee-poets who revoke
Their own poetic licences when caught.
In institutions filled with weary brains
I wrestle with the concepts that are bound
To cause my death. At times there is such pain,
I wonder if my body would be found.
Condemned to highs and lows, this is my plight:
To walk the silent streets alone at night.

The Migraine
Hot pokers sear my mind, and in my brain
The lights -- electric blue and blinding white --
Impede my view. The fireballs in flight
Appear upon the edge of sight, then wane.
The agony has dimmed, to my delight.
But now, in cotton wool, I feel the strain
Of looking through a telescope in vain
Because it's turned around – the oddest sight.
Well finally, when throbs begin to wane
As medication dulls and puts to flight
Incessant thoughts about my head, I'm quite
Relieved to be no longer in such pain.
But now, compulsive chatter's at its height:
Murmuring thoughts, while rushing through the night.

Later hours

Recently, I've been working later hours ... starting at 11 or midnight and working until 7 or 8.

It's very pleasant to serve the morning commuters. They are in a hurry, of course, but they really seem to appreciate the little extras that we do for them ... like having their favourite coffee freshly brewed when they walk in the door.

Even better, I enjoy the company of those who are coming in on the morning shift. They are a lively crew, and funny.

Ivanicki

For those of you who have seen my living room, you'll recognise the painting described here. It's another example of syllabics.

Ivanicki
The mountains counterpoise
the horizontal
ocean, and boulders that
were once part of hillsides
now form a shoreline
suitable for the tides.

The wooden dock's platform
has never known paint.
It warms walkers' feet that
were chilled from their predawn
stroll by the seashore
of pebbles and driftwood.

The once-crimson railings
now faded dull red,
are still bright enough to
find in a light fog when
arriving at the
safety of a mooring.

The cool B.C. breezes,
full of salt and kelp,
press for interior
valleys until, driven,
they restore themselves
to wide ocean spaces.

Saw Lunin yesterday

I saw the comet Lunin yesterday morning; just before dawn. It was glorious. Today and tomorrow are supposed to be the best days to see it, but today it's snowing and who knows what tomorrow will bring?

I'm grateful to my father, for being such an avid birdwatcher and star gazer, that he left me his excellent binoculars.

What time is it?

Last week I spent one glorious day in the company of six intelligent, articulate, witty, and talented people. It's been far too long. Anyway, it started me thinking; why am I spending my time elsewhere? Mostly, I guess, it's force of habit. So, after talking with another friend for about an hour yesterday, I have decided to honour my current commitments, but then focus on my current (and upcoming) schedule.

Next year's 'boat' should be fun, too. We haven't decided, yet, whether to go to Bermuda or the Bahamas for it. Those are the places I'm holding out for, although my friend is also interested in a cruise that will take us to several islands. If money is tight, we may just hop in the car and drive to either Sanibel and Captiva or to the Keys; although returning to Daytona to race up and down the beach on a dirt bike offers that certain nostalgic flavour that I would probably enjoy again. The problem with trying to burn a boat -- even a model one -- on the beach in Daytona is that it's so flat and straight that things can be seen for fairly good distances. The islands would definitely be better for that. The inland waterways are a little too unpredictable for me.

It's definitely time ... to take back my time.

Most dangerous recipe

I just received this from a long-time friend. She wants the rest of us to test the recipe ... the things we do in the name of friendship. (grin)

5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE

4 tablespoons flour

4 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons cocoa

1 egg

3 tablespoons milk

3 tablespoons oil

3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)

A small splash of vanilla extract

1 large coffee mug

Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well. Add the egg and mix thoroughly.

Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.

Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again.

Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts.

The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed!

Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.

EAT! (this can serve 2 if you want to feel slightly more virtuous).

And why is this the most dangerous cake recipe in the world ?

Because now we are all only 5 minutes away from chocolate cake at any time of the day or night!

A Sampling of Syllabics

This style of poetry was popularised by Marianne Moore. The idea is that you write the first verse and, then, every other verse must have the same number of syllables per line as the first one did.

There is no pattern involving stressed / unstressed syllables.

* * *

The Voice: Part I

Crisp consonants bite
the air as your clear tenor grabs
my attention.
Smooth vowels rise and fall
in a cadence that eases
my brittle soul.

Clean, and with an edge,
your voice comes surging through the wires
thrusting your words
into my ear and brain
and then withdrawing again
into silence.


The Voice: Part II

Fulsome consonants
emerge in your baritone drawl
rich with love while
your soft vowels bend and
stretch in order to caress
my wretched heart.

Your voice seduces
and then vibrates with a barely
suppressed longing
(that I can almost taste)
before tapering off to
a gentle peace.


The Voice: Part III

Rough consonants in
your gravely bass hang on the
periphery
of the smoky vowels
that lend texture to my thoughts
and to my world.

Sandpapery words
emerge into the atmosphere
and settle in
valleys where exotic
notions wend their way around
my consciousness.

For the choir director

In mid-January, I visited my cousins in Mississauga and we had dinner together. I showed them the package I'd put together for the Random House competition and they immediately latched onto something that I'd not noticed before -- I use the word "I" rather frequently in my verses. In fact, in about 5500 words, I'd used it 287 times. This worked out to about 9 times per page, which wouldn't be bad if the entry was prose and the lines went right across the page.

This is a prime example of what needs to be altered a bit, so that it's not all "I".

You think that I am so in love with you
That I am blind to all your little cracks.
You really think that I don’t have a clue
How you have mocked us all behind our backs.
You think that there are jokes I just don’t get
And still, you seem to miss the point of mine.
I wouldn’t choose the life you lead, and yet
You seem to think that I’m your clinging vine.
You think that I am seeking an affair
When nothing could be further from the truth.
You keep on telling me you never share
Yet you suspect that I’d be so uncouth.
And so I send this greeting out by stealth:
It’s plain your self-esteem is in good health.

You are quite right. The last line should have had an 'is'. Makes me wonder how long it's been missing? Originally, there was another, nastier, last line about the ego. No idea where it's got to.

I love the dead ...

I love the dead - the dead so cold.
Oblivious to hurt and pain
The pageantry of grief unfolds
To people melting in the rain.
With sky that's grey (so like their skin)
Their hailstone teeth soon bite the dust
And tears that strongly smell of gin
Have turned their fingernails to rust.
The legs that could not bear their weight
(While backs that on the beaches bask)
Are shipping bodies home by freight
For faces hidden by a mask.
But arms dismembered from the soul
Are reaching, still, towards their goal.

Why this name?

This name is taken from a book, written in the 1570's, by George Gascoigne. The full title was "A Hundred Sundry Flowers Wrapped Up in One Small Poesie". It was the first collection of Gascoigne's verse and dramatic pieces.

I'm hoping to get feedback from my friends on the poetry (and, occasionally, prose) I put up here. I need all the help I can get.

Things are great ...

I'll be spending the next three days with friends I haven't seen since last May, and I'm really looking forward to it.

It's also interesting that, since the house in Ottawa has sold, I've had no nightmares and am feeling very positive about seeing my ex again -- for the first time in a year and a half. In fact, it's been so wonderful to feel positive for a change, that I've gone through my blog and deleted negative references to our situation. I may still find the odd one or two, but they'll be deleted as I find them.

It helped, actually, going to a few parties recently and socialising without mentioning him.

Enough about that.

Some new pictures of Alex. First, we have the formal portrait.


This one shows him, having answered to his name, wondering what I want, where the food is, etc.

House in Ottawa

The conditions have been met and the house in Ottawa has been sold. It went for a little less than I'd hoped, but at least I'll be able to pay off most of my mortgage.

April 21 can't come soon enough for me.

25 things

I don't mind this '25 things' craze ... much. I even enjoy reading about how my friends perceive themselves and the world around them because, sometimes, there's a surprise or two. On the whole, it just seems like such a complete waste of time.

Most of my friends already know all the things about me that I would be likely to list. If people don't know these things, it's because they don't know me very well yet, or I've been not talking about myself for a reason:

Always leave them wanting more.

Good news

Well, we have a conditional offer on the house in Ottawa. It's less than we wanted, but it's a buyers' market at the moment. Soon, I will be in a much better financial situation. Finally.

I managed to get hold of the winners' entries for the Random House competition for the last two years. After reading the poetry and prose, I felt completely inadequate. They are absolutely brilliant and I stopped working on my entry because of it. I made the error of telling a co-worker that I had stopped, and she walked up one side of me and down the other; ordering me to get myself in gear. She boosted my self-confidence summat, so I'm back to it.

I spent about four hours last night, after everyone had gone to sleep after Boat, working on the poetry.

That was a mind-boggler!

I showed the pieces that I'm planning on entering in the Random House contest to my cousins after dinner. They immediately latched onto something that I'd not noticed before -- I use the word "I" frequently in my verses. In fact, in about 5500 words, I'd used it 287 times. This worked out to about 9 times per page, which wouldn't be bad if it was prose and the lines went right across the page. Instead, it's poetry, so I did a replace on it and made it bold, italic, underlined, and a font size larger so that I can't miss them on the page.

Now the work begins!

Social life

Well, I have three whole days of ... in a row!

So today I'm having lunch with Nina. Tomorrow I'm having dinner with my cousins. And Wednesday ... I'll see what happens.

Meanwhile, I've been working on my Random House project. I have over six thousand words of poetry to submit (the limit is eight thousand), but I'm getting scared now.
1. What if it's considered old-fashioned? I write mostly sonnets and sestinas with the occasional villanelle thrown in for good measure. I've done some blank verse pieces and syllabics. My unstructured pieces are in the minority, though.
2. What if they find it trite and unimaginative? It's hard to tell if it's good enough, when I'm looking at my own stuff. I know what I was trying to achieve. I know how far short I fell.
3. What if they don't like it? 'Nuff said.

This was what I meant by my resolution to live life more fully; take chances on these things because I'll never know unless I send it in. So ... back to work!

Oh, and 4. I'll keep working on some prose pieces to enter over the next couple of years.

Full moon

This morning, as I was walking, I felt humbled by the beauty of the full moon and delicacy of the stars. They made me feel so small and insignificant. Well ... I am, comparatively speaking, but it just hit me in a way I'd not felt before.

I wish I had a better vocabulary so that I could express the awe that they inspired in me.

No course this winter

I've decided that I won't be going back to Uof T until the spring semester, because if I miss more than two classes, I lose the credit.

My job, however, has given me ideas for a story / novel, made up of scenes with customers. Not like "Clerks", because that's more from a young person's viewpoint. Maybe it won't work but I'll have fun with it. Of course, I could also do it as a series of poems, which might be even better.

I have hot water!

It seems that one of the gentlemen who installed my furnace on Tuesday, must have jostled the settings on the water heater.

See you later, folks. I'm off for a long, hot soak ... with bubbles, no less!

New Year's Day

Well, the first of my New Year's resolutions for this year is to be happier than last year. Shouldn't be difficult. Another one is to live life more fully -- again, not difficult. My third, and last, is to wear jewellery more often.

Alex was *very* affectionate while the furnace was out. It wasn't too bad, actually, because I had two space heaters (one borrowed from the furnace people) to keep the pipes from freezing. It was comfortable enough when I was moving around.

The new furnace is chugging along beautifully but, yesterday, the hot water heater was giving me tepid water at the very hottest! I was concerned about this until I realised that the temperature dial was about knee height. It's possible that one of the gentlemen installing my new furnace brushed against it and changed the setting accidentally. Now I'll have to keep him out of the furnace room ... just in case.