April 5th, 2012

Stress-reduction Techniques

This is a random lost post–apparently I wrote it over a year ago, when I was moving, and never put it up. I was just rummaging through my drafts folder and found it. I guess the stress at the time just overwhelmed me. So the contextual references won’t make too much sense now, but I think the post itself is still good. Blast from the not-too-distant past!!
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My stressball symptoms from the move (convinced that everything is filthy yet am too tired to clean, walking into walls, inability to carry on a conversation not somehow related to moving) abated somewhat last night. This was due to taking a 90 minute train-ride in order to have my parents feed me, listen to my problems, and let me play with their kitten. I haven’t been in my filthy, box-strewn apartment in close to 24-hours now, and the improvement is obvious. The only cloud on the horizon is that I will eventually have to go back there, and figure out how to dismantle the stereo. But first–Swiss Chalet!

For times when it is not convenient to return the the parental home, here are a few other stress-reduction techniques I have picked up over the years. I am really not the best person to be getting this advice from–I deal with stress about as well as ice sculptures deal with firebombing. This post is really as much a reminder for me as for anyone else.

–go outside and walk. The hamster wheel of the brain can be jarred out of its cycle by a new environment, brisk movement, and a different temperature. This is especially true in my current scenario, when it is the indoors that is *causing* my troubles, but the technique also works with writing or work-related stress–leaving the computer screen is highly beneficial in those cases, even if the absense is only brief. In those cases, I would recommend strongly leaving all communication devices behind–part of the benefit of walking is walking *away* from your problems–less helpful if you put them in your pocket.

–do a good deed. The altruism thing aside, I find it’s a good boost to my self-esteem when I do something nice for someone else. If someone says thank you for something and really means it, I feel less like a *total* waste of oxygen. Even holding the door open for someone or handing someone something they’ve dropped can work. For more major stress, giving blood really helps if you have time and are able to. You get the thrill of maybe saving someone’s life, plus you’re lightheaded and a little drunk-feeling–and eating a free cookie!

–do something you know you probably won’t fail at. I actually got this tip out of a Sassy magazine in the early 90s, but it still works. Doing something you have a high sucess rate at–cooking a meal you’ve made before, playing a sport or game you know well, writing a blog post–makes you feel better about your powers, and more able to deal with whatever you actually need to do.

–sleep. I’m actually not sure this is good advice, but when I’m really overwhelmed, I like to lose consciousness for a while.

April 2nd, 2012

Participant

I’ve been doing a few things lately even *in addition* to swanning around the Maritime provinces and basking in the springtime sun here in Ontario. Today, for example, I ran *many* errands in the aforementioned springtime sun, which is somehow much better than the fraudulent summer sun of a few weeks ago. Today was one of those rare days for a 9-to-5-er, when I had time to prioritize those little errands like the library, the post office, the dry-cleaner–instead of cramming them on the tail-end of some more glamourous errand, they got to be centre stage. And I strolled between them listening to Belle and Sebastian (come on! anyone who doesn’t think Belle and Sebastian is the perfect soundtrack to a spring stroll is just a hipster too far). Lovely.

Ok, but also–some writing stuff. I contributed a line to Pass the Ghost Story, which is fun, creepy, and still in progress; I was interviewed by Grace O’Connell about Writers and Day Jobs, and I made the very long but very cool long-list for the Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award. I’ve read enough of the books on the list to know what an honour this is, so I’m basking…just a bit!

And it’s only Monday!

April 1st, 2012

Maritime University Tour with Amy Jones

…was so fun! As the last major block of touring I’ll do for *The Big Dream* (there are still some one-offs to come this spring/summer [and maybe fall]), it was so delightful to have lovely venues, warm hosts, engaged audiences, and a stellar reading companion (basically constant companion). Here are some of the highlights:

The Halifax waterfront--a bit chilly, still lovely.

Amy at the Waterfront--also looking a bit chilly, but entirely lovely.

Post-St. Mary's reading, at the Bistro, with Alexander MacLeod, Amy, Zach Wells, me, and Brian Bartlett

This is one of Amy's mom's THREE cats, Ben. It is a very happy household.

Professor Wanda Campbell starting off the readings at Acadia University.

Amy, batting cleanup at Acadia.

The whole gang from the University of New Brunswick creative-writing team had dinner with us. So friendly!

Me, doing air-quotes, at the UNB reading.

March 26th, 2012

East Coast Tour

Ok, so here we go (sodio?): tomorrow at dawn, I will be driven to the ferry docks, ferried to the airport, flown to Montreal and then Halifax, where I will be re-united with wonderous story-writer Amy Jones and we will read to the people of Atlantic Canada! So look out Atlantic Canada! Seriously, if you’ll be near any of these spots at the appropriate dates/times, you should totally come out. Amy’s pretty awesome and, well, if you’re reading this blog then you already know about me.

Tuesday evening, 7pm at St. Mary’s Univesity in Halifax

Wednesday evening, 7pm at Acadia University in Wolfville

Thursday evening, 8pm at The University of New Brunswick in Fredericton

And then back here, to sleep for a while and see what the cat has broken. It’s gonna be a fun week–seeya on the road!

March 24th, 2012

Rose-coloured reviews *Subways Are for Sleeping* by Edmund G. Wilson

One of the interesting things for me about writing book reviews is that I do further research on the book that I would never have done if it was just a personal read. For example, after finishing Edmund G. Love’s Subways Are for Sleeping, I googled my way to the discovery that it started life as a Harper’s article, *then* became a book, followed by a radio play and finally a musical comedy for which the title is most famous.

It’s a little disconcerting that what purports to be a series of non-fictional essays on homeless people could be transformed into a muscial comedy. I haven’t seen the show, but to my mind it’s a bit of a stretch, but not *that* much of a stretch.

Each of these essays is in fact a detailed character sketch of one person who lives without traditional housing. However, in truth, many are not homeless, which is not exactly a problem with the book–it is certainly interesting to read about a rich man who comes from Boston to New York whenever he feels the need of an alcoholic bender, or about a party girl who arranges for the men in her life to pay for her rent, buy her groceries, and refurbish her kitchen. I did however find it disconcerting how Love gets around talking about anyone who is actually hungry or cold or suffering, except perhaps existentially.

The only two women who populate these essays both exist in semi-comfortable surroundings where they scheme to manipulate men into maintaining their lives. The most pathetic of these, Martha Grant, whose story “The Girl Who Wore No Clothes” is muchly reminiscent of Truman Capote’s novella *Breakfast at Tiffany’s (which was published the year after *Subways*, interestingly…) Martha refuses to leave the hotel, to wear street clothes (she sticks to a bathing suit at the pool, or towels in her room), or to pay for her own upkeep. She claims to be ill, or vulnerable to illness, and the hero (allegedly Love himself in his days as a down-and-outer himself) pities her in her hypochondria. There’s a strangely tender moment at the end of the story when he realizes the heights/lows of dishonesty she has reached in order to avoid working for a living. At that point, you realize that gorgeous seductive Martha really *is* psychologically damaged, and you feel for her as the narrator does.

But the other story about a women living off the sponsorship of men, the aforementioned “Party Girl,” was silly in the extreme and, moreover, I can’t believe anyone would ever be *quite* as systematically dishonest and greedy as that–or at least, if they were they wouldn’t tell a journalist about it.

But it is the systems that Love truly enjoys writing about, and what drew me to the book, too. The copy I have is my father’s, purchased in the 1960s in a pocket paperback edition that disintegrated as I read it (I had to place each page in a stack when I was done reading it, and will throw them out when I complete this review. I am upset about this–I don’t think I’ve every destroyed a book before.) My dad described to me the homeless man who discovered that if he went the New York Public Library, the reading rooms would be full of homeless folks trying to stay warm and not be kicked out, but none of those went to the microfiche viewers, where they could read and sleep unobserved with their heads in the viewers.

How clever, I thought, and it is–that’s Henry Selby, the protagonist of the title story and the original Harper’s piece, and a semi-legitimate homeless man. Henry has dozens of complex systems, from how long he can sleep on which line of the subway to places to get bathed and shaved, to how long he must work to give himself enough money to live a few days. I am fascinated by these subtle contrivances, these ways of making life work.

But hell, maybe that was life 50 years ago, but I was surprised and unconvinced that Henry, and others in this book, were able to get work as waitstaff, office clerks, labourers, for a few days at a time, be paid immediately, and then hive off until they needed money again–and then be given another job just as quick. It seemed to me that men who had been sleeping rough, or semi-rough, for weeks at a time would not be the ones bosses were most eager to hire off the street and pay cash to. Like I say, perhaps the economy was different then, but I was also a bit baffled by the fact the men *could* get decent work and do it well, but mainly preferred to sleep in parks. Not that I don’t think there’s people like that, but if you’re going to examine them as a group, it’s pretty necessary that you look at the why of it. Love never does. In ten stories, the author gives only the barest glance to what about traditional wage-earning, apartment-inhabiting life alienates these souls, and what has come before to lead them to this position.

But that’s old-time journalism for you, and it’s only my modern psycho-analytical perspective that makes it unsatisfying for me. But that’s how I read, and I found that though *Subways Are for Sleeping* was very interesting, it left me wanting much much more.

This is the third book in my 2012 To Be Read Challenge.

March 18th, 2012

New Work

After *The Big Dream* launched last September, I had–and continue to have–lots of very cool opportunities. To do readings, to teach classes, to do interviews, sundry other fun stuff. All this coincided with a very intense period at my job, as well as wedding planning, cat discipline, a tax catastrophe, and just a lot of general life stuff. What I’m trying to say is, I haven’t been writing very much lately.

But I do still write–just very slowly, a few sentences here, a reworked page there, a complete of crisis of confidence every third week, as you do. Stories even occasionally get finished, though at a rate so much slower than my norm that it is kind of driving me crazy.

So new stories exist. In fact, I have lots of “new” work, because I didn’t stop working on *TBD* when it got published in September–I stopped in January when I handed it over to Biblioasis. I did work through copyediting, proofread, marketing materials, etc. in the ensuing 9 months, but basically I was free to write other stuff, and I had an incredibly productive period. Partially it was the same panic-induced work frenzy I had after handing in *Once*–“my baby is *gone*!!” partly it was that I was doing very little public-arena stuff since *Once* was three years old and the new book yet-to-be, and partly it was because I got a grant and took a leave of absence from my job.

What I am saying is, there are actually *lots* of stories of mine that most people would register as new because they haven’t been seen or heard anywhere. And though I’m kind of at a low ebb of confidence right now–not writing very much will do that to me–I do *like* some of these new pieces. I haven’t read any of them in public because I have been busy promoting *TBD* and I haven’t sent them to any journals because the aforementioned low confidence is making me a big fat chicken (also, my printer is broken).

Well–no more! I have done more than 6 months of only *TBD* readings and I’m sure one aberration will not cause anyone to forget the book exists. I can borrow a printer if I have to and a few rejection letters would probably not destroy me at this point in my life, despite my fears.

I am getting back on the horse. See you at Pivot at the Press Club on Wednesday.

March 15th, 2012

Entertainments

Life continues busy, but not of all of it is work, so if I can’t be providing substantial updates here, at least I can share the fun stuff I’ve been doing so you can (if you care to) do it too!

Watch Goon. Not-so-secret RR fact: I love Seann William Scott. I think he’s a great comic actor–not infinite range, perhaps, but Goon definitely expands it. It’s a funny, sweet, gory movie–I imagine it could only be better if one actually liked hockey or could look at violence without peeping through one’s fingers. I thought it was really interesting how realistic the violence looked. If you watch a lot of romantic comedies or even action flicks, you start thinking it’s pretty easy to knock a man down with one punch. If you watch *Goon,* you learn/remember that if that man is strong and used to fighting, it’s actually pretty hard to knock him down with seven punches–but you’ll make is face look like rotten meat in the process. Some of the negative reviews say this movie glorifies violence, but I think it really really doesn’t. But don’t let me go heavy on it–the best part is really SWS charming charming portrayl of a loveable goof, especially when he talks about how garbage sometimes blows in his face. Oh, and the city shots of Halifax are great!

Read the latest issue of The New Quarterly Even-less-secret RR fact–I adore TNQ. That said, not every issue is my personal delight–they celebrate a range of writing styles and forms, all interesting but–I just love character-heavy, witty, involving, open-ended short stories the best. There it is–my literary prejudice. And there are some great ones in this issue–by Michelle Berry, Caroline Adderson, Michael Bryson, and others. And intereviews about the short story form with the three listed above, including some interesting discussion about what a short story *is* and what it can and cannot do, alone, and with a book filled with sister stories. The differences between a short story collection, a linked short story collection and a novel in stories are fascinating to me right now–this issue couldn’t have come at a better time.

Read this review of *The Big Dream* in *The Gauntlet*. Thought-provoking, no?

Some other things I’ve done lately that can’t quite fit under the “entertainment” category though I, in my way, found them entertaining:

–I used up a lipstick, was has seriously happened maybe three times in my whole life.

–I rode in an SUV limo, which has happened zero times in my life and probably never will again. Fun, though.

–My cat learned to climb the shower curtain, to open the closet, and that the things flying around outside our window are birds that he could eat if it weren’t for the damn glass. Except sometimes he forgets about the glass.

–I bought a wedding dress.

March 8th, 2012

For the love of looking forward

One of the best and worst things about getting older is the way time speeds up. I remember when the distance between the first day of school and the winter break was practically unfathomable–I had changed so much in those three months the two Rebeccas were unrelatable. Now, of course, I scarcely twitch and the holidays are upon me–I really feel I don’t have enough time to relish the anticipation!

So I’ve started looking forward to things from further afield–it’s the only solution! And I do have lots to look forward to. Here are some readings, some near in time, and some rather more distant, only probably actually not once we’ve experienced the time at this breathless pace at which we hurtle forward.

March 14–Reading in Barrie on the Laurentian Campus there–see this
link (and scroll down) for deets. And it’ll be awesome, I guarantee (pretty much).

March 21–Pivot at the Press Club at 8pm. I heart Pivot–I read at their first reading ever for Once, then did a second reading for Road Trips, plus I have all kinds of personal mushy reasons for loving it. Should be a great night–with Sandra Ridley and Ayelet Tsabari.

Then at the end of March I have my own fantastic East Coast road trip with Amy Jones, but I’ve already told you about that and will again, so we can save that for a separate post.

In April, I’ll be a giving some presentations to the youth of Kitchener-Waterloo at the Renison Writer’s Workshop, in May heading to St. Catherines for the Virus Reading Series, and in June reading here in Toronto for the Eh List reading series. And in July (this one’s new) reading in Orilla as part of the Leacock Festival.

That’s as far in the future as I know for sure (well, pretty for sure) but I hear rumours of Ottawa this fall…stay tuned…

March 4th, 2012

Ten in Toronto

When I moved to Toronto, on March 4, 2002, I had two friends, two jobs, no money, and no interest in the city, plus I was scared to ride the subway. How far I have come!

A friend of mine recently said it is good that I don’t engage in too much “counter-factual thinking,” which turns out to be psychology-speak for regret. It’s true–I’m not big on regrets, but only because I have a shockingly poor imagination when it comes to my own life. I’m totally incapable of imagining the future–the fact that the sun comes up again and again, my friends still like me, and cake is still delicious are all always pleasant surprises for me. And I can’t retroactively counter-factually imagine, either–I can only think my life had to work out the way it has so far–no alternative path was possible. And thank goodness.

I know the things that have happened to me are the things that happen to most people in most places in their twenties and thirties, but they happened to me in Toronto–and I can’t counter-factually imagine otherwise.

In the past ten years I have had 3 addresses, 3 phone numbers, 9 jobs, and 0 cars. I have had mononucleosis, food poisoning, cockroaches, a car accident, and jaw surgery. I have been whistled at, shoved, honked at, offered a bazillion rides home, hit by a car, and asked if I was in a movie. I went through a period where my nose bled everytime I went out in the cold. One time, I was standing on St. George street, bleeding, and someone came up and said she’d give me $100 if I’d agree to be an extra on a tv show. I said yes, and she never noticed the blood.

I have gone from being virtually friendless to regularly running into people I know on the street. Once I was walking on Bloor and I heard someone call my name, but I couldn’t find the source. I asked on Facebook, and it turned out to be a friend riding by on a bike. I have run into friends while walking with other mutual friends we didn’t know were mutual. Certain friends, I run into over and over because we use the same grocery store.

I have gone from terror of the subway to visiting almost every subway station, even Glencairn and Bessarion, where no one goes. I remember when busses all had stairs and the seats had a different configuration. I remember when the bus driver had to yell out the names of the stops. Once, a bus driver asked me out (I was flattered but not interested.) I like busses better than streetcars, and the 54 is my favourite, followed by the 7. I have a soft spot for the 51, and my least favourite is the 122.

I have learned to describe a location by nearest major intersection, hug in greeting even people I don’t know well, and tolerate germophobia–my three least favourite Toronto traits. I have learned to be very quietly friendly to strangers, my most favourite Toronto trait. More than once, I have been walking down the street in the rain and the stranger walking beside me has deliberately covered me with his/her umbrella for as long as we walked together. I have become friendly with my supermarket checkers, the lady at the dollar store, and the guy at Pitaland (who is doing a great job).

I survived SARS, Avian Flu, Swine Flu, the blackout, and I’ll survive Rob Ford, too. I know where to walk alone at night and where not to. I can take the bus anywhere, and I can probably give you directions. I know when the library is open, and some great public pools. I know how to get my passport, driver’s license, and health card renewed. I know where to get the best Chinese pastries.

I have seen my friends fall in love and split up, have babies and buy properties, be happy and be miserable, get sick and get better (touch wood). I have told someone I love that someone he loved was dead. I have taught a student who carried a knife. I have counselled the suicidal. I have worried about my own mental health.

I have been on dates where I received a real estate sales pitch, and ones where I had absolutely nothing to say. I have been dumped by email, made to walk home alone in the rain, and told there’s absolutely nothing wrong with my body. I have been in love.

I had two books published, have read to audiences dozens of times, and even received applause. I’ve been in newspapers and magazines and on the radio, and if you count the extra gig, on tv too. I did a stage monologue and was never in a movie, but I had a small part in making one, which I figure counts. I have done more than I ever dreamed possible.

I got proposed to in the Beaches–the Beach? I have walked from midtown to downtown, and from the Danforth to High Park. I’ve lived in Leaside and the Annex and St. James Town. I have worked in Scarborough and North York, spent lots of time in Etobicoke and East York, and I think people who think Toronto is Dufferin to Yonge and Bloor to the lake are pathetic. I dare you to find a bus I won’t take.

I am in a book club, a writing group, a women’s salon, and have a range of unaffiliated friends. I have learned to talk to people at parties…mainly. I have a job, an apartment, a small but real reputation as a writer, a cat, and, very soon, a husband. I know Toronto didn’t give me these things, but it did help me get them, and I am so grateful.

February 22nd, 2012

On the “How to Keep Your Day Job” set

As promised, here is the post that describes my fabulous weekend on the set of “How to Keep Your Day Job,” a soon-to-be short film based on my story by the same title.

Short version: It was awesome.

Long version: The first part of the awesomeness is obvious:  it was my story and it was very very gratifying to see it take on a new shape in a new context, and to see so many brilliant people working so hard to make that happen. The second part is that I am obsessed with jobs and work, and to spend two days watching people do very specialized, very cool jobs I’d never seen before was really fun. I am sure I was a bit obnoxious–I couldn’t resist buttonholing people and asking, “What do you? How did you learn to do that? Is it fun?”–but people were very nice and I learned a tonne. I met a grip, an electrician, a makeup artist, a wardrobe manager, tonnes more. From a careers perspective, so interesting.

The neat thing about filmmaking, as opposed to writing, is that it happens in public, with lots of other people running around and actually participating in the creation. Whereas writing pretty much exclusively is done solo, often behind a closed door–you don’t ever really see someone’s process, despite the preponderane of how-I-write articles in the world. It was crazy awesome to see how many people were participating in making this movie!! Here are some of them:

Hanging out with the "background" actors in the "hold" room. Look at me, learning terminology. From right, that's Dion, Daryll, and Jilliana. (I think I spelled everyone's name wrong; apologies)

 

That's the director, Sean, in the centre. He was incredibly nice and low-key all weekend, especially for someone who had to make a movie in 36 hours.

 

I loved that all the movie equipment looked so...movie-y!

 

 

Setting up the shot. There in the centre is the star, Georgina. If you've read the story, I'm curious if this is how you pictured the protagonist? (I think she's perfect!)

I suddenly realize I can just watch the action on a monitor rather than craning around a corner!

That's Lea, the producer, and the person who kept me from being left behind when we moved from set to set.

Random movie-making shot.

Setting up the stairwell shot!

Riiiighttt before the fall.

So, there you have it. There are actually more pictures but I somehow saved them to the internal memory of my camera and now can’t get them off. Why? Why? Anyway, if we’re ever hanging out and I have my camera with me, ask and I’ll show you some pictures of how they shot the falling sequence, which was pretty mind-blowing. It was, of course, a carefully choreographed fake fall, but even just looking at some of the unedited footage, I winced.

Not on set, but elsewhere, when I tell people about this project I’ve been asked over and over if I got stressed or upset over the differences between the story and the film. And no, not actually. I had my crack at it–I wrote the best story I possibly could. The fact that I put the ball down and someone else wanted to pick it up and keep creating is just thrilling to me.

I suppose I would feel differently if I thought they weren’t going to do a good job, but from everything I’ve seen I think this little film will be tremendous. In a lot of ways I think it’s pretty faithful to the original, but there are so many ways in which a film is just *different* than text. I loved seeing how a simple sentence in the story evolved into a clever visual joke that could never have existed in prose–you need to have a completely different sort of imagination, and medium, for that to work.

I tried really hard to see things in the film that I don’t usually notice consciously (despite that Art of Film course): depth of focus, framing, lighting choices. It’s amazing that none of those things were in the story, yet the choices Sean and Lea and their team made seemed to compliment the story as if it had been an organic whole all along.

Of course there were some things that looked or were presented differently than I’d imagined, and I was surprised by a few things, but I think that’s good, healthy even. I need to realize that it isn’t my ball anymore, and let everyone else have their time to play how they wish. I hope there are having as good a time on the court as I had watching the game.