More Chores, More Food

 Reviews are a funny thing. As authors we want them and we don't want them. We love the five star, lovely, generous ones but no matter how many of those we get the 1 star, critical ones shake our confidence a bit. I read one such review yesterday and it got me thinking. Why do we crave reviews? Why do we sometimes purposefully search them out as if we need a boost , a pat on the back, a 'way to go' type of  motivation for doing what we do. When I consider this I see it as more than just what author's do but see it as what we all do as human beings. We crave approval, validation and  encouragement and it is so nice when we receive it. But when the review isn't all good or even when it is  all bad the positive stuff  fades and we allow the negative to take over. Now I certainly know that none of us deserve accolades and approval for everything we do. I used to get frustrated with my mother when she would load on the compliments and I felt they weren't genuine or deserved. I would tell her she was just saying that because I was her daughter. The realistic fact is we all mess up, we have shortcomings. We are not perfect. So suck it up ,move on and keep trying to do the best you can. Back to the review I stumbled on that started this thread of thought. The review was for Ten Thousand Truths. Ten Thousand Truths is near and dear to my heart right now since I just spent the last two weeks with the characters while working on edits for Jasper's Road, a follow-up novel. The writer of the review said it was page after page of more chores and more food. In giving that more thought I decided I would take that as a compliment instead of a criticism. Amelia's whole approach to caring for kids was to give them purpose and belonging(chores) and to nurture them with love and caring (food) Now to say Ten Thousand Truths was just chores and food dismisses the depth of a moonlit night when staring at the vast array of stars  Rachel is overwhelmed with   a  memory of her  lost brother, a heartfelt account of a man impacted by his mother's murder, a trip across Canada by a reclusive woman who has not left home for thirty years, a reuniting of a daughter and her recovering father, an amazing woman who dedicated her life to caring for neglected and troubled kids, tea at the Empress Hotel. Now I could go on but what I'm getting to is I believe very strongly that a good story can contain the mundane everyday stuff of life with the sorrows, joys, triumphs and challenges thrown in. I don't think you need a buried treasure, a space  creature invasion, zombies or some other major drama to make a good story. Or make a well lived life for that matter. I think it is the day to day stuff , the human interaction, the effort and caring that matter. All this being said , bad reviews are very helpful. They make us pay closer attention and not rest on our laurels. They make us try harder. Today let's cling to the good reviews and be generous with our own reviews. Let's do our chores and prepare the meals lovingly and with deep purpose. Let's be thankful and kind!

Winter Worry

 Remember winter when it was fun. I love to snowshoe. I love watching the snow fall while sitting inside a warm house. I love watching my grandkids building snowmen ,sliding down hills or being forced to snowshoe. I love a winter  cook-out in the woods. I always loved the thrill of waking up to a snow day as a student, then as a teacher and a mother. I love the look of a winter landscape. What I really hate about winter is the worry. It seems when I was younger driving in the snow was not the stressor it is now. Burton was always undaunted by winter driving and would venture out in anything. I had my share of trudging though snow when the car was stuck at the end of the driveway. I remember being seven months pregnant wading through waste deep snow to reach the top of our driveway, then dragging a bale of hay over to our flock of sheep before getting inside out of the storm. Winter used to not frighten me. But these days a flake of snow is enough to keep me home and freezing rain a definite plan changer. And the ice that covers everything after snow turns to rain, is a nightmare. So these days winter makes me worry. I stay home myself and then proceed to worry about any of my people who are out and about. I start the inventory and wait for each to check in and tell me they've arrived safely. I know my worry changes nothing. I know that but it doesn't  keep me from doing it. I also know that my people must drive in the winter. They must go to work and do not have the luxury of staying home whenever winter weather occurs. But still I say 'text me when you get there'. One day , one winter storm at a time. Each safe trip a blessing and a step closer to spring. 

  

No Time to Blog

No time to blog but yet here I am. I have edits to get to and I do love that stage. I get to have a close look at my own work through someone else's eyes. I love working with my editor and have worked with her on seven books before this one. I trust her and value her input. I remember the editing process being quite daunting when I worked on The Year Mrs. Montague Cried which was my first published book. It was difficult at first to not take every observation or criticism personally. I know  now that it is a good editor that brings a book to life and makes the writing stand strong and ready for the reader. Actively participating in the editing makes me a better writer the next time and even though I am anxious to get back to my WIP I am happy to be giving my best efforts to Jasper's Road  right now. Life gives us daily lessons and some of those lessons take awhile to learn. On this winter day I am thankful for the lessons and the people in our lives that teach us , that shape us and make us better. Editing , revising to do better is the gift we have as long as our hearts beat and we draw breath. How wonderful is that!

When the Tree Comes Down

 I hadn't planned on blogging today and perhaps it is a distraction or maybe even a way of facing a  down day. Maybe I should write about  'when the tree goes up' first. Maybe my introspection has nothing to do with the actual tree but more a look at celebrating and embracing the season. I love putting the tree up however the division of labor occurs. I love rediscovering each ornament. I care about untangling the length of long ago strung popcorn and cranberries. The tree was up for almost a month and I didn't get my fill of it. Each time I turned the lights on and  took a few minutes to really look at some of the treasured ornaments I appreciated another season, another year passing and all the memories. We made new ones this year and for those I am thankful. There is a sigh of relief when we put Christmas behind us and look to the new year. For a long time I dreaded New Years day and over the years tried to come up with a way to make the day bearable, or at least separate and enjoyable in its own right. Christmas day gets such hype even if it doesn't always live up to it. Not sure I want to explore that but let's look at taking the tree down. I did that yesterday. It was on my list and I followed through without much ceremony. Jenna helped  me get the lights off and wrestle it out the front door. I cleaned up and put the living room back to rights. I carried the boxes upstairs to be put away for another year. Little by little all traces of Christmas will disappear. Lights will come down. Displays will be put away, decorations boxed up . This comes with some sadness but hope as well. We hope for so many things one of which is the hope the season will come for us again next year and we will put up another Christmas tree.

In The Afterglow

 I am a writer! I am many other things as well and this entry may be about some of those things and it might be about Christmas. But to begin I want to stake my claim on being a writer because I want to get down to the business of writing as January approaches. Writing like  most other things we accomplish takes effort, commitment , focus and passion. We have to want to make it happen. I am proud to say that I did just that to see eleven books reach publication. But 'resting on our laurels ' as they say will not write another book. The finished product is a good goal to aspire to but even more than that I love the process. I love the unfolding, the unravelling, the rethinking and envisioning of how to tell a story. In my writing journal today I jotted down what I call tub thoughts ( one of the many reasons I love a bath) and then asked myself what the story really is in my WIP. Good question to ponder. I think I know but will continue to search out the answer as I craft it. I love that part. So why wouldn't that be motivation enough to get me to my desk every day. That is a good question as well and sometimes being the other things I am such as wife , mother, grandmother, friend and binge TV watcher keep me from the writing. I have a lovely ,quiet solitary writing space these days and I am very thankful for it and will attempt to truly appreciate and use it during the winter months ahead. What better gift to the writer in me and ultimately to all the other roles as well. On this day I bask in the afterglow of previous work as well as the afterglow of another Christmas. For forty four years I made Christmas happen in whatever home we were in. Now I realize I didn't do it single handedly but for the most part the effort, commitment , focus and passion came from me. Each one of those Christmases looked different from the one before and Christmas 2021 certainly did too. I will not even begin to list those differences. Many of the wonderful parts of the celebration remained the same and for that I am so grateful. I won't list those either but I hold them in my heart , my memory and my journal so they will not be forgotten. The afterglow and on we go. We head toward a new year stronger, wiser and richer for the love we shared and the lessons we've learned.

A Cup of Kindness Yet

For  years I have listened to the Harbour Lights show that took place every year at the city market. I always thought some day I'm going to get up early enough and go into the market for that show. Last year and again this year the show did not take place. And this year I live a few blocks away and could have gotten there without much effort. Instead I set my alarm so I could walk two blocks down and one block over to get to Good Fibrations to buy Harbour Lights mugs. I loved my walk down the city streets in the before dawn darkness as lights twinkled on the street and in store fronts. I got into a short line talking to the young father ahead of me ,his baby daughter strapped to his front and the tall man in front of him;  David, a Hickey grandson, a city counselor and an all round lovely  young man. Before long I stood at the counter and bought two beautiful Harbour Lights mugs. I walked back up Princess St and felt the joy and contentment of the day and the season. Last night my friend Kathy gifted me with tickets to see the Barra MacNeil's at the Imperial Theatre. What a pleasure to sit and absorb the beauty of piano, fiddle, guitar, bodran drum and the resonating voices of that talented family. They finished with a resounding rendition of Auld Lang Syne offering hope and kindness in this dark and worrying time. We'll take a cup of kindness yet... I look to the pottery cups, I look to the lights and the waking day and pray for that kindness.

So This Is Christmas

 I saw a post the other day saying something to the effect that once the glue that kept Christmas together was gone Christmases are not the same. I considered that sentiment for awhile and responded with something about new glue and new Christmases. Thinking more on that this morning I realize that Christmas like everything else in life is always in a state of constant change. The Christmases when I was a little girl were very different than the Christmases of when I was a young mother. People talk now of Covid Christmases and lament not being able to gather in large groups. Some traditions changed because of a global Pandemic and some were added. Loss changes Christmas and makes the approaching season challenging for many. What then is the glue, might be the question. Many cling to the 'reason for the season', some concentrate on the gift giving, some the food, some the music and some clutch to the  grinch-ness of the season. I know what my glue is and my intention is to fully embrace it this Christmas. My glue is memory, family, gratitude and adapting. This Christmas is being held in two locations for me. I have a small city space that is offering me comfort and joy and a country home  that  holds past blessings. present gifts and future hope. Another Christmas approaches and will not be exactly like any other. Caleb cut the tree and he and Jenna stood it in the same corner as last year. Jenna and Cody put the lights on it. The rest of us will add ornaments and sit around the twinkling beauty of it together. My beloved Nativity figures are set up in my small city space and I look to the one flickering candle as a clear beacon of hope. I can not even begin to list the multitude of blessings but see a warm winter coat hanging in a cozy safe, space and gaze at a small tree holding some of my winter garden ornaments and feel the blessings of what another Christmas gives us despite the changes and challenges and people who are missing. John Lennon's Christmas song echoes my son's voice and made up lyrics as it always does and a smile accompanies the tears. The glue is us and we make the choice of what another Christmas has to offer.