Posts Tagged "Uncategorized"

Daydreaming

Posted by on Nov 26, 2012 in Life in Writing | 0 comments

Here is a post I decided to do for fun. I like to call it “things that I would do if I had infinite money and resources at my disposal, after having donated a bunch to charities and causes and stuff”. They are in no particular order and they all go under the assumption that my money pool would never run dry, for whatever reason. 1. I would buy or create a video game company. And with that company, because I would be boss, I would sit in on all meetings and offer input. Then I would also get one of the teams to create Thread for me. 2. I would open a publishing house that publishes, publicizes and distributes books directed at niche markets that may not otherwise have publishers, or that publishers may overlook due to their lack of global marketability. 3. Build a large-scale blanket fort. 4. Open a no-kill cat shelter and pay all the employees to take care of the cats. It would have an on-site vet who could spay and neuter them, as well as treat them for any illnesses. 5. I would build a castle. A big one. And I would have it designed full of (safe) booby traps and puzzles, locked doors and boss rooms. You would pay $100 to go into this castle to go through and “beat” it. It would, of course, have a Zelda theme with an entirely immersing environment filled with sounds and enemies. Each person attending would be given a wooden sword and a green tunic to wear. All of the walls would be one-way, and the other side would be filled with spectators who would pay a small admission fee each to watch the hero perform his/her duties. The wall is only one way so the hero will not be distracted by spectators.  After going through the boss battle, the hero would follow an underground tunnel that would lead to a building behind the castle that would contain a restaurant and gift shop. At that time, the hero would be applauded by the spectators as she/he appeared. It would be awesome. 6. Re-design parts of my house to look just like the Forest Temple from Ocarina of Time. What? 7. Open a cafe. 8. Hire someone to help me deal with all these new facets of my life. Because I’m sure you can understand I’d need a little organisation after all this chaos. How about you? Feel free to be as selfish about it as you like. Daydreams are healthy, after all, and it makes for a good creative outlet. Have some fun with it. Let me know in the comments! A quick update, also. The event in the Moncton Library went swimmingly! We had a great turn out and it was a lot of fun. Thanks to the Library for inviting me; I had a blast. I hit 50K on my NaNo later that evening, also, and completed the novel for a successful third installment in my trilogy. Now to edit, and write the scenes I skipped. A final update: I’ve been published in Germination’s first issue in 22 years. I have an essay/prose poem within, and have a couple of copies for sale for $15 each. You can use the PayPal link on the side and give me your address, and I will send you a...

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Get your write on!

Posted by on Nov 14, 2012 in Life in Writing | 0 comments

This is a quick, NaNoWriMo-induced post. I don’t want typing this to take up too much of my word count. I didn’t do NaNo last year, and I just wanted to briefly talk about how good it is to be back! My word count is plugging along nicely–as of writing this, I’m at 36,070 words. Next year, I plan on attempting all of NaNo in a span of two weeks. In 2014, it will be one. And in 2015, supposing I’m still at the same job, I plan on trying the 24-hour challenge and going for all 50,000 words in one shot. Just to see if I can. How are you doing with NaNo? If you need a little word count boost, don’t forget that I’ll be at the Moncton Public Library doing a write-in with this year’s Moncton ML and some other NaNo fans. Come on by! We’ll have sprints and maybe some prompts to help get your count up there. Parts of my novel this year are very meta, and I’ve made a few references to some of my other works and works-in-progress. One of them isn’t even something I’ve done anything with yet! Talk to you all soon. Let me know how your NaNo’s...

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The growing autumn

Posted by on Aug 31, 2012 in Life in Writing, Uncategorized, What Katie Cooks | 0 comments

I had a beautiful dream this morning, just before I woke up. The dream’s setting was a spot that my friends and I used to visit when we were in high school. It would usually be three of us–me and two others–but sometimes another would join us, too. We would spend full days up there, climbing trees, talking, playing games. It was a special spot only we knew about. Years later, one of those friends is now my husband. Just this past week, he and I took a visit to this spot to see if it was still there. While a large quarry has formed nearby, disturbing some of the peace and removing a large part of the path to the spot, the spot itself remained completely in tact. A circle of stones rested perfectly at its entrance, almost undisturbed by time, save for a few fallen branches. A staff from years before was sitting by a tree, the only hint of time being the light moss that had begun to cover it. One of the biggest differences from before was a collection of multicoloured mushrooms that had popped up here and there–some of them were bright orange, though we also found a few black-purple ones. In this dream, I was alone, walking through the area and gazing up at the trees and sky. For some reason, I could see the sky a little better than I could if I were really there. It was the bright blue of a clear day, with only a few white, fluffy clouds. A large spruce tree heavy with cones towered over me. In my dream, I thought to myself that I should go there alone more often. It was cut short when I woke up, but it lasted long enough to leave me with a pleasant mental image. Maybe it was the pure blue of the sky, but something made me think of summer. When I woke up, I was met with the jarring darkness that comes from the end of August: the sunrise coming later in the morning–the orange-gold morning light that comes from a waning existence. Seeing light of that colour reminds me of a section of Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead: GUIL: It’s autumnal. ROS: (examining the ground) No leaves. GUIL: Autumnal — nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day… Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it… Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses… deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth — reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke. The last days of summer are melting away, but 21 days of September remain before the equinox hits and the summer is considered truly over.  Those 21 days still have a remaining possibility to them, as though there is still so much left to accomplish. Though it’s all but officially over, I’m still not ready to give the summer up. I didn’t always (or, really, ever) like summer as a child, but now that I’m an adult I have grown to really love it. I’m not even sure why. Maybe I just need a good winter hobby to get me through the rougher months. Do you have any plans while it’s still warm? Maybe you enjoy the fall and winter months and you’re looking forward to the cooler weather. I went canoeing and hiking with the hubby earlier on this week, and I’m hoping we can squeeze in one last full beach visit before. I also wouldn’t mind having another pretty dream like last night’s, but  I suppose I could do that any time of...

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…Like an airy spirit go…

Posted by on Aug 2, 2012 in Life in Writing | 0 comments

…Like an airy spirit go…

Was it all just a dream? Last week, I had the opportunity to take part in another of Hubcity Theatre’s performances. This year, we did A Midsummer Night’s Dream for our yearly Shakespeare in the Park staging, and I took on the role of Puck, Oberon’s jester. Funnily enough, my husband, Brad, assumed the roles of Theseus and Oberon, meaning that he was the one I had the most personal interaction with–and sometimes it got a little violent! For a little while, this play was less like an airy dream and more like a nightmare, and I’ll tell you why. We had a condensed rehearsal schedule. And by this, I mean that in early July we were having about 5 rehearsals a week, on top of what we all do in our normal lives. I rope myself into doing this every summer, even though I value my free time more than most. This year was a little more strenuous that previous years, since we had to be in rehearsal so much more leading up to it. All of my free evenings were taken by rehearsal and, more often than not, I would go straight home from rehearsal, go to bed, and then get up the next morning to start all over again. Somewhere, in the shuffle of losing free time, frustration over various play-related things and extreme physical exhaustion, I managed to completely lose myself. Around dress rehearsal time, I started having fun. When opening night in Sackville came, I was back to enjoying the process. When opening night in Moncton came, and 215 people showed up to watch the show, that’s when the dreamlike quality of the experience started to kick in. At closing night, we removed our (considerably sweat-laden) costumes for the final time and let out a collective cheer. We had done it. It had been a roaring success. Long, late rehearsals in mosquito-filled parks had paved the way for what was truly a fantastic show. The cast and crew ushered their way to our house for the cast party, where we ate ourselves into a stupor and reminisced about some of our favourite parts of the play. We talked late into the night, and when we went to bed, we woke up the next morning, finding it suddenly over. I’m an introvert. I don’t really like hanging out with people. I like my space. But if you expose me to a situation long enough, I will gradually warm up to it, to the point of enjoying it. I become, for a brief week or so, an extrovert. And right now, I find myself missing the people I met and spent so many hours with this summer. I’ve even had dreams about this play, and I’m left wondering if it really happened. I find myself liking posts on Facebook and staring longingly at pictures, and looking in every direction for a chance at stumbling across some of these people when I’m out in public. When I’m exposed to a situation like that, I go from resisting it to embracing it. I’ll spend the week thereafter in a fog induced by the glory that was the performance week. I’ll randomlyrealise little things, like “hey, a week ago was our closing night in Sackville” (it was!). The days will slip on and the reminiscing will finally disappear for now, to hopefully be brought up again next year. I had a dream (“past the wit of man to say what dream it was”) that I spoke some of my lines, then flew into the air. It was a brief dream, but its magical qualities reminded me, in waking, of the week that had passed so quickly. A week of adventures in Sackville, moving on to Moncton and praying for good weather. And then, it was back to reality, and back to work, for me. That fleeting, beautiful, dreamlike week. In the retail world, we’re suddenly hearing talk of “back to school” and “fall collections”. But it’s only August! We still have about a month and a half of summer...

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A moment to myself

Posted by on Jun 19, 2012 in Life in Writing, Uncategorized | 1 comment

I just need a few minutes to myself. This happens, sometimes. I’m at home alone but I need to be out, among the world but not communicating with it. Just being. A person, watching people who are watching back. My backyard is my sanctuary, with its fragrant yellow roses and towering purple irises. But it’s not what I need now. Instead, I lock the door–leaving my cell phone behind–and walk to the park down the road. All the swings are vacant, inviting. I sit down, heedless of the fact I’m wearing a skirt. I had put on a pair of shorts underneath for just such a purpose, anyway. Already, my legs have settled into the familiar rhythm of pumping, then pushing back. I have to spread my ankles apart because my legs are so long, they risk brushing the gravel below and breaking that rhythm. Already, I seem to be matching height with a tree across the field. A man and a woman cross the path in front of me, watching me as the swing’s chains creak in protest. I momentarily wonder how old they think I am. I’m 26, but I’ve been told I look closer to 19 or 20. Would a normal 26-year old come out to a swing set? Why do I care? Suddenly, a woman about my Mom’s age appears from the sidewalk, walks behind me and takes a seat on the swing set next to mine. We exchange a brief moment of silent acknowledgement through a smile, and she starts to swing as well. I notice earbuds in her ears and can’t help but wonder what she’s listening to. I also notice that she and I are both wearing turquoise. For some reason, it seems significant; we’re two bluejays in a neighboring tree, both aware of each other’s presence but not really doing anything about it. My legs continue the same rhythm, never faltering or changing. I see them rise up before me with every pump and laugh inwardly to think of how pale I am. The wind rushes through my hair, sending it into my mouth. I think about how much I will enjoy cutting it before long. I grew it out so I could have something to work with for the wedding, but that was back in October. Time for a change. When I snap out of my reverie, I notice my swing-mate and I are swinging in perfect tandem like the pendulums of two grandfather clocks standing side by side. I wonder if she notices, too, or if she’s still off in her own world. The lack of eye contact on her part confirms the latter. That’s all right. I didn’t come out here for company. My time for reflection seems to have ended, for I feel myself slowing, and my legs stopping to allow the momentum to catch itself. Any extra motion from my legs may start my progress over, so I just sit and let the swing gradually stop. I try to stand and walk away with dignity, but my legs wobble beneath me. It seems ironic that, after using them so extensively for the past fifteen minutes, my legs no longer seem as though they want to carry me. I force them to, and I head back...

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