Will you still love me when I'm 84? How about tomorrow?

I was grumpy yesterday. I don't know why, the mood just struck me. Maybe it's the return of the cold weather. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt comfortably warm but figured it was probably on Saturday evening when I was working by the fire with a glass of red wine at my side. I can just imagine myself when I'm old and reminiscing about the good times I had when I wasn't fighting to keep warm

I phoned my dad this morning to tell him I was less grumpy today than I was last night when I talked to him on the phone. Last night I was grumpy because I had missed him calling me to say they were going to Costco and ask if I needed anything--which I did, bread and McIntosh apples. I missed the call this time because my phone was charging and not because it was on vibrate or silent mode at the bottom of one of my bags. I had lost my phone again for about a day last week. I wish there was some way I could put that thing on a lanyard and wear it around my neck. I am also a big fan of mittens on a string if that isn't already obvious.

"I'm grumpy like an old man who didn't get his pudding," I told my dad.

"You're what?"

I explained to him then the scenario of a little old man in a nursing home who waits all day, maybe all week for a dish of pudding with his meal but for some reason does not get it. That little old man, in my mind, would be grumpy. People might laugh and think it's an awfully silly reason to get all bothered over, but for this man pudding is the difference between a good day and a bad day, and that is what I felt like. Grumpy for no real good reason and in need of an afghan because I am cold all the time. Perhaps as you read this though you are thinking someone should check me for a fever because I am sounding delirious.

I had a meeting at the bank today with My Bank Guy. I told him today that I am writing a novel. I mentioned this because we were looking at my investments and I had not yet told him of my early retirement plan that requires me to write a best seller. In case the markets crash again this is my Plan B.

"You have to let me read it when it's done," he said. He was really excited about this project for me.

"Yup." I nodded. Later though I thought about this some more. Maybe it was not wise of me to mention the novel writing project. Would he read this story I am crafting? Would he even be in the section of the bookstore one would find this book in, if it made it to the shelves? Then I started replaying the whole story in my head and letting the internal editor take a critical look at it (so far I've done a pretty good job at keeping that nasty woman locked away in the linen closet where her comments are muffled by fluffy towels). Then I said, STOP! You are telling the story of Character A. It's not even your story anymore, it is Character A's. You're just putting it into words. All that matters is that you tell Character A's story in a way that is respectful and true. And Jillian, you can make paint drying sound interesting, so what makes you think that you can't entertain anyone with this story you're working on now?

After the bank and dinner with my parents I went to the gym for a short run. I figured out today that I could probably do one of those 5k fun runs. They're usually fundraisers for some honourable charity which means I would be paying money to run. Crazy talk. Must be delusional. As I was running today though my knees started aching like someone whacked them with a hammer. I know, I know, I really have to get out and get some proper shoes. Even after the run my knees continued to ache, which made me feel even more like a grumpy old man.

And now I think I would really like a dish of pudding.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four
--The Beatles, When I'm 64

The Typical Winnipeg Winter Writing Experience

When I got home today I had a horrible headache. Truck got all hung up on a snow drift when I was backing him into the driveway. On top of that, my head was pounding (ba dum ching!). I called my dad and took an Advil.

I was hoping the roads weren't going to be so bad this afternoon because I wanted to go to the gym and pick up some groceries. The gym is located in the Superstore (in the same building that is, I don't actually do laps around the produce and canned goods) and boy do I love the convenience of that. But since I couldn't even get out of my driveway without help I really wasn't excited to navigate the roads just for a Body Pump class and some Oreos.

I bought a new down jacket on a super sale at Eddie Bauer last week but I couldn't decide if I liked it. It was good quality and would be super warm, I knew that, but it was shorter than my current winter jacket. This one only came down to my hip. Most ladies jackets will hit just below the hip at least and cover some of the derierre area. I worried that A) this would look funny on me because it would essentially cut me in half, and B) that it would mean sitting on a frozen tush after waiting for the bus to arrive. The hood was another matter altogether. It is also filled with very lofty down so when I put it up it for sure will keep my ears warm, but I can't help but think I look like a Teletubby. I just need some kind of antennae to complete the look.  I also found myself reminded of that Robert Munsch story, Thomas' Snow Suit:

"That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen in my life. If you think that I am going to wear that ugly snow suit, you are craaaaazy." Thomas, speaking to his mother in Thomas' Snow Suit. Listen to Robert Munsch tell the story here, he is still one of my all-time favourite story tellers.

I needed to be convinced that this jacket, which was a supreme deal, was in fact so fabulously warm and able to protect me from the elements of a Winnipeg winter, that it didn't really matter if the style was not exactly my preference. So I put it on with all the tags intact, and stood outside while my dad cleared my driveway. It worked exactly as I predicted it would and so I think I have convinced myself to keep it.




Yes, my eyes are closed. I am so warm and cozy in my new jacket that I can fall asleep standing outside in a whipping 80 km/hr wind. Clearly, worth every penny of the $100, even if it should have had an extra couple of inches added to the bottom.

So as I was saying, I had a headache and I didn't feel like putting my life nor my auto insurance deductable at risk, so I stayed in for the night. Mother Nature essentially grounded me.

I had an itch to do some baking, which was why I needed the Oreos. I wasn't too disappointed I wouldn't be able to make the mini cheesecakes I had in mind, but I had an incredible craving for chocolate, so all I could think about was double chocolate chip cookies. The only thing that really stopped me from baking though was the thought of having all those extra dishes to wash after--bowls, spoons, cookie sheets. I had just finished washing up the dishes from my breakfast and dinner. I really didn't want to plunge my hands into a basin of hot water again.

I knew too that a baking project would take a fair bit of time to do and it would probably leave me with very little time for writing. With it being so miserable outside it was a perfect reason to stay in and just add to my word count. But then I checked the TV and saw that House was going to be on after the news. When I went to settle in to watch the show though my TV started acting up again. I had no picture. I really couldn't do anything except go to my writing space and work. I did my daily word count and cured my chocolate craving with a piece of cake. After that my headache was gone. Amazing huh?

I'm finding myself torn about telling people that I am doing this writing project. While I am excited about it and proud of the results so far, people always want to know what I'm writing about. The No Plot No Problem book suggest that writers taking the one month novel challenge shouldn't talk about what they are writing while doing the challenge because then they might feel limited to stick to the details and plot plans they've revealed. So for now I am keeping the topic a secret. So far I think it has worked out well because the story I ended up telling isn't quite like the one I thought it was going to be, and I am quite enjoying the surprise.

Since reaching the half-way mark I've gotten paranoid about the idea of losing my work so today I decided to back it up onto a USB stick. I'm also worried about what would happen if I were to lose that tiny little stick and so I'm thinking maybe I should back the work up online too. I started having visions of that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie's Mac crashes and she loses all her work, all the columns she's written and everybody asks her, well didn't you back up? She's dating Aidan in that episode and they get into a fight and he buys her a new laptop.

Ugh. I feel like I was dragged behind a bus in the snowdrifts. I hope I'm not coming down with something. That would be great, writing my novel while under the influence of Nyquil or a fever-induced delirium. I told Lisa that I would only introduce aliens and dream sequences if I found myself getting close to the deadline but not anywhere near the word count.

Day 10

After what I called a bad week for writing, I wagged a stern finger at myself and got back on track. I visited the gym on Friday night for some Zumba and Yogalates, came home, showered and put on an outfit for going to Starbucks to get some work done. Nigel groaned and rolled his eyes when I told him that I planned to spend Friday nights this month playing the cliche part of the writer in a coffee shop. Isn't it something I had to try at least once though? If I didn't, wouldn't that be like going to New York and not going up the Empire State Building? Even if it is overpriced and cliche, you have to experience it just once.

On Saturday I did more writing, mostly from the warm and cozy comforts of my aunt's house. And today I went back to the gym, washed dishes, realized I had been neglecting my laundry so tackled that, and worked some more on the novel. Just before six I crossed a major marker: 25,163 words. I am at the half-way point on Day 10.

I'm good and tired.

I.O.U. J.B.

It's been a terrible week for writing.

There are three things I am trying to stay on top of these days: writing, going to the gym and dishes. My word count this week has been a grand total of 3,464 words since I closed the weekend with 10,190. I got to the gym once, on Tuesday for a run and some weights. My kitchen counter, however, is spotless.

Lisa was suddenly left with an extra ticket to the theatre last night and called to see if I wanted to go. I could have said no, but then I would have missed a really great play--The Drowsy Chaperone. I came home and worked for about ten minutes before my eyes started getting tired and my brain started considering changing a big chunk of the plot.

Tonight being Thursday I had scheduled to be a free night since usually Lisa and I get together for dinner and TV. Still, I knew I would have time for either dishes, a quick run or some writing time. Possibly two things, since I had passes to a movie screening that we were going to go to instead. But Lisa called this afternoon and said she had to take a rain check because she wasn't feeling well. I talked to my sister and she said she'd like to go. I also decided to invite her for dinner. So when I got home today I did not write or run. I did make us some tasty turkey burgers with rice and mango salsa, and I even got to wash up the dishes just before Tracy arrived.

Tracy really enjoyed the meal. I packed up some leftovers for her to take home too. I always think that I don't have a single maternal bone in my body, but it seems there is something in there that gives me great pleasure in nurturing people with food. Hm, that reminds me, I should feed my goldfish.

The screening tonight was for Extraordinary Measures, which was based on the true story about a regular family guy who teams up with a medical researcher to find a cure for the disease that is killing his kids. As I watched it I wondered what it was like from Tracy's perspective, given that she's in the medical field and works with terminal kids every day. On the way home we talked about how it seemed hard to believe the time line of the story, given that it dealt with medical research, grants and clinical trials.

"Are you still thinking about med school?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm still going back and forth on it."

I asked her if it was still the same things that are holding her back, and it seems that she's still afraid of not making it in. Fear of failure, especially after investing time and money, is a very common reason for not doing something. Am I afraid of not getting this novel done? Oh yes. I am terrified. Mostly I am afraid of having to come here on February 15 and tell you that I didn't make it, that I was all talk and no results. I'm also afraid of losing my health which I pretty much took for granted most of my life until recently. I've been trying to keep up with the dishes simply because I have very limited counter space to stack the dirty ones on, and I hate spending more than 15 minutes with my hands in a basin of water when I could be doing other things like writing, exercising, watching Vampire Diaries (which I missed tonight!) The 30 day novel project has been a great exercise in making a commitment to myself and just doing it. Some writing days are great, some are a struggle but I forgive myself for the frustrating days because at least I sat down and put in the time. I kept my promise. I keep promises to other people all the time, I give things up for other people all the time, but I have mostly sucked at honouring myself.

This week life made it challenging to keep the promises I made to myself, but the trade offs were pretty good. Over the weekend I am going to have to work extra hard to make up for the little vacation I took though. I owe it to myself.

Chiro is a no-go

I went to the gym yesterday and did some work with weights before taking a go on the treadmill.  Yup, back to the running. I've decided I'm not going back to the chiropractor.

I went for my last appointment on Monday and reviewed my X-rays with the doctor. He told me I had scoliosis and that my hips were uneven, which was the cause for my shoulder and hip pain on my left side. He drew the misalignments on an image of a normal skeleton. He told me that I am also suffering from Stage 1 straightening of the cervical vertabrae and my tailbone is tilted back. I know, what a mess huh? Oh but wait! He can fix all that for me and relieve me of my pain. I'm just lucky I came in now and not ten or twenty years down the road.

Then he presented me with my treatment schedule and the fees as well as a payment plan. For six weeks I would need to see him three times per week. Then for another six weeks it would be only twice a week, followed by once per week for six more. All this for the low low price of $1,206.90 or $301.73 per month. My insurance covers $350.

Now, the pain relief may come after only a few visits, but of course it is important to keep coming or the whole thing will just go back to the same mess. It is possible that fewer treatments will be needed (and surely the good doctor would send me away early if that happened!).

Starting to feel the pressure from the sell job I felt my eyebrows go into a misalignment. When this happens I prefer to take the information home and consider my options.

"It's your back," the doctor said with a shrug. That's right, it's my back and not your cash cow, dude.

I went to the chiropractor office with an open mind about the treatment. It does seem to work for a lot of people but the doctor I saw didn't instill in me a sense of trust. His analysis left me with a lot of questions, and upon further research into the science of chiropractic I just don't feel that it fits into my beliefs about health and wellness. The treatment schedule also did not fit in with my schedule at all and it was definitely not in my budget at this time. Because I recently started a more regular and intense fitness plan, I want to look into getting proper shoes for the activities I do, and possibly orthoses, if necessary, since I do know that I have floppy ankles and fallen arches. Why not start with a small and easy change, in the place where I know I have a definite weakness, and see how that works? I did pilates for years and I'm now regularly doing strengthening exercises. I've also noticed that exercise, either running or doing weights helps relieve the knot in my shoulder and make the pain go away. So that's my plan. Check on me in ten years to see if I'm an arthritic crippled mess and then you can tsk tsk.

Spending all me jarre
Smoking all the time
In Cairo
Doing all I can for the big man
Cairo

Bananarama--Cairo
(Get it? Cairo and Chiro? Uh huh, nothing wrong with my pun alignment now is there.)

13,105: That's my word count so far! I am almost three days ahead on my word count.

10,190

Ten thousand, one hundred and ninety. That's how many words I assembled into sentences, paragraphs and the delicate bud of a story this weekend that marked the start of my 30 day/50,000 word novel writing project. It feels absolutely amazing.

Before Day 1 arrived I was really nervous about what I had set myself up for. I had an idea in my head of what I wanted to write but since I had never done something so big before I wondered if I could really find enough ideas to keep the story going for 50,000 words. Fifty thousand. Imagine that the Winnipeg Stadium sold out for a Bomber game and every person who was in attendance brought with them a word, some even brought the same word, like there were a lot of and's and the's and such. The stadium's capacity is 29,533 so all together they would still be 20,467 words short. Imagine that Winnipeg was hosting the Grey Cup and we put in the temporary seating in the south end and fans from Saskatchewan, BC, Alberta, Ontario and Montreal showed up with their words. I would still be short by just over 5,000 words (yes, the french ones from Montreal would count, although it might confuse things a bit). Writing a short novel is bigger than a Winnipeg Football game. Suddenly singing the national anthem before the kickoff seems less scary.

Everything they say about the writing process is true. It's really amazing what comes out when you just sit down and commit yourself to hammering something out but leave your internal editor in another room. The characters take on a life of their own and start doing funny things. New people show up. Crazy things happen. The story just pours out like sand. I really had no idea I could do this.

On Thursday night Lisa picked up one of the young adult books I'm reading. She took a peek at it and laughed. "You can write better than this," she said. Right now the writing isn't about quality. It's all about quantity. Once the first draft is down I can go back and edit and tweak but it's nice when people let you know that they think you can do something amazing.


In the writing class I took in the fall one of my instructor's favourite quotes was from Stephen King who said, "You must not come lightly to the blank page." I liked the quote too and appreciated King's book On Writing, but I think it can still make writing sound intimidating. So these are my words of advice (if I may offer them now, even though I am still 40,000 words away from the finish line): Approach the page. Do it with anxiety, do it with cockiness, do it with the power of Zen, I don't think it matters; just get yourself and your pen to the page and let yourself go. While you're there, enjoy the trip.

U da Bomb

What a day.

I had an appointment at the St. Boniface Hospital today. All I knew for sure was that the test had something to do with my heart, which my doctor wanted to check out because of my fainting spell last summer. When he was telling me he wanted me to go for the test he said "Holter Device" and when I phoned the hospital to schedule it I was directed to the Stress Test lab, so in my head I was imagining being hooked up to a machine while I got my heart rate going on the treadmill. So this morning I decided to wear my yoga pants, sports bra, t-shirt and runners. Even if I was wrong about the running thing, I was confident that I just looked "fun and sporty".

I was wrong about the running thing.

The Holter is a device that records every beat of your heart on a tape recorder through seven electrodes affixed to your chest and torso. I removed my top and the cardiac technologist scratched my skin with what I can only guess was fingertip bits of sandpaper.

"And now I am going to rub those spots with alcohol," she said. Fun.

After she scratched and burned me, she placed the seven electrode disks, taped them, and connected all the attached wires to another cable that looked like the wiring required for hooking a trailer up to the back of your vehicle. All this connected to a device, about the size of a cell phone, that I have to wear on my hip for 24 hours. At this point I had to bite my tongue, my lip, and the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing. Even after I left the lab I wanted to burst out into a fit of giggles because all I could think was that I must look like a suicide bomber. Can you imagine if I went to the airport today and tried to board a plane? If I had a blind date?






I went home and changed into work clothes, including a cowl neck sweater that came the closest to being able to hide the electrodes. Because two of them were placed just under my collarbone though it was impossible to completely conceal the device and I felt rather self conscious about it.

On Saturday when I was on the treadmill I got a cramp in my left shoulder which escalated later on into burning pain. I had suffered this pain before and tried massage therapy for relief but was never fully satisfied with the results. On Monday I decided I would check into chiropractic. I phoned a place up and made the appointment for Tuesday after work, not realizing at the time that I would be going with my kamikaze pilot getup on. I also went to a weights class on Monday night at the gym with Amara and was surprised to find that the exercise actually helped a great deal.

The chiropractor did some basic assessments and asked me about my pain and my exercise habits. He concluded that I was protecting my left side a fair bit but would need X-rays to complete his diagnosis. Since I was wired up we agreed that I should come back later for those. I was fine with all of this until he said that he wouldn't recommend I do any running or bouncing around exercises until he had me realigned.

No more running? No more Zumba dance? Could the Holter device detect a breaking heart? I know there are other low-impact ways to exercise but I finally found something that works that I love. If you had told me ten years ago that one day I'd be pouting about not being able to run I'd have told you to take a run out of town.  I can't quit now. No way. I'll put up with the pain, but I'm not going to stop strengthening my heart and pushing myself to the limit.

More than words

I woke up at 7:30 this morning, and I mean woke. up. Usually I can sleep until nine or so on the weekends and usually I need the extra Zs. So I tried to force myself back to slumber but it just wasn't happening. I got up, checked in with the Internet and then decided that I felt like paying a visit to the treadmill at the gym. It was all very surreal. I had a bowl of Mini Wheats, had a shower, put on my workout clothes and some sweats, and headed out just after sunrise.

I noticed this week that the classes are a lot busier now. They warned me about this when I signed up for the gym in October, the place will be hopping in January when everyone is gun-ho about their New Year's goals, they said. Saturday morning at nine is apparently an exception.

I decided that on this day, when I woke up uncharacteristically early with an uncharacteristic urge to go out in the cold to a fitness facility and commit aerobic exercise on myself, that I wanted to run for an hour. I've actually thought about this before on previous treadmill expeditions, but I'm often there in the evenings on weekdays during "peak hours" when machine time is limited to 30 minutes, so mostly it was just something nice to think about but not actually try.

Lisa is a runner and will go running, outside, for hours. I said to her the other day, "I just can't imagine spending two hours running. I mean, you could watch an entire movie in that time." Which isn't to say that I would rather sit on a couch or in a theatre and stare at a screen for two hours instead of doing something healthy for my body. It's just that I consider myself a busy person and two hours is a long time to spend doing anything, really.

I did a five-minute warm up by walking briskly before bumping my speed up a few notches. I've gotten much better at the treadmill since my first experience. At my best I'm doing about a 12 minute mile, which I seem to recall being what I ran when I was in public school and was considered rather poor, but it feels somehow better 15 years later (in the sense that my lungs don't feel like they will burst and my throat doesn't feel like it is full of blood and razor blades). Looking back now it makes me mad that they just expected everyone to know how to run, how to breath properly and find your pace and rhythm. In my day more kids were natural athletes than not I guess. I wonder if the tables have turned now in the age of Facebook and PS3.

It wasn't long before my new favourite song came on--Enjoy the Silence as sung by Anberlin (I say as sung by because the song was originally a Depeche Mode single and has since been covered by many many other bands and singers including Matthew Good, Kim Wilde and Nada Surf). I discovered the song on a soundtrack list for Vampire Diaries (See Episode 6). It's a good running song and it gave me an extra burst of energy to kick it into the next gear. In fact I played it twice. Sometimes I buy shoes because they make me feel like someone else--like how my red strappy wedges make me feel like Wonder Woman or how my black and purple platform heels with the zipper on the vamp add a little edginess to a basic black dress. Songs some how get into my head and do the same. When it's just me and the music I am the fastest, strongest, smartest, most kick-ass rockin' it girl I know. Like Wonder Woman, Nancy Drew, Carrie Bradshaw and the Sarah Michelle Gellar Buffy all rolled into one.

Vows are spoken
To be broken
Feelings are intense
Words are trivial
Pleasures remain
So does the pain
Words are meaningless
And forgettable

Depeche Mode--Enjoy the Silence


During the songs that I didn't love as much I tried to get my mind to wander to anywhere but the clock. I thought about the week gone past and replayed a conversation I had with OAF on Wednesday. OAF has a wry sense of humour so many of our conversations are spoken with our tongues planted firmly in cheeks. Which is to say the real conversation happens between the lines.

me: did you think of me today? 

4:29 PM He: Today and all days. Kind of. Okay, not much, I admit. Why?

4:32 PM me: well, I was walking through the mall today on my way home and coming toward me was this guy who had a striking resemblance to you. I mean, just shy of uncanny. He looked at me and I at him and I was so startled I nearly walked into signage.

  So I thought surely, you were thinking so hard, that your Winnipeg twin was lead to pay me a visit. 

4:33 PM He: Love it.

4:34 PM it's cold here, so maybe the fact that I'm cold projects me to Winnipeg

  ("Project" and "project", by the way)

He pointed out "project" because it's a heteronym, a word that is spelled the same as another word but pronounced differently. It was something we started when I was visiting New York. It is the geekiest inside joke I have ever been a part of but it's nice too. Do you ever tell your friends, "I love you?" Well I guess some guys, maybe after a keg of beers on an evening that includes an iPod shuffle mix sprinkled with U2 and Green Day, will turn to their best buddy and say something like, "I love you man," but under ordinary circumstances when neither party is under duress or near death, do people ever turn to their friends and say just what they mean to them? I love Lisa. I love Vince and Rob too. I don't say those words but there are other ways to communicate my grand appreciation for having them in my life all these years, for being there, for making me laugh. Later that night OAF popped up again.

He: Hey, I thought of you today
10:08 PM me: really? That's funny, I thought of you too.  

The Olympic Torch Run Ceremonies: I was there!

The Olympic torch arrived in Winnipeg yesterday and I was there. As I stood outside at the Forks along with the thousands of other Winnipeggers who put on their winter gear and came out for the festivities, it felt really cool. I thought about all the times I've watched the Olympics on TV taking place in other countries and realized that even though I'm not in Vancouver, I am still part of the Olympic spirit and celebration. I know people are turned off by the commercialization of the games these days, and no, you couldn't clap your hands without hitting some kind of corporate swag last night. But if you can look past the logos you'll find that marketing can't put a label on spirit. I felt true, Winnipegger, Manitoban, Canadian spirit last night, and that did not come from a free bottle of Coke.

20 bucks on the writer

On Sunday afternoon, the last day of holidays I went to McNally Robinson bookstore. I found my way over to the bargain section and started pulling things off the shelves. I grabbed two novels that purported to be about love, another that I read in high school and loved, and a collection of poems and letters by Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning. If you want to be a writer you have to be a reader, so there I was, ready to be a reader and continue plunging myself into studying my craft.

Even though I had a gift card and a 10% discount card something made me hesitate about purchasing the books. With the price of words printed on recycled paper these days it's really smarter to check out the library instead. The last book I spent money on was awful and that kind of makes me mad.

I decided to wander over to the journal section since I needed a new one. I didn't see anything I liked though so I turned to head back to the cheap books and ended up in the Writers' Reference section. There were no less than 25 options in handbooks to instruct the budding writer how to write a novel, write for young adults, get published and tell the story of YOU. I held in either hand two books on writing novels. One was thin and $20 and the other was thinner and $10. What more could the $20 book say than the $10 one? Well, for the extra ten bucks I bought me a challenge and what looks like some good instructions on how to meet that challenge.

No Plot? No Problem! A Low-Stress, High-Velocity Guide to Writing a Novel in 30 Days

And this, my friends and readers, is what I intend to do.

I put back the novels (but kept the book of poetry) and made a $20 bet with myself that I could do this. The challenge is nothing to sniff at: 50,000 words in 30 days. I am starting on Friday and will wrap up by the Sunday evening of the February long weekend.

The challenge isn't to write the next great novel, it is simply to write a complete draft, to get it done. After the challenge has been completed I can go back and edit and rewrite and polish to my heart's content. What I like most about this reference book is that it takes the intimidation out of the task of writing. My writing class was all about taking things seriously, not going to the page lightly, which is a great way to get the inner critic salivating. The guy who wrote the book and invented the challenge (you may know it as NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month*) wasn't a writer or a student of literature when he got a group of friends together to try the experiment, he just set his mind to doing something, like running a marathon or learning to play an instrument. Anyone can do it and you don't have to be a prodigy to succeed. Oh, and perhaps you too are wondering just what kind of crap comes out of such a challenge. Well I looked and it seems that some people do go on to get their NaNoWriMo project published:

Jon F. Merz--- The Destructor (Pinnacle Books, 2003).


Lani Diane Rich--- Time Off for Good Behavior (Warner Books, 2004), Maybe Baby (Warner Books, 2005), and Wish You Were Here (Warner Books, 2008). 

Sara Gruen--- Flying Changes (HarperCollins, 2005) and Water for Elephants (Algonquin, 2007). 
 
Rebecca Agiewich--- BreakupBabe (Ballantine Books, 2006).
 
Francesca Segre--- Daughter of the Bride (Berkeley Books, 2006).

David Niall Wilson--- Vintage Soul (Five Star/Gale, 2007) and The Mote in Andrea's Eye
 
And many more!


I hate January in Winnipeg. It is freakin' cold and dark and it is such a downer after the party month that is December. The only thing to look forward to is the long weekend in February (and thank God we have that now in Manitoba to break up the stretch between New Year's and Easter). So I am going to write and go to the gym. I created a calendar for myself with two-hour writing blocks six times a week that work around my gym schedule and the eight hours I spend during the weekday working at the cardboard box factory. It seems do-able. Crazy, but do-able. And if I can write 50,000 words into some semblance of a story in 30 days, I am quite certain I can do anything.

*Thanks Kasia for also suggesting this project to me, but I'm glad I don't have to wait until November to do it!

2010 might need a block heater to get it going

This is me right before I:

A) Robbed a bank
B) Was greeted by the paparazzi outside my home
C) Went to my follow-up appointment with my plastic surgeon

I'm babysitting Elmo this weekend. On New Year's Day I woke up to -35C with a windchill of -45. If I didn't try to cover every pore on my body before taking the little guy out for his business appointments I'm pretty sure my face would freeze and then shatter the moment I tried to blow my nose.