Recently, my niece, Holly, made a black cat pinata from scratch for Halloween. Did you read that? A pinata FROM SCRATCH! She didn’t buy it at the Bulk Barn or Party City. She handmade it. What the?!
Of course, she captured and shared the step-by-step magic on Instagram. I marveled at it – her ingenuity, her patience. Hundreds and hundreds of confetti-like squares of black tissue paper individually glued to a perfectly carved cardboard cat frame. Her two seven-year old twin girls proudly helped along the way, gluing on the eyes, preparing the whiskers. Then they reveled in the moment they got to smash it with their friends – scrambling and shrieking for candy.
“Damn,” I thought. “She’s so talented, thoughtful and creative.”
Last June, when my daughter was graduating from high school, her friend’s mom, Leah, printed out pictures from each year of her daughter’s school life, hung them one by one down the hall from her daughter’s bedroom with streamers, so when she woke up that morning, she opened her door to a celebration of her life so far – all leading to a balloon and flower shrine in the living room adorned around her grade 12 graduation photo as her family stood around and cheered.
When my kid told me about it, I’m pretty sure I caught a sense of longing and sadness in her eyes, wishing she had such a mom.
And once again, I thought, “Damn. She’s so talented, thoughtful and creative.”
I tried crafts with my kids as they grew up. Mostly, I bought them kits and paints from Michaels or the Dollar store and let them do their thing. If you’ve seen my past attempts at painting or crafts, you’d understand. I just don’t have the DIY DNA.
But then, after I gave my daughter her graduation present, I realized I was being too hard on myself.
My DIY book cover
I gave her a book of personal poems I had written about her to mark this significant transition in her life out of high school into university. Each piece was inspired by words I had collected about her from loved ones. At my request, they had sent me three words they think of when the think of her. I took them all and wrote some musings in hopes they would encourage, inspire, comfort or even spur a giggle from my youngest.
None of these poems came from a kit at Michaels or the Dollar Store. All of them came from me.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she read the pages. My heart filled.
That’s when I realized writing is my DIY, and damn, I am talented, thoughtful and creative!
I had created similar books for her two older sisters when they graduated. Each with their own twist, and their reactions equally filled my heart.
Over the years, I’ve written random poems and musings for many life moments for people I love: retirements, goodbyes, thoughts for a dying friend, my dad’s 90th birthday. I even did one for National Donut Day once. So fun! I do it because I love it and it means something to me. In turn, I also hope my words might mean something to others too – at the best of times, maybe they even get a laugh. (I’m no joke teller in real life, but sometimes I’m funny on paper 😊)
So, as it turns out, my DIY DNA isn’t half bad and I can hold my own against the likes of Holly and Leah.
Tell us how you DIY your writing and what it means to you.
I’m working on a short story collection, with a goal of drafting one story every month. The Restless Writers are working on a collaborative project – which Beckie mentioned a few months ago – that will have a lot of moving parts and ambitious deadlines. I have a new non-fiction project waiting in the wings, as well as some non-writing related plans too.
I’m excited to work towards my goals, and they’re important to me. But like a lot of the world, I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of chaos. How can I intentionally create space for pursuing my writing when it feels like I’m losing control? How can I keep moving forward when the work feels like I’m swimming through molasses? How can I support my creative and mental health in an already full and hectic life?
What helps me is a three-word mantra: Discipline. Patience. Joy.
Here’s what these words mean to me.
Discipline
I’ve come to accept that, for me, a daily writing habit isn’t realistic. I have a full-time job and do freelance work on the side, so it’s not feasible to find an hour to write every single day. What I can do is plan writing blocks in my weekly schedule when it makes sense for me. Sunday mornings, for example, work very well. Mini-DIY writing retreats are another tool I use. The discipline part kicks in when I commit to those writing blocks or retreats and use my writing time effectively.
(Not a write-every-day person? Feel better about it with the idea of “binge writing,” which I learned from Allison K Williams in this blog post.)
Showing up for other people is another part of my creative discipline. The monthly(ish) Restless Writers meetings are a big part of that. I also offer support to a small circle of people who are working towards creative goals and need the help of an accountability partner. When I show up to co-work with them, I’m also showing up for myself.
Most days, I struggle with focus. And there’s nothing like the fidgets to disrupt one’s creative efforts. So, this year, I’m banning the disruptors – those things that pull me out of creative flow. I’ve deleted TikTok (which I should have done eons ago, honestly). I’ve muted social media notifications. I’ve silenced the siren call of books to be read and jigsaw puzzles to be completed by moving them to a different room. Out of sight, out of temptation, right?
I’ve also taken steps to make it as easy as possible to transition into writing mode. Check out my previous posts about creative readiness (part 1 and part 2) if you want to hear how I’m setting myself up for creative success.
Patience
Where the word discipline feels somewhat sterile and harsh, patience feels like grace.
Creative work takes time, especially if you’re pursuing bigger goals, like a novel. With generative AI all around us, promising instant creative gratification, it can be hard to pull on the reins and settle into a rhythm of doing the time-consuming work. I have to remind myself that my writing goals won’t be achieved in one day – or heck, even in one week – and that’s okay. My slow and bumbling human brain is creating worlds, inventing people, and imagining love and disaster. Isn’t that beautiful?
Patience is also about knowing that my creative work will be there even if I have to step away from it. Life happens, and you might experience things that throw you off your creative game. I’ve had some setbacks already this year. Work got busy early. I had a monster freelance project that never seemed to end. The US election results gave me creeping, swirling, can’t-sleep-at-night anxiety. And last week, I said goodbye to my darling tortoiseshell cat, Mary Piper, who had been my companion for the last 14 years. Today was the first day I’ve felt like getting back to my writing. And you know what? The creative spark and the drive were still there. The story still called to me. So, I poured a coffee, put on some focus music, and got back to it.
This is Mary Piper, and one of her gazillion toys.
Joy
The third facet of my mantra is a gift to my creative self, a way of refilling my well and helping me feel connected to people and beauty around me. Frankly, joy has been hard to come by recently. There’s a lot going on – in my life, in the world – that makes joy seem elusive, like a shy fox in winter, or a sunrise hiding behind the morning fog. It can also be hard to recognize joy when you crash into it.
For me, joy feels like the hum of creative connection, the quiet of being immersed in nature, the exhilaration of moving my body, and the pleasure of interacting with art.
This year, I’m making the experience of joy a proactive exercise.
I’m seeking out and attending events, like an author reading at the library or an Alice in Wonderful exhibit at the Royal Botanical Gardens. I’m waking up early and walking to the frozen and glorious lake. Those books and puzzles I relegated to another room for the sake of discipline? I’m savouring them when I’ve finished my writing for the day. These moments are me welcoming and pursuing joy in my everyday life.
Discipline. Patience. Joy.
I breathe deeply and hold these words in my consciousness as I get ready in the morning. I contemplate them, written on the whiteboard in my study, throughout the day. I whisper them to myself when I get frustrated or depleted or sad. I re-visit them at night, to remind myself that I’m nurturing my creative self in ways that work best for me.
Do you have a mantra or a special word for 2025? I’d love to hear what it is and what it means to you.
For our first post of the new year, we thought we’d shake things up by welcoming a guest contributor. Everyone, meet Julie.
Now, in the twist you didn’t see coming, Julie and I don’t actually know each other that well. I couldn’t tell you the day of her birthday or how she takes her coffee – heck, I don’t even know if Julie drinks coffee – but what I do know is that we share a love for our mutual friend M.
M and I go back more than 30 years. Being her friend means there’s always something cozy to eat waiting for you when you walk in the front door of her home. It means being surprised with a little gift she picked up for you, just because. During COVID, she coined the “spirit shimmy” – a dance maneuver she would perform during our Zooms. At any point during the call, M would spontaneously advance on her camera and shake what her mama gave her, giving us a belly laugh and a glorious five-minute reprieve from our collective lockdown funk.
Another thing that’s special about M is that she’s a fervent cheerleader for her friends. This is especially true when it comes to my writing. No matter what I’ve written, whether it be an email, a eulogy or a social media post, she will proclaim, with great enthusiasm, that it is the funniest and most clever. And she doesn’t stop there. She tells people about it. Like a parent who can’t help but pull out their phone to show off pictures of their kids, she’ll say to all walks of people, “you gotta read this!”
And this is how I came to know Julie. She is also on the receiving end of the love and enthusiasm wielded by this petite, emphatic champion.
Over the years, M has said to me, ”you should meet my friend Julie, she’s a good writer like you.” While we have met in person, all too briefly, I never had the chance to read something Julie wrote until last December when M sent me something Julie penned for her family. In short, it was the funniest and most clever. I couldn’t read fast enough to see how it ended and also wished it could go on forever?
Huh. After all these years of thinking M’s take on my writing was clouded by her friendship with me, I had to admit, maybe she does know what she’s talking about.
I loved Julie’s piece so much that I asked her if she’d be willing to share it here and she said yes! I’m going to let Julie take it from here but not before one last shout out to our cheerleader.
M – thank you for connecting us and so fervently supporting the stuff we like to do, for no other reason than that you love us. I hope I have half the potential you see in me.
And now, over to Julie.
This is such a wonderful idea, to build community around writers and stories, and I can certainly agree with Sharon, that “M” is a gift of a human I am indeed lucky to know.
This story came about as we recently lost “Gran E” after 93 terrific years, 26 of which I got to enjoy as having her be my mother-in-law. It was our first Christmas without her and we missed having her as our epicenter very much. I wrote this to read aloud to hubby (the youngest kid of seven and the only boy – that is a whole other story) and our kid1 (22yo) and kid2 (19yo).
Every Christmas Eve we each pick a story from our box of Christmas books to read aloud. We’ve done it since the kids were little and it’s surprisingly poignant to see our adult kids with a little smile on their face, reading their favourite holiday story. I read this as a surprise and it was lovely to feel Gran E with us again, in a small way. Please enjoy, and thank you Sharon for wanting to share!
There are days…squirrel in the house
It started with a phone call, as many adventures can, from a lovely and charming grey haired lady.
“There’s a squirrel in my house,” she said.
I arrived twenty minutes later, flush with adrenaline and a noble desire to help, because the lady was my mother-in-law, and what better way to be cemented as preferred daughter-in-law*, than to rid her house of an unexpected, unwanted guest. *I was her only daughter-in-law…
I forensically assessed the scene. Tiny black pawprints on windowsills. Scuffling sounds coming from under the couch. Eyewitness account having seen something black and fast streak across the room. The thing is, my mother-in-law was no ninny. She was a nurse after the war. She raised seven children. She played a mean game of gin rummy. I didn’t doubt that she was right and a squirrel had fallen down her chimney, getting past the flue, and was now eviscerating the underside of her loveseat.
It was time to get to work. Phase one of the operation involved sizing up my opponent. Instinctively I knew I had the upper hand – I am bigger, smarter, and better equipped than the average squirrel, figuring as I did that my opposable thumbs and executive level reasoning were advantages. That being said, one is rarely prepared for the size of something you’ve only seen out of doors when it comes zooming at your face from under a piece of furniture.
The chase was on.
I settled Gran E (as we affectionately called her) at her kitchen table and closed the french doors to her living and dining room. From her vantage point she could see the back half of the scene and I was thankful she couldn’t see her living room, for the state it soon took on. I donned gardening gloves and commenced phase two – operation exhaustion. I decided to tire the squirrel out, and assess where it was hiding each time I chased it out from somewhere, so I could systematically close off its escape routes. My plan was genius – reduce its options then trap it in a box and take it outside. I did not factor in the herculean endurance possessed by the average Canadian squirrel.
Twenty minutes later I was panting and red faced from exertion and mounting rage. The loveseat and armchairs were all flipped on their backs, to stop the squirrel from scooting underneath them. I had leaves from the dining room table blocking the bottoms of other pieces of furniture, and had taken up a table cloth, which I now wielded like a matador, convinced I could throw it over the squirrel on one of it’s supersonic passes, to slow it down then slam the box over it.
Another twenty minutes later I was breathless as I had repeatedly experienced the surreal sight of the squirrel launching from the flipped loveseat into the air above my matador sheet, sometimes using it for added leverage to soar off down the length of the dining room, like a jet boosted missile. Each time I would gallop after it, trying to chase it into a corner, and as I passed the french doors, Gran E would laugh her hooting chortle like she was watching the best variety show ever.
Another twenty minutes later the squirrel’s path was reduced to a predictable loop and I thought it might be starting to slow. It wasn’t jumping as high, and when we made eye contact, it seemed resigned. On one of it’s streaks past me, I grabbed at it – a move born of desperate reflex, as I was not at all sure what I would do if I found myself clutching a squirrel, but thankfully I only came up with a tuft of hair from the tip of its tail.
Ten minutes later I decided I was a failure and we’d have to burn the house down to get rid of the squirrel. I was sitting in the centre of the living room, all furniture flipped on its back or precariously stacked in a pile. The squirrel was revving his engines in the corner, preparing for lap 1,249 of the space, and in a gesture born of desperation, I threw the box at it.
Time froze.
The box landed perfectly over the squirrel. I could hear its thoughts, because they mirrored mine; “HOW IN THE SWEET NUTTER…”
We burst into action at the same time. The box began skittering across the floor as I leaped to my feet. I could see paws and a nose creeping out as I reached the box and slammed it tight against the floor. In a fluid motion utterly at odds with my natural coordination, I grabbed a magazine and sliced it underneath, flipping the squirrel containment unit with its makeshift lid until it was right-side up, and closed the flaps.
A stunned silence filled the room. All I could hear was what I thought was the clock ticking, but it could have been a burst blood vessel in my head. I eased to my feet, holding the box like a priceless artifact, one hand on the top and another cradling the bottom, and opened the french doors, promenading towards Gran E. She clapped her hands and was about to speak when I saw her eyes widen and she jumped from her seat. “GET OUT” she urged and spun me towards the door. She had seen what I could not, that the squirrel was pulling a Jaws and was about to chew through the side of the box.
I raced to her front door, and in two steps launched the box and its furry contents off her porch. The box hit the ground first, the squirrel once again soaring like a mythical winged creature, to land on her emerald front lawn. It stopped there and sat up, to look around and I swear I saw it contemplate taking another run at me before it turned and disappeared into a hedge.
It took a half hour to restore Gran E’s furniture, and to pose for a photo with her and the clump of hair I’d snagged from her guest’s tail (see below). We laughed about the ridiculous evening we’d shared, and I headed home to rehydrate and stretch. Gran E swore in the days and weeks that followed that a squirrel with a short-ish tail was casing her house and was often on her roof. I believe her, and we agreed if it ever made it inside again, that we’d leave its removal to the professionals.
Guys! The cutest new coffee shop opened in my neighbourhood. It’s bright, friendly, independently owned and just a 15-minute walk from home. While this might not seem like a big deal, trust me when I say it is. Having a local gathering spot in this suburban hood where ne’er the words “double-double” or “grande” are spoken brings me such happiness.
In addition to great drinks and a fun vibe, one of my favourite things about the new spot is the lids. More specifically, the plastic coffee cup lids – each one of which is adorned with a handwritten note of daily inspiration.
Truth be told, when I first laid eyes on this lid set up, my pandemic-induced germ aversion left me a little unsure. Thoughts of random hands touching every lid, using a black Sharpie to add ink right next to the place where my mouth would be? Was this really necessary? But I quickly became a fan.
Never underestimate the power of words
It’s a small thing but the ritual of finding my lid is something I’ve come to love. Standing at the counter, waiting for my drink, my eyes go directly to the selection of lids laid out on their gold rack. Looking at all the choices is my chance to do a quick self check in – how am I feeling today?
Need a little boost? “The world is a better place with you in it,” is the lid for me.
Ready to take on the world? “You glow girl!”
Beating yourself up? How about a gentle reminder that “every fall is a chance to rise.”
The real magic comes on the days where you don’t know what you feel and then suddenly a brightly coloured plastic dome is speaking to you and telling you something even you didn’t realize you needed to hear.
On the days I can’t get to the coffee shop and my husband offers to bring a tea home for me, I get the chance to see myself reflected in the lid he chooses for me. “Life is beautiful and so are you.” Of course there was that one time he brought me a lid that encouraged “don’t just live, exist.” Mmmmm, pretty sure it was a typo but even the mixed-up messages leave me smiling.
The words are small and simple but they’ve got my back. Like a little plastic hype man that leaves me feeling energized, engaged and ready to take on the day.
It’s “new year, new you” season. If you’re a writer like me, you might be planning how you’ll approach your projects this year. And if, like me, you know you’ll take on too many projects this year and you see the dreaded stress, burnout, and soul-sucking disappointment on the horizon, lean in. I’ve got some thoughts.
James Clear, a writer and thought-leader on human behaviour and productivity, has written about the “four burners” theory. This theory envisions your life as made up of four quadrants, like four burners on a gas stove. Those four quadrants are family, friends, health, and work.
The four burners theory maintains that if you want to be successful, you can’t have all four burners going full-blast at once. You have to turn the gas down on one burner if you want to be successful, or cut one or two burners off completely.
Clear confesses that, at first, he wanted to find workarounds, so he could keep all four burners going and still be successful. For example, combining burners—such as friends and health, or health and work—but he eventually came to terms with what the theory is telling him about choice.
“Essentially, we are forced to choose. Would you rather live a life that is unbalanced, but high-performing in a certain area? Or would you rather live a life that is balanced, but never maximizes your potential in a given quadrant?”
James Clear
My two main thoughts from Clear’s article are this: 1) Work-life balance shouldn’t be the goal; and 2) Four burners doesn’t tell the whole story.
One: Work-life balance shouldn’t be the goal.
We are not bottomless wells of energy. We can only spend so much of our attention and energy and focus at a time, and we can’t keep up all aspects of our life on “full gas.” That way lies the aforementioned stress, burnout, and soul-sucking disappointment. But as Clear says, aiming for balance might mean that you aren’t excelling in any one area. Ideally, we should strive to put the right amount of energy towards the specific quadrants of our lives where we want to excel, when it makes sense—but it can’t happen all the time. You can’t give everything equal energy. Throughout your life, different burners will take precedence, and you will have to focus on them for as long as needed.
Bill Howatt, chief research and development officer of workforce productivity at Morneau Shepell maintains that there is no work-life balance. For Howatt, it’s all about blending your time.
“Most of us don’t live in two separate worlds where at work we focus only on work and at home we focus only on home.”
Bill Howatt
This blending concept resonated with me. I work from home, and the lines between those two domains are blurred. Hands up if you find yourself working over your lunch break or checking messages while you do laundry in the evenings. Keep your hands up if you also end up “homing from work”—making doctor’s appointments, checking personal emails, or throwing the laundry in the dryer when you’re on the clock. There’s no clear and definite separation, thanks to technology and the changing expectations of the workplace.
Instead of finding some elusive sense of balance, Howatt recommends using the tools of awareness, accountability, and action to find the perfect blend of work, home, and the other burners of your life you have to keep simmering.
Two: Four burners doesn’t tell the whole story.
The thing that really stuck in my mind was, why only four burners? I found myself hung up on the fact that the four burners model doesn’t represent my life.
As someone who works a day-job, does freelance work, writes in the early and wee hours, and pursues a variety of other projects and initiatives, I find the “work” label too simplistic.
I also volunteer. Is that work? Friends? Health?
Some people get great meaning and fulfillment out of their spirituality, and attend services and events related to their faith community. Where’s the burner for that?
Semantics? Perhaps. Maybe I need to forget about the specific burners. Maybe I need to make my own imaginary stove with enough burners to represent my life and have each one labelled appropriately: family, friends, work, writing, health, volunteering. We are each of us unique individuals with a wide variety of interests and responsibilities.
What it boils down to is no matter what burners I have on my stove, I can’t give them all equal energy all the time. I will have to choose for myself which quadrants of my life need the most attention and when, and how to light the other burners back up when it makes sense.
As Clear says, it’s all about trade-offs. Am I okay with dialing back my creative pursuits while I ramp up my volunteer commitments? Can I give my partner less attention than my current WIP and still feel okay with it? What are the trade-offs that I’m willing to make?
These are the kinds of new-year thoughts I need to mull over this month.
What burners make up your stove? Have you ever had to put a burner on simmer while you gave another one more gas? How did it go? Share your thoughts in the comments.
Happy 2023 (and happy writing!) from the Restless Writers!
When Maria returned from out west, merely months ago, we thought we were finally done with video calls. Then COVID happened. Now all four of us reside inside of Zoom. Our meetings have become more or less check-in’s instead of a loosely structured event like normal, but they’re still happening. A small win.
As the pandemic has evolved, each of us have experienced it differently. There have been some pretty significant disruptions to our work lives, family lives, and our financial security. Yet, we remain connected—we are in this moment together.
We’ve been doing our best to stay strong, stay positive, and stay home. I’d like to think as writers, we might understand social isolation a bit more than others. In fact, we make a point of forcing it upon ourselves on a regular basis, because how else would we get our pages done? Ah yes, pages. Those bloody pages!
For those of you who are actually writing, there are some fun pop-up call-outs out there. Like this one! A Canadian publishing house in northern B.C. is hoping the extra time people have while isolating will result in some great writing. Muskeg Press has put out a call for submissions for stories written during the COVID-19 pandemic. The Publisher is compiling a book and paying authors of the chosen stories $350. Deadline is June 30.
Restless Writers? Are we up for a new writing challenge?
Pandemic Reflections
Times are tough, but we’re doing okay and have much to be grateful for. In an attempt to find new ways to connect, as well as an excuse to check-in on my pals, I posed a few questions to the Restless Writers. Here’s what they had to say:
What is the book getting you through COVID right now?
Andrea:Just finished The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, by Rachel Joyce. Somewhat sad, but also hopeful and uplifting. I need a new one now, otherwise I’m about to start watching Outlander, which I hear is good Chic Porn.
Maria:It’s not so much books but magazines. I am reading and re-reading issues of The Walrus.
Sharon:I had the accidental good fortune of signing out a whack of library books just a few days before the shut down and they’re not due until August! I’m just finishing The Reader, by Traci Chee, a YA novel set in a world where reading is unheard of. It’s provided a much-needed outlet to wind down.
What is the #1 insight you’ve had while in isolation? (or something you’ve learned about yourself during this time)?
Andrea:How interesting other people’s homes are when we connect on Zoom! And (for real) how important face-to-face connection is. I’m worried people will think distancing is normal after this is over. That would make me sad. We can’t keep doing virtual meetings thinking it’s the same thing.
BJas:I like social isolation. A lot. And, it’s probably not a good time to pitch my book about a pandemic. I am also blown away by the everyday unlikely heroes and small business superstars. There is so much good happening, and it inspires me to do more and be better.
Maria:Every day brings a new reflection about how people manage through hard times, and how much we need other people and community. Even the self-described introverts, like me. Maybe in The Before Times we took that connection for granted. Watching the stories about how Nova Scotia is coming together right now to help everyone who is hurting makes my heart break and soar at the same time. I for one hope that we all come out of this a little stronger and a little kinder.
Sharon:SO much, but one of the things I know I will take with me from this time is a gentler stand point on the bad stuff. I’m not saying everything happens for a reason but sometimes there is a nugget of goodness planted in the unpleasant that we just can’t see in the moment. e.g. Did living on one salary for 2+ years suck, have me stressed and lashing out on more days than I’d like to admit? You bet. BUT, has that same experience, which taught me about budgeting for what’s important, letting go of wants and making a meal of noodles last three days, provided me a leg up in this quarantine? Darn right. Shitty stuff is still going to come at me post pandemic but when it does, I’m going to trust a little more, even if I can’t see all the pieces.
What is the FIRST thing you want to do when this is all over?
Andrea: Hug all my friends and family.
BJas: Go for a really long drive with the top down and deliver birthday presents to family and friends, while playing Lana Del Ray.
Maria: First thing is a haircut. Second thing is a cocktail in a real live bar.
Sharon: Hang out with my dad. In the same room.
Writers, we hope you are safe and well, and finding time to write and connect with what matters to you most. Family, friends, music, art – the very best of company! I leave you with this, a list of six daily quarantine questions, published by Brooke Anderson at Greater Good Magazine, intended to help you check in with yourself. Such a great reminder of the power we each hold to do better each day, for ourselves and others.
Lastly, a huge thank you to our friends on the front-line, essential workers, and volunteers for their dedication in keeping our families safe during this uncertain and challenging time. From all of us, thank you for everything that you do.
I have jumped in something new. Something exciting. Something scary. And I LOVE it.
It’s scary because it’s a re-entry into a world I have been away from for the past nine-years. It’s also scary because I’m allowing myself to be exposed and vulnerable with a group of people and a director I don’t know, as we explore the art of solo theatre together.
This is exactly what I’ve needed. I’ve been writing my friggin’ play for years now – while balancing kids and a full-time job (you know the drill). I’ve been making progress, but for a while, it’s been feeling like the show has been missing a certain je ne sais quoi (and/or I’ve been hesitating putting it out there for fear of judgment).
It got to the point where my fellow Restless Writers said, “Um, Andrea, what is going on with your play. Are you going to workshop it any time soon or something?” Followed up by my husband a few days later saying “Yeah, what is happening with your play?”
So, with a good smack on the butt from my accountability team, I knew I would have to shake things up if I was going to gain any momentum.
Well, momentum I am gaining, my friends. I am working with a master in one-person theatre – Tracey Erin Smith. She is the Artistic Director of Soulo Theatre, the creator of hit shows, and the writer and performer of many of her own solo shows. She’s brilliant, insightful and visionary, and she’s taking no prisoners!
If I wanted something to rock my world, this is it, on so many levels. She’s guiding our group of seven to each create our own 10-minute autobiographical show. It’s writing, acting, playing, soul-searching, self discovery, with what feels like a bit of therapy tied in altogether. And it’s not for the faint of heart. If you’re not all in, don’t bother.
But that’s what makes it magical. We’re a group of committed individuals who want to go on a totally new journey, doing something we’ve never done before, and see where it can lead us and how it will change us. This is why I LOVE theatre. It’s always a stretch. It’s always uncomfortable. It always changes me a little bit.
I had been stuck in my writing because I wasn’t stretching. I was comfortable and staying safe. And we all know good writing – and good theatre – doesn’t work if it’s safe. That’s our job as artists. To push boundaries…but we can’t push them if we’re not pushing ourselves.
So far, over the past four weeks, I’ve been nauseous, shaky and exhilarated. I feel alive and present in a new way, and it’s making me a better writer and performer FOR SURE!
So, your turn. Stop for a second and think. Are you a little stuck or maybe a bit too cozy in your routine or your writing? Are you pushing yourself creatively? Have you done anything recently in your own life to stretch yourself? Is there anywhere that you feel “all in?”
Find something that scares you and go for it. Jump in. Your readers will thank you.
Okay, it’s crunch time people. We’re at T minus 19four one hour until the next RW meeting and yours truly is zero for two on the action items she committed to at our gathering last month. They were pretty simple – more pages for the mystery novel I am currently writing and a new blog post. The worst part is I’ve been on holiday from work for the past two weeks and still, have a sum total of bupkis to show for myself.
Which brings me back to crunch time. If I can get this blog post published within the next 19four hour I’ve got a chance to break even on those action items and hopefully feel a little less like a flop when I walk into our RW meeting.
To get the writing juices flowing I always find it helpful to first whine about my situation. Thankfully, my significant other (SO), who was on the receiving end of my I’ve-missed-my-RW-deadlines-what-is-wrong-with-me sob story, had some good advice.
“Just be honest,” he said. “Write a blog post and just be honest about why you haven’t been writing.”
The truth huh? That sounds about as good of a topic as any to blog about, so, here it goes. The honest truth, the real reason I have failed to produce some writing the last few weeks is that I just didn’t feel like it.
You know what I did feel like doing?
Organizing – In the last two weeks I have upended, purged and organized almost every room, junk drawer and closet in our house and it feels frickin’ fantastic.
Hanging out – The advent of high school in September for my oldest son is serving as a very stark reminder that time is passing all too swiftly and these days as a family of four inhabiting the same living space won’t last forever. Ice cream run? Yep. Daily tennis games against the wall at the schoolyard in 90 degree heat? You bet. I want to take it all in.
Watching TV – I think it’s fair to say the last few days have provided me with a sound understanding of Netflix Canada’s current inventory (Ibiza anyone?), the opportunity to catch up on some old favourites (The Affair, The Americans) and a chance to dive into some new series I keep reading about (Succession).
Reading – To balance out the TV. My library “hold” number for Something in the Water came up just in time for my vacation. Perfect summer reading – it did not disappoint.
Walking and podcast listening – My favourite early morning pastime to get a start on the day and feel like I am learning some interesting stuff. Some of my favourites for listening at the moment include: Terrible, Thanks for Asking, Making Obama, and Criminal.
And there you have it. How I spent my summer vacation.
Looking over this list, it occurs to me that these activities are all my self care go-to’s in times when I’m not feeling like myself – on the days when I’m feeling a little blue or stuck. And actually (I’m having an ah-ha moment), this is probably what my SO meant when he said to “just be honest” about why I haven’t been writing.
The truth is I didn’t feel much like writing the last few weeks because I haven’t been feeling like myself. Nothing specific I can put my finger on but there you have it.
The good news? I think I’m on my way to hitting my reset button: I’ve had the last couple of weeks to do the things that help me to feel better; tonight at our RW meeting I’ll get a second chance to commit to some new actions and more pages; and, if I can publish this post in the next hour I will have gotten back to some writing! Halfway there.
Last fall, I said good-bye to the hours-long commute, fast-food chains, and crowded shopping malls of southern Ontario, and hello to the small-town living, majestic mountain views, and independent spirit of the BC interior.
I also had to say good-bye to my Restless friends. Or at least good-bye to our in-person meetings filled with food, wine, and conversation. I was sad to go, but also excited about my new adventure.
Four months in, and I am still settling into my new home. I miss my friends and my family every day, but I am also making connections with people in my new community and trying to contribute to the Restless Writers from afar.
Making it work
As Sharon said in her previous post, Restless Across the Miles, long distance relationships take work. But keeping those ties strong is important, so we are making the effort. We have cobbled together a system that works for us. We rely on different kinds of communications technology to keep us connected–from email and texting, to Google Duo and FaceTime. That, and our ongoing dedication to helping each other become better writers, is keeping the spark alive.
It’s not always perfect. The last time I joined a meeting with FaceTime, Beckie said it was a bit like being joined by a robot, with my disembodied face peering from the iPad duct-taped to my customary spot at the table. I have missed the odd joke because of a technical glitch. I have to keep my devices charging or our connection will cut out mid-critique. I definitely miss toasting my friends with prosecco in person, and my virtual attendance means none of Sharon’s baked goods for me. (Insert crying emoji here.)
A change will do you good
But there is also a positive side to me being the Restless Writer who has gone walk-about. I like to think that my long-distance perspective helps to bring new thinking to everyone’s writing. I know it has brought something new to my own. A change can jar you out of your typical habits or patterns of thought, and bring something new to your craft.
A physical move expands your horizons both literally and figuratively—which can ultimately make you a better writer. For me, I am learning to be sensitive to the things that make different regions distinct—and that’s the kind of thing that can give my writing colour and authenticity.
Regional vocabulary is one example. Skookum. Bougie. A skiff of snow.Kootenay time. I am learning new words and phrases that I could use to make dialogue featuring a local character ring true. Place names are also foreign to me—but I am starting to understand when someone talks about “the Valley” or “the Junction.”
The things that people do for fun are new to me too. On any given day, you can make a quick visit to the hot springs, take in a quirky burlesque show in town, or play in legendary powder at a local ski resort.
The natural environment is completely different out here. Growing up on the shores of Lake Ontario meant that I took some things for granted—the morning sun rising slowly and brilliantly over the still water; the gentle rise and fall as you follow the road over the Escarpment; the “lake-effect snow” that makes Ontario highways so treacherous.
Here, my surroundings continue to surprise me. Like how the mountains look ever-more surreal as I try to follow their smoky march north. How the falling snow gets back-lit by the halo of a street-light. How precisely the river reflects back the treeline. How the snow berm on the mountain pass can tower metres over cars driving through. How the sunshine seems to reach the bottom of the valley for only a few hours a day, and only a few days of the week. Did I mention all the snow?
Small-town BC is very different from suburban Ontario. For example, where once I could shop in happy anonymity at one of the big supercentres in the GTA, here I can’t walk a block without running into three people I know. “Business casual” means something very different out here—Blundstone boots, down jackets, and toques are all included in what is appropriate in the workplace.
There’s a grit to people here. Independent spirit and a yearning for solitude, yes. But also true caring and engagement, a sense that we are all in this together. I am learning more about my new community—and appreciating it more—every day.
Disruption and making it new
My job as a writer is to take note of the people around me. Not just what they wear or how they talk, but the things they care about and what makes them tick. I want to know what brought them to this place, and what keeps them here. What makes this community thrive? And what secrets does it hold? Anything that jolts you into looking at the world with fresh eyes can help you do this.
You probably don’t have to make a 3,000-kilometre move to disrupt your way of thinking, but hey, I like to go all-in.
I can use my fresh perspective to capture what makes this place so distinct, to think differently about the people and the world around me, and to ultimately tell a great story. Hopefully I can bring a bit of that “make it new” insight to the Restless Writers too.
It’s 2018. Screw resolutions. Especially the expected and traditional ones.
Instead, let’s view the new year as a fresh start, a way to share in the spirit of renewal with friends and family. There is something exhilarating about a new year. It can represent new opportunities and new stabs to improve ourselves and to be better towards others.
Looking back, 2017 was an eventful year for the Restless Writers. Probably the most jarring was that one of us moved across the country (like, super far away). After the initial shock (that it really happened), we swiftly figured out Google’s Duo App to be able to keep our monthly get-together inclusive. This resulted in duct-taping our writing pal (and phone) to the back of a wooden chair. Phew, still a foursome.
We celebrated weddings. A first (just babes at barely 30). And a second (a duo rocking 80). Both teary (for reasons unique), yet happy and joyful like a wedding ought to be. The message here—love like there is no tomorrow. Let’s all live this one in 2018.
We attended funerals. We mourned friends and loved ones. And continue to do so.
We also made stuff. Cool stuff, like nachos in a Bundt pan (thank you, Pinterest). Healthy stuff, like kale and quinoa salad. Sad stuff, like flower arrangements and picture boards. Comfort stuff, like chocolate chip cookies and gooey brie puff pastry. Festive stuff, like trees made from plastic spoons and paper stars made from an old dictionary.
We performed stuff. Personal stuff. Fearlessly, among friends. And discovered the “central moment of powerful truth.”
We wrote stuff too. Poems. Chapters. Resumes. Sympathy cards. Obits.
We received more rejection emails. Some encouraging, some downright icy.
Oh! How can I forget about a fun first for us—we planned a one-day writing retreat. Soon to be an annual event!
And as usual, we continued to talk business plans, value proposition, refining our brand, “setting up shop,” craft markets, Etsy, Amazon Handmade, and loads of other creative pursuits because, let’s face it girls, we will never quit our daydreams. Not ever.
On that note, may this new year give you the opportunity to renew, to love, and to follow your daydreams.
When Maria returned from out west, merely months ago, we thought we were finally done with video calls. Then COVID happened. Now all four of us reside inside of 
Writers, we hope you are safe and well, and finding time to write and connect with what matters to you most. Family, friends, music, art – the very best of company! I leave you with this, a list of 
rselves and to be better towards others.
Andrea
bjas
Sharon
Maria
Restless Writers 