Money doesn't buy happiness...or does it?

First, I'd like to thank all my friends who came to my karaoke birthday celebration.  For those that couldn't make it, I've posted the above video so you can still have fun singing. These Boots are Made for Walking is an extra fun karaoke song, and I urge you to sing it right now.  Especially if you are currently in your place of employment.  The more people that hear you, the more thrilling karaoke singing becomes.

Special thanks to Becca and Cara who won the 50/50 draw at the random fundraiser that was going on while we were there.  They shared their winnings with me AND paid the tab.  I know the old adage says "Money Can't Buy Happiness" but that was probably written by somebody rich. It certainly increased my happiness to be in the black at the end of the night!

So just for fun, I've compiled a list of things that money CAN buy, that would make me happier:

A second bathroom

I'm sure that when I'm naked, all ready to step into the shower, the kids would still be banging at the door. At least with a second bathroom, I could yell at them to use the downstairs toilet. So many times I have opened the door only to realize that they didn't have to pee, they just wanted to say hi.

More vacations

Full disclosure: I am going to the Dominican in January for my sister's wedding. It is sure to be a fun vacay, but the money used to pay for it is causing much stress on both my mind and my credit.  The more stress I have, the more I need vacations, but since money troubles cause the most stress it's a big catch 22. If I was someone with more disposable income I would take trips at least twice a year.  Once with and once without children. Make that once a month.

Food

My family eats, yes. But when I choose chicken over steak or lobster, I want it to be because I feel like chicken.  Eating out would be nice too, without feeling the guilt over spending money we don't have.

Clothes

I want to go shopping and buy myself a whole new wardrobe. Somehow a couple of shirts off the clearance rack isn't enough for me anymore. Nothing says sexy like a ten-year-old pair of pants with a broken zipper.

Maid service

My mom had a cleaning lady for a brief period when I was in high school.  I hated it.  She would spend the whole time cleaning my bedroom and I would never be able to find anything afterwards.  Now I would sell my kidney if someone would do my dishes and laundry on a regular basis.

Education

I love school and if I had the money I would pick up an extra degree in...well...anything.  I could be a doctor! Or an astronaut! If only I had the money to learn how.

Security

When I was a teenager I kept $1000 in my bank account and began to feel anxious if it dipped below $900.  If I had $900 in my bank account right now I would go on that shopping spree.

It's all about me.

Now that you're all done your Remembrance Day moment of silence, I'm sure you're dying to know how my birthday went yesterday.  I started the morning the way I start every Thursday, by taking Jadzia to the Early Years for the Nobody's Perfect parenting program, while my husband, who had taken the day off, put the finishing touches on my mystery cake.

After the program I dropped Jadzia off at my friend Columbia's house to watch for the afternoon.  Adam and I went out for a sushi lunch, then we went for a leisurely bike ride around the neighbourhood.  By then it was almost time to pick William up from school.  Adam walked to pick up William while I drove to get Jadzia (who was amusing herself with Columbia's spoon collection).

I opened my presents fairly soon thereafter.  A red shirt moose bag, the Back to the Future Trilogy on Blu-ray and some red sandals to replace the ones that Worf murdered (too bad winter's coming).  William and Jadzia each drew me a picture. Will's was extra special because he worked really hard on it, started it in school and had Adam help him finish it.

While the kids and I watched Back to the Future II (quite a bit more language in that movie than I remembered) Adam went to the store and purchased three live lobsters.  The kids and I amused ourselves watching our dinner crawl around in the sink.  One of them was actually quite feisty, but Adam managed to subdue him using a large pot of boiling water.  The kids split one lobster (though William enjoyed his half a lot more than Jadzia did) and Adam and I each had one to ourselves.  It was delicious and made me want to cook live lobster more often.

After dinner it was cake time.  Adam had made me a cellular peptide cake with mint frosting! Of course instead of cellular peptide it was chocolate and instead of mint frosting it had hard chocolate coating and blue creamy icing. The cake was a definite win, using solid chocolate to ice it was a stroke of genius, as was the fairly obscure Trek reference.  It warms my heart to know that my husband is just as much of a nerd as I am.

 For those of you who don't get the reference, watch this clip of Data having a fairly disturbing dream:

This isn't the end of the birthday festivities, oh no.  Tomorrow (Saturday) I am going karaokeing with whichever friends decide to show up (I invited pretty much everyone on facebook).  The only catch is that the bar we're going to couldn't reserve a table for us, and I couldn't find another place.  Ah well, I'm just going to show up with my posse and hope for the best. I don't mind having to stand as long as I get to sing!

It's my birthday

I'm 32.

Please leave warm wishes in the comments below.
(presents would also be nice).

It's never too early to start promoting.

So even though my first book is yet to be published, when UK blogger A.J. Mullarky offered to promote new authors on her blog I jumped at the chance.  The interview is up today!  You can learn a bit about my writing, especially my (currently homeless) novel Wardroids.

CLICK HERE TO READ THE INTERVIEW.

Thank you A.J.!

Six Sentence Sunday...Something from my work in progress

As the deafening hum of her wings grew closer, Zran knew she was coming for him.  He felt his hearts thumping against his chest, creating a drum beat for the dance that was beginning.  He knew better than to resist, that all the strength of his massive bulk would be nothing once her venom reached his brain. So he stood on the lonely glass street, his arms open, claws outstretched, and looked up at the sky.

As she came nearer he could see that the woman was at least ten years his senior, older than the last one. Still, she had that same crazed look in her eyes, all that is civilized having vacated mind.

A Final Goodbye

It's hard to say exactly when Omi left us.  When the picture above was taken, six years ago, she was already forgetting things. I would have lunch at her condo and she would tell me the same story three times. I've been trying to remember her stories as I write this.

She used to tell a version of how my parents met.  It went like this:  My dad wanted to play cards and my mom wanted to study, so my mom said "How about, first we study, then we play cards?" And they lived happily ever after.

Omi wanted to get married in a Catholic church, but when they went to see the priest my grandfather refused to sign something promising to raise their children Catholic.  According to my grandmother, Opa said "I don't even have any children yet and you want me to sell them to you!"

She told me how she met my grandfather in a dance class.  He was tall and handsome and, even though he wasn't paired with her at first, he only wanted to dance with her.

Just after World War II, when my grandmother was a teenager, she was attacked while bringing food to her father in prison. After that, she sent her younger brother in without her. She often told me, "War brings out the worst in people."

She moved back in time, talking more and more about the past.  Eventually, I was too new for her to remember who I was.  Sometimes, she thought I was my mother.  Then she forgot her too.

When I was a kid, Omi used to sing "You are my sunshine" to me.  Yesterday, when we went to visit her for the last time, my Mom printed out the lyrics and we sang it to her.  I only really knew the cheerful chorus; the verses were depressingly appropriate.  I didn't imagine she could have looked worse than the last time I saw her, but she did.  Older, thinner, greyer.  As we sang, she briefly opened her eyes, then scrunched up her face as though she was in pain.

We knew that she was going to die soon, and finally this evening she did.  But the Omi I knew and loved died a long time ago.  There was no exact time and date of death.  She slipped away gradually through a slow leak in her mind.

Insecure Writers....Get a Writer's Group!

So it's insecure writers' support group day (actually it's the end of insecure writer's support group day and I almost missed it because I'm scatterbrained).  Anyway, I just came back from writer's group.  If you're a writer, and you don't have a writer's group, get one.  Every three weeks I meet with five supportive, skilled and talented people.  Our meetings are an equal mix of socializing, constructive critique, and patting each other on the back.  All three are important for writers (and mothers).

I go to the group feeling like my work sucks, and leave feeling like a real author.  No, they don't sugar coat their critiques, but no one's as bad as my inner voice.  In the end, I know that I must be good to belong in the company of such wonderfully brilliant people.

Two of my writer's group friends have books that you may purchase (and I encourage you to do so).

Linda Cassidy's poetry book Inland Waterways can be purchased here (just scroll down a bit on their page).

Siobhan Minty's ebook A Gay in the Life of Melinda Finch can be purchased here or here. 

Making Art

Just a quick post to show off the poster my daughter and I made today using finger paint and crayons (two deceptively difficult mediums). It was a true collaborative effort and, as you can see, our artistic styles mesh very well together.

Below is a detail showing my favourite part of the piece.  It's a snail that Jadzia drew.

Her friend Zoe (who is 4 and a half) says that Jadzia can draw anything.  She's right. And Jadzia is only two and a half. At this rate my daughter will surpass my meager talents in a few short years (if she hasn't already, art is so subjective).  I'm hoping that we're still collaborating when she's old enough to become famous and then I can share in her millions of dollars and adoring fans.

Halloween Antics

Today is Halloween night.  The kids are in bed after a hard night of begging for candy.  We left a bowl of candy on our doorstep for honest children so that both Adam and I could trick-or-treat with the kids.   We spent the better part of an hour barking at Batman to wait for his sister, and trying to help a kitty cat climb stairs while dragging a heavy bag of candy (which she refused to let us carry).

Of course tonight was only the finale of a much anticipated Halloween season.  We've been frequenting the Halloween section at the library all year long (despite my persistent suggestion that we try reading non-seasonal books). At the beginning of the month I took a special trip to the dollar store so the kids could help me pick out decorations.  William and Jadzia helped me put skulls, spiderwebs, pumpkins and gravestones up in the front yard.

Last week we attended the Early Years Center fall fair.  The kids dressed up in costumes and played, danced, ate snacks and did crafts in a loud over-crowded hall. A lot of their friends were there and we discovered that one of William's friends had the same costume as he did (not that a Batman outfit purchased at Walmart is all that original). The event culminated in a parade through the offices of the building where they got a few candies.

On Thursday we went to the mall's "safe trick-or-treat", though I'm not sure what's safe about a thousand toddlers roaming free in a mall that's more crowded than Christmas.  Every year I swear I won't go to the mall trick-or-treat next year but the next year rolls around and I forget my resolve.  The kids didn't even get a good haul this year.  We did get a cute flip book of them bouncing around in their costumes (though we had to wait an hour for it). Actually my favourite part was watching William hold hands with his girl friends. Batman is happiest with a mermaid on one arm and a fairy on the other.

Yesterday we went to a nearby orchard to pick a pumpkin from the field.  We chose two reasonably orange gourds.  The kids drew pictures on construction paper and Adam did his best carving to their specifications. I think they turned out pretty well.

And now it's over.  Tomorrow I must take down the decorations (putting up cobwebs is like toilet-papering your own house). I wonder how much candy I can steal from the kids' haul without them noticing...

High School with Brent Spiner

Last night I dreamt that I was in high school.  I was in a classroom trying to get to a computer and two boys were blocking my way and being bullies.  I looked over at Brent Spiner, who was the teacher, and said "Sir, can you help me?"  He just looked away.  So I dealt with the boys myself using some wicked Judo flips. Brent threatened me with detention, but I told him there was no way I would go.  "I used to be a big fan of yours, Mr. Spiner," I said. "But I guess I'm not anymore."

I then attempted to do some equations on the computer but Brent Spiner kept childishly turning off the monitor on me.  I stormed out of the class.  Looking at me watch, I noted that it was 7 pm.  I gather Brent Spiner had been running an after school algebra club rather than a regular class. I think that my storming out was a victory for him, because he didn't want me in the club (maybe because I'm a girl, I don't know).

I was telling my friend about the dream (while still dreaming) and she said "Oh no, that wasn't a dream, he's really a teacher here."  I tried to find my locker, but couldn't find any that were the right colour.  I walked down the hall, thinking maybe I was on the wrong floor.  I eventually figured out that I was on the right floor, but someone had painted all the lockers orange as a prank.  I found my locker pretty quickly after that.

Aquatic children

I should have posted this on Sunday but I was too busy getting my creepy dead body on a beach story ready for the campaign challenge deadline. So without further delay, I must tell you how amazing my children were at swimming lessons.

I knew William would be great.  He's a fish.  He goes underwater.  He's fearless.  When I told him I had signed him up for swimming lessons he said "But I already know how to swim."

Jadzia was another story.  She always holds tight to me in a white knuckle death grip whenever we're in the water. When I took her to the pool with a friend of mine a few weeks ago, she stayed on the edge of the pool playing with the water toys.  She became frightened when the drain made a funny noise. My friend agreed she might not be ready.

On Sunday, when we tried to get her to shower before leaving the change room, she backed away in fear.  Of course, the first thing the instructor did was lead the kids to the shower.  It's all over, thought I, she won't do it.  Instead, she ran under the spray without a care in the world.

Of course, it helped that William was in the same class.  Jadzia looked a little terrified she was asked to grab onto the teacher's arms and swim, but since big brother was doing it, she didn't protest.  By the end she was enjoying herself immensely, splashing, laughing, making Mickey Mouse ears, and behaving less timidly than some of the older children.

And William, as always, is a fish.

I am so proud of both of them.

BTW: There were also scuba divers in the pool that day. (You can see them in the background of the first picture). We were watching them while we waited for the kid's lessons to start.  William says that after he learns to swim, then he can learn to scuba dive.

Something a little different.

Here's a story I wrote for Rach's third campaign challenge (I'm #112). Excuse the profanity, this character is hardened by the horrors he's seen.

Invasive Species

The first breath of sunlight shines over the water. Already I’m sweating like a gorilla in a polyester suit. The sand permeates my socks and shoes, makes a gritty paste between my toes. What a waste of time. This fucker drowned, I guarantee it, knew it before I saw the body. Those CSI-type shows make like it’s a big mystery, but when a body washes up on shore, ninety-nine percent of the time it’s drowning. People just don’t respect the ocean the way they should.

I stand with my back to the cadaver. Being downwind doesn’t help, but I’m used to this shit. Some rookie talking through a handkerchief tries to give me a report.

I can’t hear a goddamn thing this kid is saying. I’d ask him to lower the hankie but he’d probably puke.

I yawn; a mistake. My saliva tastes of fish guts and rotted flesh.

The rook is done talking, so I crouch to get a better look at the bloated carcass. Orange and blue Bermuda shorts cling to its legs like a bad joke.  A ripple moves across the dead man’s gut, a pet for the medical examiner.

The corpse’s eyes snap open.

I’m losing it.  I’ve been around death too long and I’m losing my fucking mind.  This happens to other poor saps, but not to me, please God, not to me.  I stare into that dead face as a raspy murmur escapes its lips.  “Synbatec,” it says. “Tacise de mer wastopaneer.”

The rookie trips over himself in his hurry to back away. Thank God he heard it too.

“Wastopaneeeeer!” screams the corpse. The rook vomits into the water.

My gaze falls back on the dead man’s bloated abdomen and again I catch sight of that ripple.  This is way above my pay grade.

I've found my new Monday Night Activity.

Improv!

I discovered a five-dollar drop-in improv class at the Staircase Theatre in Hamilton.  Yesterday I was browsing online, looking for classes that I might want to ask for for my birthday.  That's when I saw the drop-in boot camp.  Monday night, I read, (Hey, it's Monday today).  Five dollars (Hey, I have five dollars in my wallet right now!) I've always wanted to take an improv class (by "always" I mean that I once thought about it for five seconds).  I mentioned the class to my friend Columbia and she enthusiastically agreed to come with me.

Holy Spock, we had so much fun!

There were twelve people in the class (I know because the teacher, Devlin, counted us).  There was an equal mix of men and women and I was neither the oldest nor the youngest, in fact I was right in the middle (I know because we lined up by age at one point.)

My favourite game (I won't bore you by describing the whole class) was "Emotional Symphony".  Four people on stage were each given a word and an emotion. They would then have to say the word in the emotion they were given whenever the conductor pointed to them.  The conductor could raise her arm to make the person emote more, or lower it to make them emote less.  Conducting is WAY more fun than it should have been.  SUCH POWER!

The sketches were my other favourite.  I got to throw a temper tantrum, sing a song, scream at the top of my lungs and pretend to have an orgasm.  I was often paired with Columbia, which is great because we work well together. At one point we were doing a sketch exercise with two guys.  The floor was divided into three sections, each with a designated emotion: depression, lust, and hate. The teacher had to stop the scene; the boys had forgotten to emote hate, because they were too busy watching Columbia and I in the lust section.  Hilarious!

There were two classes and we had so much fun we stayed for the second one too. I don't know if I've found a new career as a sketch comic, but it is definitely a great way to loosen up and get out of Mom mode for an evening.

Six Sentence Sunday....Random Wardroids Snippet

Six Sentence Sunday is a blogging thing where published and unpublished authors post six sentences of something they've written every Sunday. This week I've decided to participate. (All part of my ongoing goal of weaseling myself into a writing community of some sort).  Anyway, below is a snippet of my recently finished novel Wardroids.  The character speaking here is my protagonist Emily Reid, the only women on a third-class mining spaceship.  Other characters mentioned: Thirty-two Eighty the wardroid sex slave, and Adam Black the ship's Commander. Though you could probably have figured all that out. Here it is: 


I step over an unconscious man as I enter the crowded room and wonder if he passed out there, or if the men saw an opportunity and used him as a human doorstop.  I don’t see Thirty-two Eighty at first but then she emerges from under a table.  Someone shouts “my turn Honey!” and suddenly she’s pinned against the wall and pretending to enjoy herself.  Adam Black isn’t here.  Though he’s never had any qualms about using the wardroid, he doesn’t like sharing her in public.  The thought of what they do in private makes my stomach queasy.


So there you have it. Does it make you want to read the book?  Buy the book?  Publish the book? Comment below with your rave reviews of my writing prowess.

Appreciating Art

Today the family and I went to the Art Gallery of Hamilton because, being a dreary cold day, I was in the mood for some culture. If you spend enough time looking at art you begin to feel saturated by it, as though each painting, sculpture and installation imprints itself on you, exhausting your ability to perceive.  This is the feeling I anticipate every time I go to a gallery.  My family anticipates boredom.

Though I was the only one particularly enthusiastic about visiting the gallery, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves once we arrived.  Although Jadzia was afraid of most of the art.  No, really. She hid her head in my shoulder as we browsed through bold colorful paintings, black and white photographs, and African masks.  Adam and I tried to tell her that these were just pictures that people had made and weren't likely to come alive, but I don't think she quite grasps the difference between reality and fantasy.  She did, however, enjoy the quilts.  I was never that into textiles, but seeing my daughter delightedly point at the patchwork of flowers, animals, and colours made the exhibit worthwhile for me.

William seemed inspired, and only a couple of times claimed to be "hungry" (four-year-old code for "bored").  His favourite piece (everyone's favourite actually) was Kim Adams' Bruegel-Bosch Bus, an installation involving an old red VW van covered with various toys, trains, cars, models, etc.  (It's on permanent display, so you can go have a gander any time you want). It reminded me of one of those I Spy books.  The more I looked at it, the more details emerged.  The kids inched closer and closer as they examined the various scenes, and Adam became paranoid that they were going to touch the artwork, especially since a security guard with dreadlocks had been following us around the gallery since we arrived.

By the time we left, we had spent an hour and an a half in the building, seen pretty much everything, and no one had fainted from fright, whined to go home, or destroyed a priceless artifact.  I declare the outing a success!

Muppet Dream (Scenes unlikely to appear in the next movie)

I don't remember my dreams a lot but when I do I like to write them down and share them.  Indulge me:

I was in the Muppet movie.  The dream began with a typical Muppet scenario, a man behind a desk told Kermit and his friends that he couldn't loan them any money and made a point of telling them that they now had ZERO funds. Disappointed, the Muppets and I went outside into the rain.  Standing in a field of flowers, I bent over to hug Kermit.  With tears in my eyes I told him that I loved him and that it would be okay.  "It's okay right now," he said.

What followed was a scene that I am pretty sure will not be in the upcoming Muppet movie.  The Muppets spotted a playground on the other side of the field.  Though it was rainy and dark, they eagerly ran towards it.  There were people hiding in the shadows, wearing bunny and chipmunk costumes. They attacked the Muppets.  I was on the ground, under the play structure, defending Kermit against a young woman with a sharp kitchen knife. She sliced up my skin pretty bad, and made a diagonal gash across the palm of my hand before I was able to grab the knife.  I threw it and the blade stuck into the trunk of a tree.

After that I was able to overpower her easily.  It turned out the woman was a troubled youth, who the Muppets took pity on.  They allowed her to stay on the couch in their apartment, which was crowded and disorganized as only a Muppets' residence can be.

Happy Thanksgiving!

In honour of Thanksgiving I will be writing the rest of this post in Turkey (not to be confused with Turkish). Here's what we did this weekend:

Gobble Saturday gobble gobble gobble gobble wedding gobble gobble gobble friend gobble gobble. Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble Polish Hall, gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble.  Gobble gobble pierogies gobble gobble gobble gobble fun gobble gobble gobble gobble.

Gobble Sunday gobble gobble gobble hot outside. Gobble gobble gobble gobble park gobble gobble gobble sweltering gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble swimming gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble beach gobble.

Today gobble gobble raspberry picking gobble gobble parents gobble gobble gobble gobble farm.  Gobble gobble gobble gobble few berries gobble gobble, gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble small container.  Gobble gobble turkey dinner gobble gobble gobble berries gobble gobble gobble cheesecake.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!  

Celebrating minor achievements

• Walked to the vet with a four-and-a-half-year old, a very slow two-and-a-half-year old, and a dog who can't seem to stop pulling on his leash and jumping up on strangers.
• Took the children to the library at children's request. Left early due to younger offspring's lack of listening skills.
• Served four peanut butter and jam sandwiches, two slices of leftover pizza, two apple sauces, two oranges, eight cups of milk and approximately 800 pieces of cheese.  (Not including breakfast) Percentage of that food that was consumed by me: .01%
• Emptied the dishwasher.
• Put breakfast and snack dishes into the dishwasher.
• Put away one basket full of laundry.
• Changed the batteries in my husband's mouse to facilitate my son's computer addiction.
• Mediated several disputes between the children and the dog.
• Dealt with four freak-outs. One computer related, one to do with leaving the library early, and the last two because I didn't serve enough cheese.
• Researched publishers to send my book to.
• Wrote half a paragraph.

I won!

My first time entering the #HumpDayChallenge, a flash fiction contest over at Tracy's Tavern and I won!  The prize: bragging rights and a cute picture to display on my blog.


The challenge: use these words in a 100-word story: labor, corrupt, horseradish, aces, and turf.


So of course this is where my mind went:

The queen spreads her six legs in a starburst before me. Her vulva smells of horseradish. Despite her cruel and corrupt regime, I pity her vulnerability. For the first time, I don’t envy the mothers of our race. She contracts her muscles to turf the first egg from her womb. I catch it with my outstretched mandibles, letting the rest smash against the stone ground. As her labor nears its end, I thrust my pincer through her quivering body, bathing myself in her yellowish blood. She’ll never know why her aces turned against her.


Labour without the "u" looks wrong to me.  Also, I thought the use of "aces" was a little forced, and I have no idea why alien bugs would know what horseradish smells like, but that doesn't matter.  Winning is the important thing. 


Voting is important too.  So if you live in Ontario, and you haven't already, please vote today.  There's still time!

How to write (and raise two small children)

Today is insecure writer’s support group day, so I thought I’d write something that will (hopefully) help writers and mothers alike.  Like any mom and writer, I struggle with feelings of inadequacy.  I feel like I’m either neglecting my writing or my children or both.  Nevertheless, I have been doing this a while and I have some tips to share that might help other writers and/or mothers in my situation.  (These tips are in no particular order).

Tip # 1  Use indoor playgrounds as your office.  I watch for coupons for these places because I have neither the desire nor the funds to pay full price.  The kids have fun, get exercise, and require minimal supervision because there are no roads to run into or creepy men who came without a child. Most indoor playgrounds have WiFi, which is unfortunate for those of us who find the web a distraction.  Also when it gets busy, it gets loud.  The morning is the best time to go for low crowds.  Anyway, even writing with a little background noise is better than hearing “Mommy” every five minutes.


Tip # 2.  Let things slide.  Chores that will not get done when I’m on a good streak with my writing include (but are not limited to): laundry, dishes, general tidying, cooking dinner, grocery shopping, walking the dog, washing my hair, washing my children.  If you’re worried about visitors, know that no one will disown you if you have a messy house (at least, no one important).  Children, of course, do need love and attention (and food) but they will whine when they are not getting enough, so there’s no need to worry.

Tip # 3.  TV is not evil.  If you’ve ever sat down and watched television for preschoolers you know that it is educational to the point of being vomit-inducing.  Through schmarmy plots about love and friendship they are learning about science, reading, math, geography, history.  You name it.  And they do retain the information.  If you don’t believe me, have a conversation with my four-year-old. When I don’t have the money or energy for indoor play places, the tube helps me get my quota.

Tip #4. Remember that it is good for your children to see you doing things for yourself.  I do not want my kids (particularly my daughter) to grow up thinking that they have to put everyone else before themselves.  I want them to follow their dreams, and do what makes them passionate.  The best way to do this is to lead by example.

Tip # 5.  Have a writing quota.  And make it fairly small.  My quota is 500 words.  If I kill myself I can make it.  A lot of writers  have quotas of 1000 or even 2000.  Well La Tee Da.  Those writers don’t have small children to take care of.

Tip # 6. Make a “Winner List” and a “Super Star List”.  This one I borrowed from Margie Lawson. A winner list is for things you must get done today (make it small and achievable) and the super star list is for things you would like to get done if you have time.  I don’t always keep up with this, but when I do it really helps.

Tip #7.  Write a sentence at a time.  Including thinking and typing, it takes me about two hours to get my quota.  I don’t always have two hours at a stretch, so sometimes I take ten minutes and write a sentence (sometimes even half a sentence) whenever I get the chance. Sometimes, I find I have more time than I thought I did and I get an hour when I thought I only had ten minutes. (More often it works the other way around).

Tip #8.  Don’t beat yourself up.  This is the hardest thing of all.  I read over the first three tips and thought “I sound like the worst mother in the world.”   I feel guilty when my laptop sits unopened for three days, and even guiltier when I get my writing done while the offspring enjoy their third viewing of Ratatouille. I write for myself, so I shouldn’t feel guilty about not doing it.  I need to do things for myself, so I shouldn’t feel guilty about doing it either. (Neither should you).

Peruse the links below for more insecure writers writing about their struggles.

Interview with me!

During our writing retreat Elaine Cougler interviewed me for her blog.  That interview is up now!  Of course, being a written word person, I feel like a bit of a dork in front of the camera. So, now that I've had some time to think about the questions I'll post some different answers here.

First, here's Elaine's video (for those of us too lazy to click a link):

My answers after thinking:

1. Tell me something wild about yourself.
Could this answer have made me seem more nerdy?  I think not!  Here's something wild: I had two kids. I know this is typical of a lot of women, but that doesn't make it less bizarre.  I opened up my girlie parts and out came a human head.  Twice!

2. What is your background and how much of it includes writing?
While I absolutely credit my mother as a big influence in my writing, I do have a writing background of my own. I currently freelance for Today's Parent Toronto, something I've done for some time. I have a recently published short story in a YA anthology called Cleavage. I have a minor in professional writing only because no major program was available, I also have a certificate in magazine publishing which included several writing courses. I've excelled in pretty much every writing course I've ever taken. Putting words together just feels natural to me.

3. You write all the time, tell us about that.
I need to be a little less honest sometimes.  Do my legions of future fans need to know that I majorly procrastinate with my writing?  Yes, I write all the time.  I am actually super-duper diligent, and yes, passionate! Of course I'm a real writer.  I am super mom!

4. What does writing do for you?
It gives me a sense of accomplishment that playing computer games never could.  Something I hope will make my children proud.  An example for my children, so that they will pursue their dreams.

5. How do you deal with sensitive topics in your writing?
I think my answer here is pretty good.  As to Elaine's question about "Native" vs "Indian", of course writing historical you use the historically appropriate term regardless of how offensive it is today.  One thing I should mention is that I do deal with topics outside my comfort zone in my writing including, but not limited to: sex, swearing, violence against women, violence against children, drugs, torture, etc.  Whatever the story calls for. The key is to not make it gratuitous, and at the same time to avoid sugar-coating something because your kids/mother might one day read it.

6. Do your friends understand why you write? Do they even know?
No it's a big secret. Nobody knows that I write.  I hide in a hovel and lock my words in a vault at the end of the day.  Of course my friends know! My friend Columbia has babysat my children so that I can get my words done. My answer in the video I'm afraid did not do justice to my truly amazing friends who absolutely do understand me, and understand the struggle to be creative while raising children.

7. What is the best thing you see yourself accomplishing with your writing?
My book is published and I have legions of adoring fans.  Pretty much what I said on the video.

8. What is the worst thing?
I am terrified whenever I hear about how many hundreds of times writers have to submit places before getting published. I don't know that I have the ambition or the confidence to go through that.

9.  What my books are about.
Goodness me, I could not have made my books sound more boring.  Really my book is good. Funny and action packed, with romance and suspense and everything.  Book 1 (which absolutely is ready for publication for whoever wants it) is about a woman with amnesia, the man who loves her, and a wardroid sex slave uprising.  Book 2 (in progress): is about a three-gendered matriarchal society and an alien family with a human hybrid child.  Does that make them sound a little more interesting?

Anyway, thank you Elaine for taking the time to interview a budding writer like myself.  This will surely help me gain those legions of fans we talked about.

Celebrating Minor Accomplishments

Dressed the children (including socks).

Managed to have a nap today.

Helped out at my sister's Stag and Doe without feeling like the nerdy sister (even though I so am).

Won a raffle prize (Toys for Jadzia. We're hiding them until Christmas/birthday).

Got several achievements on the Sims facebook game.

Paid exact change for jar of mayonaise.

Finished all the levels of Factory Balls 4 without a walkthrough.

Made dinner yesterday for the family in less than 30 minutes.

Participated in a family outting to the pet store.  (Bought a leash, food, and a squeaky foot for Worf).

Received unsolicited I love yous from offspring.

An imago is an idealized concept of a loved one…or a winged insect

My dog chases them all the time. Isn’t it strange that I can write a whole novel and yet there are some words that I have never used in a sentence? In fact, some words are so foreign to my way of speaking that they would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb if I ever used them. I yawn, but never oscitate.  So this week’s campaign challenge has left me feeling less than poetic. I could write about a miasma of steam rising up to obscure my reflection in the mirror, but I haven’t had time today to take a shower.  Could there be a lacuna in my vocabulary? I don’t even know if I’m using that word correctly.  I’m reminded of a scene in the movie “Clueless” when a guy tells the late great Britney Murphy “Be seeing you” and she answers “I hope not sporadically,” having just learned the word. The fact that I’m quoting “Clueless” should give you an idea of my mindset.  The challenge is to write a 200-word blog post using several assigned words.  One of them is synchronicity.  I bet you can guess what the others are. Vote here for #101 (That’s me).

Memories last forever (if you put them on youtube).



I was at Chudleigh's Apple Orchard today and I got to thinking of all the times we've been there before. I went down the slide with William and remembered going down the slide with him as a toddler. Then he was in my lap; this time we were racing. I recall an infant Jadzia sucking on an apple, not enough teeth yet to take a bite. Though she has teeth now, the apples are still as big as her head and she carried one around for an hour without finishing it.

We can really only afford to go to Chudleigh's once a year. From admission to lunch to apples, our wallets are gouged at every turn. So the kids change dramatically every visit. The place stays oddly the same; our family keeps evolving.

I took my trip down memory lane to youtube and found this:

That's William at the age Jadzia is now, eating an apple pie.  Yes, I know I keep misunderstanding what he's saying in the video.  Could that be a reason he can't be bothered telling me about school now? Anyway we didn't make an apple pie this time. Honey crisp apples are way too good to waste on such an endeavor.

In other new, I am getting a cold from being around allergens too long. Is it really necessary to bed the entire playground in hay?  Really?

Wardroids Trailer (that I made) and an Awesome Book (that I didn't write)

On the way home from the writing retreat I was thinking out loud to my friend Siobhan about the templates my husband uses to make ridiculous trailers of our family vacations. "I wonder if you could use one to make a book trailer," said I.

So I got home and started messing around with iMovie.  I chose the template best suited to my science-fiction-comedic-action-romance which I usually call "Wardroids" even though several people have said that it's a terrible title (somehow anything else I think of is slightly more terrible).

The problem: footage.  This might surprise some of you, but it's very difficult to find footage of wardroid sex slaves preparing for rebellion on any of the free stock footage sites.  Instead I found time lapse clips of sunsets and a cool slow motion fire ball. 

Here's about where my husband took over.  My sunset and fireball trailer, while dramatic, really didn't illustrate my book very well. Luckily my husband has a subscription to a stock photo site.  I searched and searched and found several pics of people and androids which could vaguely pass as my characters.  Adam turned these into video clips using his magic computer powers and we spent the evening plugging them into my template. I still kept my sunset and fireball in there because it's good to have at least some actual video.

The end result is, I think, pretty decent. 

I bet you all want to read that book now!  Unfortunately it's not published.  You should call up your connections in the science fiction industry and ask them to get in contact with me.  Show them the trailer, and be sure to tell them that the book is way better than the trailer (less stock footage).

One book that is published however (this is a segue, pretty nice huh?) is my friend Siobhan Minty's self-published masterpiece "A Gay in the Life of Melinda Finch". Available on Amazon here and Smashwords here. If you enjoy my sense of humour (and if you're reading this blog I assume you do), you're going to enjoy this.  It's about a woman named Melinda who has to pretend to be a lesbian to write a gay advice column. Also there's a love triangle, which becomes a love trapezoid.  And there's a twist ending. Here's the review some random Amazon user gave it:

Melinda Finch is zany and loveable. Her story is hilarious and surprisingly poignant. A great read from beginning to end. If you don't think that love conquers all, this book will make you a believer. 

Okay that was me, but I meant every word.  And the book is only 99 cents.  Seriously! (Feel free to mention Siobhan's book when you're negotiating my book deal with your publisher friends).

William's First Day of JK

Today was William's first official day of Junior Kindergarten, not including the open house we attended in the summer and the meet the teacher thing we did last week.  Today was a half day, to ease him into the routine I guess, not that he needs that much easing.  I'm the one who needs to get used to school, to become accustomed watching him walk through those blue double doors and then walking away.

 I was so excited to have some time minus one kid now I'm not sure how I feel about it.  I ambitiously tried to fill those few hours he was gone.  I took Jadzia to the store to buy shoes and nail polish. When we go home it was already ten. I had to pick up William at 11:15.  I tried to prepare tonight's dinner (pierogi lasagna) in advance but I barely got the filling done before we had to race out the door.  An explosive poop delayed our progress even more and I found myself rushing to the school (dragging my dog and daughter along).  I didn't want to be the parent who is late on the very first day.

 Luckily we got there with plenty of time (my watch said 11:15, but we still waited a couple minutes). William seemed in good spirits, but when asked about his day he said "I don't remember." I managed to drag out some tidbits. He played with cars, including one Hot Wheels car.  He played with scooters at recess. He didn't eat his whole snack because "he was already full."

Tomorrow, and forever more, William will go to school all the way to 3:15. Maybe I'll get some writing done. Maybe Jadzia will get the mother daughter time she's been missing. Maybe we'll be so busy that we won't notice the hole that he leaves when he's gone.

Pics From the Retreat (Mostly from the Hike)

Willing to risk anything for their craft, Siobhan Minty and Elaine Cougler joyfully point out that our trail may be swarming with deadly insects.

I managed to capture the whole gang on film. From left to right: Sherry Isaac, Elaine Cougler, Siobhan Minty, Carole-Ann Vance, Sharon Clare. 

Taking a picture of myself always results in a double chin, but Siobhan looks gorgeous.

Sherry, me, Elaine and Sharon pose next to (and on top of) a time machine.

Sherry attempts to take a picture of the sparkly ground (the sparkles didn't show up too well in photos).

Sharon takes a group photo while I sneak a pic of her.

Elaine and Sharon admire Sherry's picture of the sparkly ground.

A friend we met on the journey.

The house we stayed in was much nicer than this.

The view from Halcyon Haven at sunset.

Back at home, Jadzia enjoys painting the book I got from Sharon.

More Writing Retreat

Today is the last day of our retreat.  I had a fabulous time yesterday. We began the day with two workshops, one from Sharon on characterization and one from Sherry on rhetorical devices. It was like being back at school (I love school) except all of the kids were the smart kids and the social interactions weren't nearly as awkward.

After a delicious lunch of sweet potato soup and chicken wraps with goat cheese and cranberry, we set off on a hike by an old mica mine. Mica flakes littered the forest floor and, catching the light, looked like stars fallen to the ground.  The weather was perfect, pleasantly warm with a pure blue sky (uncontaminated by clouds). We finished the two-kilometre trek in record time (which to me is any speed faster than a two-and-a-half year old sucking her thumb).

After the hike I convinced my friend Carole Ann to go swimming with me (Carole Ann has just finished her book. Yay!) The water was lovely, so clear that we could see the snails at the bottom and so refreshing that we almost didn't notice the weeds grabbing at our limbs.

Later we sat in muskoka chairs by the water and listened to a meditation CD.  We were supposed to connect with our past lives and maybe discover a character from that. I don't know about past lives, but sitting with my eyes closed, listening to the waves and the birds and the breeze was very relaxing.

We had yummy stew with salad and sweet potato fries for dinner (I love Sharon's cooking) and then did skits of Sherry and Carole-Ann's work.  The idea was to see how a scene worked with multiple people. By acting it out, you discover when characters aren't reacting enough, or if some people get forgotten.  Plus it was a lot of fun to try and act out the lines.

Anyway, Sharon has made another lovely breakfast so I must stop being rude and go eat with my writer friends.

Writing Retreat

Today I am blogging to you, on location from Halcyon Haven in sunny Lombardy. I'm attending a writing retreat with five of my fellow authors,three of whom I know from writer's group, and two new faces.

Yesterday my friend (and fellow writer type) Siobhan and I drove seven hours through traffic.  We ate at a restaurant frequented by truckers which was attached to a convenience store. There were quite a few flies but the food was decent.  Plus, my meal came with ice cream (no, I did not order from the kids menu).  Anyway we arrived last, in the dark, and got slightly lost by the end because my GPS, a typical male, only pretended to know where it was going.

This place is quite nice, right on the lake.  Looking out the window, it feels as though the whole house is floating on the water.  My friend Sharon (also a writer-type, just assume everyone I mention is a writer) organized this whole thing and has all kinds of workshops planned.  She also has a delicious menu and made us a fritata this morning with lots of delicious vegetables ( I love when my eggs have many colours in them). Of course I'm more excited about the woman-food than anything else.

Anyway, in the interest of social networking, here are links to everyone's websites:

Carole Ann: TK

Elaine: elainecougler.wordpress.com

Siobhan: agayinthelifeofmelindafinch.blogspot.com

Sharon: sharonclare.com

Sherry: sherryisaac.com

me: jennifer.filipowicz.ca

Meet the Teacher

Today was William's first meeting with his new teacher, Mrs. Leonard.  Though I attended with him, I was quickly shuffled into the corner to fill out forms while William was assessed on his drawing skills, his knowledge of letters and numbers, and his coloured-bear sorting ability.  I think he did well and Mrs. L agreed, but William was disappointed that he only got to "do boring stuff".  Next week, he was promised, there will be playing and there will be other kids.  Man, I wish I was going to junior kindergarten, it sounds like a blast.

After we got home, I tried to discuss the visit with my son.  I couldn't observe everything he and the teacher were doing and was curious. 
"I just don't remember!" William exclaimed.
"But it was only twenty minutes ago," said I.
Shades of years to come.

Just when I was thinking of being productive

My power went off at 4 today.  Being a computer/tv family with at least one dark-phobic child, we have no idea what to do with ourselves without electricity.  With the playroom transformed into an ominous cavern, William abandonned his lego.  I found him a flashlight so he could use our windowless bathroom.

Jadzia snatched up the half-charged ipod and demanded that it play Elmo games (she settled for Plants vs Zombies).  Soon William tried to "help" his two-and-a-half year-old sister thwart a zombie invasion, and I stepped in to referee.

"Let's go for a drive and see who else's power is out," I suggested.
The offspring begrudgingly agreed and we set off.  The outage didn't appear to extend far beyond our street.  The traffic lights Northwest of our house were dark (treat it as a four way stop, please people), but the ones Southwest of us were fully operational.

We ended up at the grocery store.  Not knowing how long the power would be out I bought things that needed neither chilling nor cooking, namely peaches, pears, raspberries, and sushi.  Also diapers.

William fiddled with the door latch as I was putting Jadzia in the carseat to go home.  The car door stubbornly refused to close. I called my husband, who luckily was on the way home from work.  He met us in the parking lot and used his man powers to fix the latch in 30 seconds (yes, I'm a strong independent woman, but my womanly powers didn't work for some reason). 

We arrived home to find the power still out.  Then, just as we were getting excited at the prospect of going out for dinner, the house hummed to life.  I made salmon with corn and fried rice.  Yum.

The First Campaign Challenge.

I assume you all have been following my blog intently and already know that I am signed up for Rachael Harrie's Writers' Platform-Building Campaign, well today Rach has presented us with our first challenge.
I have to write a 200 word story that begins with the sentence "The door swung open".  Bonus points if it ends with "The door swung shut." Extra special bonus points if the piece is 200 words exactly. Here goes:

The door swung open like a cross between a drawbridge and the cargo doors on a military plane.  Faster than Angie would have imagined, she found she didn’t have time to decide whether or not to run.  She had no doubt that the occupants of the cigar-shaped ship could already see her, standing in her pyjamas in the ankle-high grass.  As Angie waited, she looked back in the direction the ship had come.  It had knocked down the old oak tree with the tire swing before carving a black scar through her parents’ corn field, narrowly avoiding the farm house where Angie’s family had been sleeping. Looking back at the gaping mouth door of the space ship, Angie was shocked to see not a little green man with a bulbous head, but a blond girl of about three years old, her wide brown eyes framed by dark lashes.  The girl held out her arms as though waiting for a hug.  A sudden longing brought Angie to tears.  The child smiled an impish grin and Angie could no longer resist. She ran up the ramp and took the delicate creature in her arms.  “It’s okay,” Angie whispered. The door swung shut.

That's it.  Hopefully a mildly original take on the UFO-in-the-cornfield cliché.  Exactly 200 words so long as you count "ankle-high" as one word (Microsoft Word does).  I urge you to try out this fun little exercise, even though you can't win a prize unless you are signed up for the campaign.

Edit: If you like my story, be sure to go to this page and press the like button above my name (I'm number 27). Get me in the running for the people's choice awards.

Six Years

So it's my hubby and my six year anniversary, so we celebrated by going with our friends to the Butterfly Conservatory in Cambridge, a humid indoor jungle with colourful bugs flying everywhere. All the humans in the room were drenched in sweat, particularly my son who's every pore becomes a faucet at the slightest rise in temperature.

Some things I learned: meal worms taste like bland potato chips, giant snails eat sweet potatoes, and butterflies enjoy ice tea (if it's spilled on a little girl's dress).

Luckily, my favourite moment of the day was caught on video:





Ah, the joy, followed by the timid uncertainty at having a giant insect stick its proboscis into the fabric of your pretty princess dress.  Isn't it strange to think that none of these little people existed six years ago?

Anyway, to go along with the theme of highly humid activities, we had dinner at the Mongolian Grill, where you select ingredients which are then cooked in front of you on a giant metal circle (which also turns the entire restaurant into a sauna).  On retrospect, it probably wasn't the best choice for late summer dining.

Oh, and here's a picture of a butterfly that I stole from my husband who has a really expensive heavy duty camera.



Indulge me in a bit of a ramble

I signed up with this blog campaign, so I can network and meet other writers. At first I was afraid that I'd signed up too close to the deadline to be included.  Now I'm worried that my blog might not be good enough to be included.  As you've probably noticed, I haven't been blogging much of late and when I do I don't really say much of substance. I tell myself that this is because I'm tired dealing with the offspring, but really I've fallen in the trap of nihilistic self doubt. I have a little hater in my head that tells my that nobody cares what I have to say and typing anything is not worth the effort.

I feel the same way when writing my science fiction. Every time I sit down with my laptop, the little hater tells my that I'm wasting my time and no one will ever publish it. Even if my writing were as good as my friends claim it is (and let's face it, it probably isn't), brilliant writers are a dime a dozen. You need to have something more than a good idea and wicked wordsmith skills. I've been reading Daniel H. Wilson's Robopocolypse, a totally believable and positively riveting account of machines attempting, rather successfully, to annihilate the human race. Even if my robot book were as well-polished as Daniel's robot book (it's not), I would still be less likely to get published.  Dan has a PhD is robotics, and I am an unemployed Star Trek nerd with two small children. You can almost hear Dan's credentials singing sweetly in his agent's ear, while I can quite clearly picture any agent I've pitched to rolling her eyes and yawning.

This gives me the idea that I should write something to do with art history, since that is what my degree is in.  Aliens could take over the Sistene Chapel or something.  Except that even though I loved my time in University (it was like grown-up kindergarten), the art history component was a necessary evil that bored me immensely. Even aliens couldn't spice it up.

And another thing. I put myself in the Science Fiction category of this blog campaign even though this blog has never been about science fiction. I feel the sudden need to add SF content to this volume of mildly amusing annecdotes about motherhood, but I'm have nothing to say on the subject (beyond what I'm writing in my books) and I'm not sure it would fit.

In the interest of adding SF content and introducing myself to a larger blogging and writing community, this is what my unpublished and depressingly untitled books are about (one sentence each, always a fun exercise):

My first book (which is finished, in that I have typed THE END) tells the story of a redheaded mechanic named Emily who rediscovers lost memories when she gets kidnapped by wardroid sexbots and taken to a post apocolyptic Earth, while her lovesick and slightly crude Commander (who also happens to be the clone of a robotics scientist) charges off to rescue her.

My second book (which I'm writing right now) follows a trisexual alien family (two husbands, one wife) as they deal with life in a matriarchal society with rigid gender roles, and (eventually) the birth of a human hybrid child.

If anyone out there wants to give me an unbiased account of how much my book sucks e-mail me and I'll send you as many pages as you can tolerate.  If you want to suggest a title based on what little information I've given here, leave a comment below.

Blog Campaign

I'm hoping I'm not to late to join this Blogging Campaign that I just found out about, because it looks like a good way to further my writing career and connect with the larger blogosphere and such.  I thought tomorrow was the 31st but it's today.  Yipes!

"Basically, the Campaign is a way to link those of us in the writing community together with the aim of helping to build our online platforms. The Campaigners are all bloggers in a similar position, who genuinely want to pay it forward, make connections and friends within the writing community, and help build each others' online platforms while at the same time building theirs."

Click here to read more about it.

If you want to join yourself.  It will probably be too late by the time you read this, but it looks like they have it every year.  This is a quick post, but if I end up being a part of this, you'll be seeing more about this later.

EDIT: I'm hoping this exercise might also help me "Get an Ilene" as the Vlogbrothers would say. Meaning: "Find someone who is doing what you want to do better than you can do it and listen to them." Of course there's always my mother. She's awesome.

Ba Ba Blacksheep

This is for my friend Columbia, who saw Jadzia sing Ba Ba Blacksheep today and though it was so cute that I must document it.  So here we are.  Hopefully the rest of you will enjoy this also.

Algonquin Adventure

My husband and I just got back from a fabulous 5-day canoe trip in glorious Algonquin Park. Using the combined power of our awesomeness, we were able to paddle across vast lakes and carry all our stuff through bug-ridden portages. We had ambitions of doing a podcast of the adventure when we got back, but now that we've returned to civilization lazyness has officially set in.  You might still see some videos or pictures or something if we feel like it. Not until next weekend though because Tuesday to Friday we are taking the kids car camping. (Yes, we are just that crazy).

Here's an amusing trailer of our trip that my husband cut together using his fancy Mac computer:

And so I don't get all glum about no longer enjoying my vacation in the beautiful and serene Canadian wilderness, here are some things I missed about civilization:

Flush toilets

Hot showers

The internet

My laptop

Refrigerators

My induction stove

A comfy bed

A car

Washing machine and dryer

Dry shoes

Clean water on tap

Real food

Electricity