Why do I have to learn everything the hard way? Why couldn’t a poet friend have warned me not to send my manuscript to just one publisher? Yes, I would have listened to that. I wasted an entire year, learning at the end that bad manners or not, a writer has to submit simultaneously. We need to organize more in this area but many writers are starting to protest and demand electronic submissions. Talk about going green. And do they think we live forever, have the time to wait six months or a year for a lousy acknowledgement.

If I had known then what I know now, I would have been able to help me poor mum. I have learned through experience, the hard way, what depression and anxiety are. I see now that she was suffering from both and it’s obviously genetic, why I’ve been afflicted as well. She was an undiagnosed mess. They did catch the adult-onset diabetes which she pretty much ignored. My mother was miserable, wouldn’t quit drinking and smoking, couldn’t quit I suppose. As far as she was concerned, she had nothing to live for with all her kids gone.

Out my window, chameleon clouds are tinged pink in the west, layered grey and azure to the east. I woke up to sunshine streaming through the windows. A few hours later it was snowing, heavily. Then the sun came out again. This cycle lasted all day. I heard it was hailing in the city. Wacky west coast weather! A snowing sun, snoring hounds at my feet.

Met with RPW label head Pam Southwell Tuesday to work on fund raising but found we had a long list of items to take care of, everything from cd production to promotion to tour planning. She gave me some pointers on ReverbNation and I gave her some regarding grant writing. We shared our dread of budgets, numbers and math phobia stories. Hers involved a bellowing father, mine a cruel teachers. I assured Pam, that she needn’t be intimidated by the process, that in my experience budgets are largely bullshit and that it could be fun actually, to imagine what your organization needs money for, which often winds up re-purposed.

A dear friend has been hit with pancreatic cancer. Last year started off with a friend dying of lung cancer. Our lifestyles are catching up with us. Am I next? Knock on wood and I swear not to be superstitious. Sitting in the hair salon for too long yesterday I saw the People magazine with a story about Patrick Swayze’s diagnosis and was not encouraged by what I read. She is being very brave between bouts of anguish and terror. I’m trying to be as supportive as possible but I wish there was more I could do.

I’m currently reading Shot In The Heart, Mikal Gilmore’s book about his brother Gary Gilmore, convicted murderer, executed by firing squad. I used to see Mikal in the LA Weekly offices when I worked there many moons ago. Wish I could talk to him about his book, commiserate. Apparently we were both raised by hillbillies. My family wasn’t quite as dysfunctional, my father not as violent but my mother took up the slack. Who wants to rate these things anyway? Still hard for me to go there in my mind which might explain why I can’t complete my bloody novel. Managed to work on a new poem and enjoy a bit of solitude though feeling frustrated at my efforts. Here it be, a work-in-progress and such as it is:

Green Wedding

Parser.
Professional.
Daily fixes, micro problems solved.
Weekly patents.
Annual Seuss tourist
in search of beneficence.
Identifies closely with SamIAm
though he is far more shy,
still, prepared to walk the plank
for love. He felt justified in groveling
one afternoon standing in a queue
next to a slender, flinty girl in diaphanous skirt
as she read a novel. This did not give him an In.
Though quite familiar with mythic archetypes,
the only fiction he might have time to read
was speculative. So, he offered her a chip.
She licked off the gravy and thanked him.
Mathematicians rule.

It was cute, the way they emailed each other
in the beginning of their romance, he surprised
to be receiving steamy emails,
uppercase renderings of undying devotion.
I’m not used to getting personal messages at work,
which she could only find endearing.

Planning throes for a wedding in emerald oaks
they could easily ignore water cooler talk
of Bush deployments and citizen reporters.
They spoke only of sunspots and three-tiered cakes.
Guest list growing too long he complained.
His jobless Sidney brother who shakes his head
at their astounding fidelity.
Her estranged twin sisters in their push-up bras.
Easy to pull out he thought.

My kid is driving me crazy! Spring break is way too effing long. Felt like jumping out a window for Christ’s sake. Happy Easter. Oy. Ugh. Urf.

Got to love the Internet. In the process of clearing my In box today and going through Google alerts, I came across a call for poetry submissions from a dude in LA named Rodger Jacobs. Hemingway’s Shotgun is an online magazine devoted to all manner of poetic verse but with a particular emphasis on poetry on the topic of literature, books, and reading. Googled him naturally and it turns out Jacobs is a rather interesting fellow with an intriguing past, an award-winning screenwriter, journalist, documentary producer and journalist whose work has appeared in myriad national publications. The site looked cool so I sent along some poems, several of which were set in Los Angeles, having resided there for many years. As I mentioned in my previous post, true crime is my guilty pleasure and we share a fascination with the Wonderland murders, the story of which he compares to “Raymond Chandler on crack.”

I was also interested in what he had to say about POD—publishing on demand—as he is well schooled in e-commerce. Long Time Money and Lots of Cocaine is the title of the book he’s written about the murders which contains an edited and annotated version of the court transcript for John Holmes’ preliminary hearing. As he explains it, there is so much interest in the subject he decided to self-publish and keep a larger piece of the action/residuals. Lulu Press provides a free storefront, affordable set-up costs and fair royalties. The author pays for the ISBN which gets the title into other markets, in both real and virtual worlds. I’ve been considering going that route with my novel but right now, I can’t find the time for the revisions it needs. So if you secretly read true crime as well, check it out:

http://www.lulu.com/content/130126

Ruminating, trying to anyway, and managing to relax a little after a hectic week. I had every intention of going to Whistler this weekend and staying at my friend Cathy’s place for a few nights but I am wiped out. Been very congested and thought it must be due to springtime allergies but then I developed severe muscles aches and fatigue.

Spent two days rehearsing with Roderick. Things never get too tedious or serious with Roderick around. He makes us all laugh. He related how he picked up a surly teenager on Christmas day. The kid had just left a family dinner, or been kicked out rather for refusing to remove his cap at the table. Roderick insisted on driving him to his destination though it was out of his way. “Why are you doing this?” asked the kid, Roderick explaining that it was Christmas, that’s what you do, give and do nice things for people. He thought the kid might have been smart enough to pick up on his point but wasn’t’ sure and then did an impression of the teen with his hat on sideways, going “Yo.” My son Lucas thought it was hilarious too.

I was also working on proposals for a multimedia show based on our AURAL Heather music/poetry and I just sent a proposal to the NFB asking for support for a new videopoem, “How To Remain In The Saddle” which will force me to get on a horse if I manage to raise the funds.

Of course there is no money in any of these endeavours though the Edmonton Poetry Festival treated me so well last fall I’m wondering why it can’t always be that way. They paid my travel, hotel, a handsome fee and feted and fawned over me as well. I can only hope it’s the start of a new trend.

I was just telling Dennis Bolen, author of “Toy Gun” that true crime is a guilty pleasure for me and that it creeps into my writing quite a lot. I have penned a haunting poem inspired by Vancouver’s missing women called “Whore In The Eddy.” It’s a powerful performance piece as well. I recently read a fascinating book called “Exquisite Corpse” about the surrealists in Los Angeles in the 40s. Apparently Marcel Duchamp was drawn to criminology as well. I’ve been called a ghoul but I think it’s natural to be intrigued, to want to understand. What motivates the murderer, etc.

Duty calls. I have to go feed the dogs, kid.

Here I am bestowing Yoko Ono with a birthday gift. Only on Facebook!

I’m going to try very hard to write more, to get out of my own way. I’ve decided to put my novel, The Town Slut’s Daughter, back on the back burner for a while. I’m frazzled enough with poetry and performance and need to focus on those projects, my book of verse, Window Seat, and AURAL Heather, our first gig coming up in April. I can’t do all of it well and the pressure is too much.

There is much activity on the domestic front as well, with my son’s puberty and puberty fallout. His allergies have peaked it seems, gotten bad, manifesting in a chronic runny nose and cough. We are taking him to an allergist and now trying naturopathy.

Enjoyed a pleasant birthday celebration last Saturday with friends and family, went out for dinner at Blue Eyed Marys. Another Piscean in the restaurant was celebrating too and a local comedian came in on stilts and a fat suit to sing Happy Birthday. Made for a memorable evening.

Had a power outage that Monday which threw me off kilter but then rehearsed with Roderick. We are arranging a new poem/song and have a lot of work to do but it’s exciting, gearing up for our first shows.

I finally managed to complete this questionnaire Vancouver punk rock chronicler Scott Beadle sent to me months ago. Scott is compiling interviews for his upcoming book.

Questionnaire for Ms Haley for Scott Beadle’s ongoing Vancouver Punk History Project: (See my Facebook page for more details.)

Where were you born?

Matapedia, Quebec

Where were you raised?

Winnipeg and environs, then Salmo in the Kootenays and Cloverdale, BC.

What were your parents’ jobs, during this period?

My dad was a jack-of-all-trades, usually employed as a welder or carpenter. He was a very skilled artisan and used to sell wood carvings while in the RCAF, stationed in the Yukon. My mother always worked, usually as a waitress or a cook.

What was the highest level of your parents’ education?

My father only reached Grade 11 and my mother was apparently forced to quit at age twelve. Her father had perished as a prisoner of war in Hong Kong and her mother was dying of cancer. She stayed home to take care of her four younger siblings and ailing mother.

Where did you attend high school, and did you graduate?

I graduated from Lord Tweedsmuir in Surrey.

Did you have any post-secondary education? Did you get a degree?

Two years post-secondary. I studied music at Grant McEwen in Edmonton, then moved to Victoria and attended Camosun College. I never did transfer to university. My family couldn’t afford to send me and by that point I was wrapped up in the music scene, playing and touring.

When did you leave home?

I first left at age sixteen but moved back in about a year later, then permanently after high school.

Where did you live?

I lived in Alberta for a while with my boyfriend, then we moved to Victoria, then I came to Vancouver.

What were your major pre-punk musical influences/interests?

I grew up listening to my mother’s favourite country music; Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, Hank Williams. I didn’t appreciate it then but now love it as much as she ever did. I sang folk songs, in school and in church, the choir it’s only attraction. I would get very excited donning our robes and making our entrance, usually drifting of to sleep during mass.

I loved the Beatles when I was a kid. I used to hang out at my friend Nancy’s house where we often snuck into her big brother’s room to listen to his records. He always knew and always blew his stack at us. The two of us would covertly take the bus into Winnipeg whenever a new Beatles movie came out and would have been in dire need of Help if we’d ever been found out. The first album I purchased was Jimi Hendrix’s Are You Experienced? I remember running into the popular girls from school at K-Mart. They wanted to know what I had bought. I reluctantly showed them and their response was, “Jimi who?” Then they thought I was really weird.

Poetry affected me very much. In high school I started reading contemporary verse due a forward-thinking English teacher who deviated from the curriculum and had us reading bp nichol, ee cummings and Susan Musgrave. That’s when I started writing in earnest.

When and how did you first hear punk rock or new wave music?

I had moved to Vancouver after breaking up with my boyfriend. My best friend Cathy Cleghorn took me to see—and most definitely hear—DOA at the Windmill. It was a shock though I assimilated it all very quickly. I was ripe for change. Many of our Surrey cohorts were in bands; Jim Cummins, Bill Scherk, John Armstrong, Gord Nicholl and Art Bergmann, whom I had gone to school with in Cloverdale. My boyfriend, Peter Draper, had played guitar in Art’s first real band, the Shmorgs and the three of us roomed together. Continue Reading »