Reeling after returning yesterday from the Sage Hill Writing Experience. I am now officially an experient! And honoured to be so. Man, I swear I’m a changed woman, all charged up and ready to complete the final draft of my novel. I think I must still be running on the adrenalin I felt every day while at St. Michael’s monastery-retreat. It did get quiet now and then but each time I left my room, I encountered a fabulous writer, or two, or three, all of us on the same wavelength. They get it. We get each other. We’re a bunch of maniacs. Student. Teacher. It didn’t matter. We quickly formed an alliance, a fraternity, not unlike the Franciscan monks hosting us. And there is nothing like being parted from one’s crutches! Sage Hill removed me from reality. Thank Christ. How long will it last? I am so overwhelmed, I can’t possibly depict it all. So much happened within each day. I will start by recalling some of the most robust memories, and go from there.

My Sage Hill cohorts started calling me New York after a drunken local yokel at the Lumsden bar turned around, pulled down his bright yellow aviator sunglasses from beneath the brim of a formidable black felt Stetson to holler, “Hey New York! I looovvve yer hat.” It is a stunning chapeau, reminiscent of the one Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast At Tiffany’s, and a bit out of place in small-town-Saskatchewan but it keeps the sun off my face so very well. “I like your hat,” I replied, which was true enough. It was one of those tense moments when you’re not sure how things will go. The dude could be benign or he could be psycho. How is one to know? And I kept thinking, I’m just as small town as you are Buster. So I was a little irritated with my pal Leesa (Dean) when she said to him, “Why don’t you trade hats?” I know she was just having fun, but I told her under my breath not to escalate the situation. If she’d been thusly hatted, she could react any way she liked but not when I’m the one in the guy’s sights. The rest of us played it cool, me and Gerry and Susan (Stenson) and Anna and the yahoo soon roared off in his pick-up. Then we all went inside to play pool, Team Doritos and Team Mosquito. I took the last two winning shots! In a dress and heels no less. I was shocked though I may have hustled them a little. “It’s been so long since I played.” It might be a bit like riding a bicycle. Then the goofy guy’s cousin came over and apologized for his antics earlier and bought us a round, a pleasant way to cap a pleasant evening.

On a plane, heading to Sage Hill for 10 days of writing, editing and working on my fiction, book launch behind me.  Everything came together to form a fabulous, momentous occasion. Good crowd. I sold a swack of books!  At W2 Storyeum we were provided with a lovely, spacious room replete with giant, fantastic mural on one wall. “Word wizard” Kedrick James is decidedly the host with the most, providing much mirth and mischief throughout. Shannon Rayne in her adorable pixie cut kicked things off. Shannon makes a distinction between poems for performance and poems for the page. I think she said her closing piece about cunnilingus was written for the page. I must write them for voice. Hey, whatever it takes. Then we darkened the room for the world premiere of Bushwhack. I was a little concerned because Continue Reading »

I hope! Here I sit, looking past my screen out my window at the Strait of Georgia to the islands beyond, Mayne, Pender, Galiano, wishing I could appoint the trees and sky as muses but there is simply to much to attend to, book launch party-wise to get much writing done. I will persist though, have at least a few more hours to compose. Check out Daniel Zomparelli’s article about it at Geist. Thanks Daniel! I’m getting excited, found a lovely dress to wear at blushingboutique on Richards downtown and will start rehearsing tonight. See you Saturday!

This from my recent conversation with Sean at a Thai restaurant on Commerical Drive. And I didn’t say I’m an anarchist, I said I had anarchist tendencies. I do hold the conceit however that I am a “creative technofile.”

Post Canada Day, feeling pretty happy, relieved that I was born here, considering how brutal life is in so many other countries. We’ve got the basics down, just need to fine tune. Post Olympics, many people go on about how difficult it is for Canadians to be patriotic. I think we’d rather be quietly nationalistic, which is quintessentially Canadian in temperament. We don’t need to wear it on our sleeves or shoot bullets into the air.

I can’t rhyme to save my life! Actually, I can of course, but it’s just not in me. I don’t rhyme when I write songs either. Below be a sonnet, Heather Haley style, that I wrote for Geist’s Jack Pine Sonnet contest:

Dirty Work

I am your golden jackal, shining, grinning.
I wield the flashlight, forge trails through night
blooming jasmine, metropolis serfdom.
I machete weed, ale induced panic.

In the morning you put on the jacket,
admit the thrills, hips, heat up our cunning.
Get to chopping. Onions, peppers, kindling.
Start the fire. Sweep. Brew the java. Rouse.

We share bacon, scrambled eggs and signal
amidst tender yanks. Shrieks! Gentle scuffles.
You entice me with mango juice. Pay day.
Poker. New jeans. A rumpus in the hay.

Ack! Your alarm! Restores smallness, inner priest
rising, freeing the calves we toiled to corral.