Les Semaines

June 17, 2007

what I'm thinking and doing § what I'm listening to § what I'm reading
what I'm writing § retrospective: old journal


Clarion West 2007 Begins

Sorry this is short and lame and late. This year Clarion West seemed to sneak up on me. No matter how many times I kept reminding myself of the start date and how close it was, SUDDENLY it was my last day at my day job. SUDDENLY we were packing up from the Clarion West office and moving boxes and boxes to the house. SUDDENLY we were setting up the classroom. SUDDENLY our first instructor was here. SUDDENLY all the students started arriving. SUDDENLY it was Sunday night and orientation.

Suddenly, it has all begun. Including the Write-a-thon. Eek. I say again, eek.

I feel like I've been moving a thousand miles an hour and my head is stuffed with tiny details of things to deal with. Whoosh!

last week's thinking and doing § next week's thinking and doing


I've been obsessing with Scott Merritt, particularly Violet and Black. It's so evocative and mood-setting.

last week's listening § next week's listening


Kim Stanley Robinson's Sixty Days and Counting is the third in his environmental SF novel about global warming that began with Forty Signs of Rain, and continued with Fifty Degrees Below. Not much I can say about the plot that won't spoil the earlier novels. By this time I'm quite invested in the characters and so wondering what they would get up to next pulled me through to the finish, which I found a little unexpected, given the tone of the novel. Who knew it would become a Shakespearean comedy? Interesting.

Graham Joyce's young adult novel, TWOC is a contemporary novel about a teenager haunted by a tragic accident. He steals cars. In, that's simply what he does. He's on probation because of the accident and isn't really dealing with what happened, though he is seeing his dead brother through the window, dressed in strange clothing and talking to him. This is smart and a quick, entertaining read, and it earns its ending.

last week's reading § next week's reading


Managed to keep up with the fiction time, beginning to do a little more reworking of the novel, rather than just reading it over and catching typos.

last week's writing § next week's writing

Retrospective: old journal

1646. June already
June 10, 1992

[Note how this is out of order and should have appeared before the Charlottes journal.]

We moved--space--a house now. Went to the Charlottes. Have a journal from then. Then the League meeting in Ottawa. Great time, and a good visit with John

Now this is my last night before Jim gets back from a business trip to San Francisco. I've told both Anne and Ken that I was going to try to write tonight, so I should at least make the attempt.

Happy Rhodes playing in the background. Is this a good idea?

I've been working through all kinds of ideas the The Skin of Our Teeth, tossing them, jumbling them in my head. Now I can't retrieve any. In July-August will be spending two weeks in Wales/London. With Christina again. Should be good

Maddy on my lap. Poor Zach alone in the next chair.

The silence of the house when
the machines are shut down.

"Dying Made Everything Possible"                       Bronwen Wallace

Word I don't trust, that aren't enough
to carry the sentiment, crumble
to sugar under its weight.
What I saw when I could be
getting back to work. What
I dream when I should be
thinking/learning. Repetition
is a repetition does.
Convolution isn't evolution.
In the forest trilliums
mean spring. The pad of the
deer's hooves beside them,
sinking into the loam. The forest
at the end of the suburbs
where the wild things are trapped
by asphalt boundaries yet
abounds. River otter, eagle,
raccoon, raven...and the
common deer, cat, robin,
crow. Winter trails and
summer feasting on the
neighbour's gardens. Rain
is rain enough. Words
which sound good
mean nothing.
Maddy says it's time
for bed and the last
of The Owl Service.

1647. Early am
June 22, 1992

late night, wide awake. I've been listening to music, washing dishes, clothes-dye on my hands, ironing, writing part of a book review. It's easy this late at night. The best time. Listening to Renbourne's Soho Years. Warm warm night.

Mr. McKinley
he didn't do no wrong
Road on down to Buffalo
He didn't stay too long
Hard times, hard times, hard times...

And McKinley he's in the graveyard
Taking his rest...
Hard times, hard times, hard times...

Even Maddy has given up on me and gone to bed.

I love being up at this hour (1:45) alone. If only I didn't have to go to work tomorrow.

Something to do with the hot weather, too, makes night so magic--night, and early morning, which I tend to miss.

I am getting foggy, though. Probably time to get me to bed. Hie off and all that.

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