Happy Thanksgiving, fellow Canuckistanians.
I am curled up in a Maple Leafs sweater (the most comfortable damn thing ever, by the way) enjoying the cool but sunny cottage country of the Kawarthas region of “Northern” Ontario. I mean, it’s still pretty central… don’t let me fool you.
The sun is shining, there is a gentle breeze, and the smell of sage is already emanating from the kitchen of the cottage on Lake Katchewannanooka (actual name).
It has been about six weeks since my last post, and this break in the silence is not going to break any new ground or offer any profound insight into why I haven’t been writing.
Besides, I’m past that sort of navel-gazing. I owe you nothing. You owe me nothing. I used to beat myself up if I wrote something wonderful and no one read it, but the fact of the matter is, writing in the blogosphere is like whispering at a rock concert. If anyone hears you, it’s a fucking fluke.
Trying to “be popular” has caused me more issues that it’s worth. I’m not going to be happy continuing to do so.
So what have I been up to? I’ve been on a health kick — eating properly, hiking, working with a personal trainer. I’ve been trying to get emotionally healthy, and much as I wish I could report that that is going well, the truth is, every time I visit social media I am immediately consumed with jealousy for the friendships and connectivity that others seem to share that I, myself, don’t seem to know how to cultivate. I’m a terrible friend, I suppose, but I always end up feeling OUTSIDE.
So I have had a hard time trying to keep in touch with people, and if you are one of those people, please accept first, my apology and second my thanks for your patience and understanding.
I’ve been working on a tattoo — a very CHUK-like monstrosity weaving its tentacular way down my arm. Pictures to follow when it’s complete.
I have a couple of ideas for writing in my head. A short story inspired by a nursery rhyme “The other day upon the stairs, I met a boy who wasn’t there. He wasn’t there again today, I wonder why he’s gone away.”
It’s a ghost story, of course, and I’m working on a way to make it atypical, because god knows there are enough cookie cutter ghost stories out there; the world certainly doesn’t need another.
I’ve also got an idea for a collaborative project — a murder mystery where all the suspects are actually happy to confess to the murder — but of course only one of them is telling the truth. What I’m trying to figure out is the motivation — why they’d all want to take credit for the killing. I’m also thinking of making it a sort of choose your own ending type thing — the contributors would write their stories, and I would write the endings. (If you’re interested in this, let me know)
I’ve got more “40 years of music” posts to write, and then there’s the third book in the JESSICA series.
As November approaches, I am considering doing NaNoWriMo in order to write the second book in the Manatii trilogy.
And what about Helena and Penny?
I don’t know, to be honest. Are there more stories to tell? Sure, of course.
There are days I feel like a failure. Days when the criticisms of certain people ring in my ears and make me freeze up. Days when the lack of interest of certain parties is discouraging.
And then there are other days when the words of strangers make it better, if not “all worthwhile.”
But I’m rambling.
Back to Thanksgiving. What am I thankful for?
Call me a dark romantic, but I love Lester Burnham’s (played by Kevin Spacey) soliloquy given as he’s dying at the end of American Beauty. “I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life… You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure. But don’t worry… you will someday.”