July 2011

More thoughts on too little time or Tic, tic, tic…

I’m having a hard time with time these days, or just a hard time period, with no time to sort it out.

I’ve felt out of sorts since the school year ended and the kids went off to their various camps - a whole new set of drop off and pick up locations, start times, end times, supplies and belongings to misplace or lose, likes and dislikes to air.

Chasing the dream

I’ve been talking about writing since I was in my late teens. But I was one of those people who needed trauma or remarkable events as inspiration. Break-ups, crazy journeys, extraordinary people catapulted me into producing any number of pages, after which I’d sputter, slow, and come to a halt. Like millions of others I have folders of poems, the odd short story, and chunks of novels written over the course of 30 years. I rarely spoke about my desire to write for fear of being one of those people that goes on and on about wanting to be a writer and does nothing about it.

Whose voice is this anyway?

At a Toronto International Film Festival screening years ago when they weren’t yet calling it TIFF and were still using musty, rundown rep theatres with faint glimmers of past elegance - I showed up to a screening and grabbed my favourite spot on the left aisle about ten from the front, guaranteed to ensure a view regardless of height, hair or hat. Few people took this seat by choice, unless nothing else was left. But I always went straight to it.

It’s a process not an event…

I didn’t get the Ontario Arts Council grant. Fuck em if they don’t know a great thing. Well maybe a good thing, but one day it could be great.