Listening to the marvellous Jian Ghomeshi right now, his July 4 program on the American dream, talking to fascinating Americans, including Lewis Lapham and the founder of Wikipedia. But best was Toni Morrisson. After the war, she said, in my paraphrase, we were changed from being citizens to being consumers. Our focus was the pursuit of happiness, and what does that mean? It means consuming. To keep that level of euphoria and happiness, we need to consume.
And now, we're not even consumers. We're tax-payers. I'd change the constitution, she said, to "dedicated to life, liberty and the pursuit of integrity."
Ha. Some chance of that. But how interesting to turn on the radio in the midst of morning chores, and hear a discussion at that level. Thank you, CBC. Jon Stewart pointed out the other day that after the health care bill passed, Romney appeared on TV to say it should be repealed. When he got specific, he said he wouldn't change this aspect of Obamacare or that, just the payment of it. We'll keep the nice parts, paraphrased Stewart, and take out the bad part about paying for it. That's the Republican platform.
I woke in the night with a nightmare about Obama, the absurd situation now with billionaires pouring money into Mitt Romney's election. The Dems can't battle that. Why don't they say so? Why don't they say, Elections are not to be bought and sold, we're not going to fight that way, and simply pull out of the negative ad wars and the spend money on re-election wars? Run a campaign on integrity, honesty and issues?
Wouldn't people respect that? Or are they so stupid that they CAN be bought and sold?
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
a little patriot
His first Canada Day. As you can see. His mother, who is a huge fan of the July 1 event, bought the t-shirt years ago in anticipation of having someone, one Canada Day, to fill it. And here he is.
Plus - OMG - Anderson Cooper has come out as gay? Is that possible? Who knew? Quelle surprise! And physicists have nearly found the God particle. I have no idea what they're talking about, but it sounds exciting.
For me, the God particle is human kindness.
Plus - OMG - Anderson Cooper has come out as gay? Is that possible? Who knew? Quelle surprise! And physicists have nearly found the God particle. I have no idea what they're talking about, but it sounds exciting.
For me, the God particle is human kindness.
July 15 garden writing workshop information
People have contacted me with questions about the garden writing workshop that takes place on Sunday July 15. So here's some information.
1. There is still room. And realizing that we are in a recession, the fee has been dropped to $155. That's for an entire day, 10 to 5, of writing in my garden with feedback and inspiration, plus lunch (with the possibility of a special guest) and a glass of wine.
2. Even people who've never done a speck of creative writing are welcome. The event works for everyone. I assign easy but interesting topics that spark imagination, and the writers go off into the garden to mull, muse and write whatever comes. Then we reassemble, and those who are comfortable reading what they've written are encouraged to do so. Those who'd prefer not to read are welcome not to read. There is no pressure. The day is about accessing your stories, your imagination, your voice. I guarantee you'll be amazed at what emerges spontaneously and in tranquillity.
If you have any other questions, please let me know. Here's what a writer who came a few years ago wrote to me afterwards. She has just signed up again.
FYI, a writer called Cathy Ostlere regularly posts information on Creative Non-fiction. There's tons of juicy stuff at this link: http://www.scoop.it/t/literary-nonfiction.
1. There is still room. And realizing that we are in a recession, the fee has been dropped to $155. That's for an entire day, 10 to 5, of writing in my garden with feedback and inspiration, plus lunch (with the possibility of a special guest) and a glass of wine.
2. Even people who've never done a speck of creative writing are welcome. The event works for everyone. I assign easy but interesting topics that spark imagination, and the writers go off into the garden to mull, muse and write whatever comes. Then we reassemble, and those who are comfortable reading what they've written are encouraged to do so. Those who'd prefer not to read are welcome not to read. There is no pressure. The day is about accessing your stories, your imagination, your voice. I guarantee you'll be amazed at what emerges spontaneously and in tranquillity.
If you have any other questions, please let me know. Here's what a writer who came a few years ago wrote to me afterwards. She has just signed up again.
It was the most connected and grounded I have felt for MONTHS, and in a group of many strangers, that is a miracle. It refreshed my faith in writing as a love of mine, and something that makes me feel whole, no mean feat. I also met some new people with whom I really clicked.
FYI, a writer called Cathy Ostlere regularly posts information on Creative Non-fiction. There's tons of juicy stuff at this link: http://www.scoop.it/t/literary-nonfiction.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
stories from the Moth
Last night, there were about six raccoons racketing through my yard, including three very small babies. One of them clambered onto one of the chairs on my deck and began to attack the cushion with his sharp little teeth, and when I tried to chase him away, he came over to the back door and climbed up the screen! But tonight, no raccoons. The Canada Day fireworks are making lots of exploding noise. I imagine the ivy, full of those shining little black eyes, waiting.
Here's something wonderful - writer Nathan Englander writes of his discovery of the Moth, the storytelling event that now goes on around the world and which in its Toronto incarnation is called Raconteurs (where I will be doing my seven-minute bit July 11.) Englander has chosen a bunch of his favourite Moth storytellers, and they're fabulous. Take your pick. Heaven.
http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2012/06/the-moth-storytelling.html
And if any of you are travelling to Paris, my friend David Burke, who has written a book called "Writers in Paris," now does walking tours, so you can follow him and listen to his great stories. Another kind of Moth. If you Google David Burke and Paris, you'll find him.
Let's hope, when we start telling stories, we sound like this guy.
Here's something wonderful - writer Nathan Englander writes of his discovery of the Moth, the storytelling event that now goes on around the world and which in its Toronto incarnation is called Raconteurs (where I will be doing my seven-minute bit July 11.) Englander has chosen a bunch of his favourite Moth storytellers, and they're fabulous. Take your pick. Heaven.
http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2012/06/the-moth-storytelling.html
And if any of you are travelling to Paris, my friend David Burke, who has written a book called "Writers in Paris," now does walking tours, so you can follow him and listen to his great stories. Another kind of Moth. If you Google David Burke and Paris, you'll find him.
Let's hope, when we start telling stories, we sound like this guy.
the joy of going backwards
Usually we can hear the Gay Pride festivities loud and clear in Cabbagetown, but not this year. Are they quieter than usual over there? Surely not - it said on the news that a million people watched the parade. Maybe - maybe it's not them, it's me. I'm going deaf! That must be it.
A solitary long weekend, which is lonely and blissful, both. I'm sitting on the deck now, of course, at the end of a perfect hot, breezy day, listening to the chatter of birds, looking at the huge white hydrangeas, the livid purple of the clematis, the two fading roses. The smell of jasmine, lavender, gardenia, mint and basil - overwhelming. It is my country's birthday today, as well as Pride; too bad when CBC news began to air the sound of the prime minister's voice, I had to turn off the radio. We were a much better country once.
This is how working goes for this writer, in the age of Google: somehow - quelle surprise - I wound up thinking about Linda Eastman McCartney, how admired she was when she died but how at first she was scorned as a groupie. Was she a groupie? I wondered. So I Googled "Linda Eastman groupie" and lots of information came up. (The conclusion - sort of. It was the 60's, she had a camera, she met lots of famous men, she did not say no.) But then one name among her lovers came up, beside Warren Beatty and Jimi Hendrix - Tim Buckley. She was disturbed by his increasing drug use, it said, and distraught when he died in 1975.
Bing - next jump. I met Tim Buckley on an airplane between Vancouver and Victoria in late 1974; he was coming in to do a concert, I was a young actress with long auburn hair doing a show in Victoria. We chatted on the plane, had a wonderful talk, and he offered me a ticket to the concert. I did go and went backstage afterwards and to the Empress Hotel with his group and I did not become a groupie. It's a great story. I started to think about writing it - not just the groupie bit, but how Linda and I had Tim Buckley in common. He was strung out that night and died of an overdose only 7 months after I met him.
But first - just as Batman says, "To the Batmobile!" I say, "To the diaries!" I found 3 separate books for 1974, the exact date of the concert, and exactly what was going on in my feverish mind and life at that time - boyfriends, unrequited love, cruel housemate who stole my unrequited lover and broke my heart etc. Suddenly, on a hot Canada Day in 2012, I was plunged right back into 1974. It really is extraordinary. No wonder I have published so little - I spent decades writing endlessly, pouring out thoughts and words - to myself in diaries and to friends and family in letters.
Nearly 40 years later, now a slightly deaf grandmother with short grey hair, I write to you. Hope you had a wonderful day too, in whatever year you chose to live it.
A solitary long weekend, which is lonely and blissful, both. I'm sitting on the deck now, of course, at the end of a perfect hot, breezy day, listening to the chatter of birds, looking at the huge white hydrangeas, the livid purple of the clematis, the two fading roses. The smell of jasmine, lavender, gardenia, mint and basil - overwhelming. It is my country's birthday today, as well as Pride; too bad when CBC news began to air the sound of the prime minister's voice, I had to turn off the radio. We were a much better country once.
This is how working goes for this writer, in the age of Google: somehow - quelle surprise - I wound up thinking about Linda Eastman McCartney, how admired she was when she died but how at first she was scorned as a groupie. Was she a groupie? I wondered. So I Googled "Linda Eastman groupie" and lots of information came up. (The conclusion - sort of. It was the 60's, she had a camera, she met lots of famous men, she did not say no.) But then one name among her lovers came up, beside Warren Beatty and Jimi Hendrix - Tim Buckley. She was disturbed by his increasing drug use, it said, and distraught when he died in 1975.
Bing - next jump. I met Tim Buckley on an airplane between Vancouver and Victoria in late 1974; he was coming in to do a concert, I was a young actress with long auburn hair doing a show in Victoria. We chatted on the plane, had a wonderful talk, and he offered me a ticket to the concert. I did go and went backstage afterwards and to the Empress Hotel with his group and I did not become a groupie. It's a great story. I started to think about writing it - not just the groupie bit, but how Linda and I had Tim Buckley in common. He was strung out that night and died of an overdose only 7 months after I met him.
But first - just as Batman says, "To the Batmobile!" I say, "To the diaries!" I found 3 separate books for 1974, the exact date of the concert, and exactly what was going on in my feverish mind and life at that time - boyfriends, unrequited love, cruel housemate who stole my unrequited lover and broke my heart etc. Suddenly, on a hot Canada Day in 2012, I was plunged right back into 1974. It really is extraordinary. No wonder I have published so little - I spent decades writing endlessly, pouring out thoughts and words - to myself in diaries and to friends and family in letters.
Nearly 40 years later, now a slightly deaf grandmother with short grey hair, I write to you. Hope you had a wonderful day too, in whatever year you chose to live it.
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