Alison Acheson

It’s March. February slipped through somewhere. January, too. And I’d promised myself posts every two week.

I began to write a short novel (16000 words) on December 10, and gave myself two months to do it, 2 pages a day. But had a two-week-long task in January. The novel took two months and ten days to complete. It was born first as a picturebook…come to think of it, it was scratched out by hand, rough draft–very drafty–sitting in a chair outside the hotel room in Kelowna, with the smoke from the Glenrosa fire still thick in the air, morning after. I knew my son was safe, finally, and my other family members. (See post re: Glenrosa/July.) So already, there’s a recursive loop in my blogging. Yeah! A loop. We write to make loops, to try to catch things that are uncatchable. Or that run away from us.

I haven’t done as much writing before now as I have in this past year. A third of a novel through the fall (can’t wait to get back to it, though the subject matter frightens me), a re-write of another novel (now awaiting word…), this short novel, and now, a chapter book for Tradewinds…which just might be the first “funny” thing I’ve written. I’m having fun writing it, at least. Humour is a fingerprint, though. A bit slippery, too.

Marching along…

Okay. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m getting older, and the payoff to ageing is supposed to be some acquiring of knowledge…with wisdom being the pot at the end of something.

The past two years I’ve learned a lot, possibly too much. I thought it’d be fun (right: my idea of fun is not much like anyone else’s) to attempt to sum…so here, the 10-1 countdown: (and if you’re in a happy place in your life, be thankful, and skip this entry)

10. Ask yourself why you’re unhappy where you are in your life.

9. Ask yourself if there’s anything you can do about it.

8. If the answer is no, change the answer.

7. Make every attempt to recognize happiness; it has a number of disguises. Sometimes it’s like Mr. Dressup.

6. Remember Mr. Dressup.

5. Know that you that you can actually live on one quarter of what you currently make. (It’s true; even if it’s one-quarter of nothing.)

4. When you find something that makes you happy (as in, satisfied), do it every day, even if it’s only for 15 minutes. It’s the every day part that matters.

3. Ultimately, this happy thing will bring you what you want. Other, less happy, things, won’t.

2. Other, less happy, things, won’t.

1. Read and re-read the picturebook Frank and Zelda, or Pizza for Breakfast. It was never meant for children. It was meant for adults who have given up belief in magic, and who don’t have a plan. Get a plan. Go back to #7 if need be.

Happy New Year!

I grew up making gingerbread houses every Christmas. Mom would  make her own pattern, and all four of us would decorate it. It would be quite big and square and we would decorate with those “ribbon” candies…what are they called? Whenever I see them, I think “Christmas” and “fifties.”

After my first son was born, I began to make them. But when I made them as big as Mom’s, they’d flop to pieces. The icing glue never worked, and I lacked her patience with supporting the pieces with all manner of kitchen stuff. She was quite elaborate with folded kitchen towels and such…

So I made smaller houses, and as my sons numbered two, then three, I made another and another. Then one year I discovered icing made with only sugar and egg white: glue! And we made a small sleigh and reindeer.

In 2004, we went to the UK. Emmett had just turned five. Six months later, at Christmas, he suggested we make a castle…with a water wheel (he was so impressed by that wheel in the Welsh medieval village)…so we did. And we have until this year.

When I first suggested we make a lighthouse, he balked. But once we began to put it together, and began to decorate, the castle thoughts began to fly. When I said, “Maybe next year, we should try something else again,” he said a simple “Sure.”

Surely a year to leave routine behind…

What will it be?

As good as it gets! We found an untouched pond on Saturday, and returned on Sunday. It had snowed, and we brought  a snow shovel, and zambonied. (That’s a word, right?) There can’t have been a breath of wind as it was freezing. It was the smoothest natural ice I’ve ever been on…

Back twice on Monday before the West Coast rain returned.  The positives of homeschooling: let’s pack up the skates.

…working on the two-pages-a-day, 5 a.m. wake up…stuck on page 81 for too long.

Some days ago I pulled out more pages than wrote, which is part of the process. The following day, I did research. (Fiction writers reading will chuckle: right, research.) The following day, I worked hard on the picturebook I was re-writing. And again, the next day. Novel momentum broken.

Yesterday, I sat and wrote, working on page 57, which is what’s happening with the first draft of this story–so much working with one character, moving to another, working on p. 36, then 62, back to 57. But at the bottom of the page, it continued to read “page 57 of 81.” I swear it went on to read “page 58 of 81.”

Then there it was: “page 59 of 82.” I finished the paragraph. Added a thought, and was done for the day, exhausted.

Today, what will happen? Perhaps I’ll find more to cut than to add. How attached am I to those little numbers? Too mechanical? Writing has its own set of self-deluding mind-games. But I’m no more attached to the numbers than Rita Mae Brown, setting her pages to the side of her typewriter, hoping for affirmation from her cat, hoping the feline will sit on the pages and thereby approve.

All right. Two pages, coming up.

Emmett and I are agreed: that was the best Halloween ever. And in no small part, because of the weather! The afternoon of the 30th was wet and windy, and made us a bit nervous…

The day was the clearest, brightest.  I was compelled to go outside and work in the yard in the afternoon, and the sun on my back was HOT. I mowed the lawn for the last time, and shut up the mower. I cut dead things out, and had a glimpse of green hiding away at the surface of the ground, for next year. And once again, I was struck by how, through this particularly difficult summer, the weather has been a friend. I felt a deep sense of gratitude for that.

Then the moon came out–full!  

Perfect for the night. With Daylight Savings happening a week later now, it’s still light until after 6.  But we were out as soon as it was dark, and the smell of the evening was there: the fireworks (a big Yes to those Deltans brave enough to light up and away in spite of the bylaw–we can’t have Halloween without fireworks!), the crunchy smell of newly fallen leaves, the earthy, composty, mushroomy…altogether with the smell of autumn flowers and over-ripe fruit. Glorious.

A friend asked where the oohs and aahs were, with the backyard fireworks. Maybe folks are still afraid to do that. Last year, there was almost no fireworks at all, except for the odd young teen with LadyFingers snapping behind a school. This year, folks realized that the cost of a fine is half the cost of a permit, and they went to the nearest Muni and bought some works. Next year, let’s ooh and aah!

Another blessing of the weather and the yard: this morning I–once again–went out and picked my fall-bearing heritage raspberries. Enough for a bowl of cereal. Actually, they’re not even mine: they’re the neighbour’s, and she asked me a year ago spring, if I’d mind if a few slipped under the fence and chose to grow on my side. I should be so lucky. Never too late for Thanksgiving.

(moon photo by Martin Hatlelid)

I thought I knew all about the negatives and positives of homeschooling, but here’s a surprise (and maybe it shouldn’t be…but…): the anxiety lessens, and with that, the kindness grows.  What is the anxiety about? is it “Time”? Public education, I’ve been informed, is all about time: “keeping kids on their toes…making them feel as if they’re always running out of time.” Hearing that statement last spring made a number of things click into place for me: what is wrong with current education practices and curriculum; what is wrong with our society; my questions about mental and physical health..and my own issues of feeling as if there is simply too much going on, and my children’s anxieties. And we are not alone in this. Everyone I share with feels similarly.

So it’s fascinating to see how when we reclaim time, we allow kindness to grow.

My oldest taught my youngest how to use Garage Band this week. My youngest carries the others’ dishes to the dishwasher (and left mouths agape in his wake!). Homework stress is gone. There is a big difference this year.

And each morning, I write. Every morning. Even if it means getting up at 5.

Time is to kindness what soil is to plants.

What do we do with disappointment?

I never know who might read my blog: ex-students, I know.  Family members, especially those who live far away.  Friends. Fellow writers.

And the people who read my books.  Who are young people…  So, if I write a piece about what it’s like to work very hard toward a particular goal–in this case, preparing (4 weeks) for a job interview (5 hours) for a position I would have loved to have–and then I write about the waiting (4 weeks) for a response and then the disappointment when the answer is “no”…well, it’s not the story we’re supposed to write for kids. Some people like to argue about whether or not books for children should have hopeful or even happy endings.

Over and over, in books and movies, kids see the main character triumph against the odds.  But disappointment, having to change goals and direction, moving on…these are not the subjects of stories for young people. But my new novel, Molly’s Cue, which will be released next spring, IS about a change of direction.

Fact is, disappointments do happen. We do work hard for things…really hard, even…and they still don’t happen. Some people are convinced it’s a matter of what we believe, and how hard we believe in ourselves–as if it’s something you can measure.  Like this: Person A had 20 kilograms of belief in her self, but Person X had 68!  So…guess who got the job…

Or, conversely, Person A had two negative thoughts about not getting the job, but Person W had four negative thoughts. Person W did not get the job.

Anyway.  For whatever reasons–NOT lack of hard work, NOT lack of feeling good about myself–I did not get the job.  So.  No happy ending.  And moments of feeling not very hopeful.

Where is that story? Do people want to read that story? A “change of direction” story? A friend of mine, in her 50s, says that she can’t find anything to read that really speaks to where she’s at in her life–that mirrors her reality. Maybe that’s because we’re afraid to talk about these things. We’re all supposed to be Superfolk, and if we’re not, it’s because we’re doing something dreadfully wrong, and we should keep it to ourselves.

What is the purpose of disappointment? Everything must have a purpose now. One should be able to multi-task disappointment with any number of emotions. Maybe I need to think as a painter thinks: look at what I see before me, and consider what I do see, not what I think I see.

In a close-to-the-end rewrite of Molly’s Cue, I had to cut out a particular line.  A line that an earlier editor had marked as a favourite. A line that I was rather fond of. But sometimes a story calls for something else and, for the sake of the story, you cut. So I cut. Today I use it. As the title for this entry. With changes of direction, it’s entirely possible to find what you think you’ve lost, or even something unexpected.

well, here’s a new “first day of school” photo…

Emmett 8:01 a.m. Sept. 8 2009 first day of school

after one week of homelearning, I’ve had a number of new thoughts planted and growing in my mind          and the air is lighter here, somehow          there’s more laughter          and more talk

Official release date: Grandpa’s Music: A Story About Alzheimer’s

I am grateful for what the artist, Bill Farnsworth, has created.  A childhood friend of mine wrote the following Facebook comment when he saw the cover image:

Added May 2 · Comment · Like

Curtis Collins at 1:27pm May 13

Is that a picture of you – you used to look just like that at 8 years old?

This made me laugh!  And think about all the “connectings” we do, as humans…

Curtis and I grew up next door to each other; his wife, who has become my friend,

Sarah, has taken writing classes with me (check out her wonderful early reader,

SAM & NATE (P.J. Sarah Collins, Orca Books); Bill Farnsworth lives in Florida,

about as far away as you can be on this continent…and we’ve never met.

I grew up thinking that writers always work alone.  But writing a picturebook is

different: other people have important roles and contributions.  It’s more like a

theatre production…almost…