Five Years a Writer

A Post a Day in May 21/31 I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. I'm not generally kept awake by noise, but certain noises make me instantly alert. This noise was unfamiliar to me and, thus, caught in my mind: What could it be? Where was it coming from? What was making it? But I continued to lay in bed, comfortable, not keen to be disturbed. However, the noise continued, and I continued to be annoyed by it, so, eventually, I forced myself to get up to investigate. The bedroom was beside the kitchen, and it was from there I thought the noise was coming. Without an easy overhead light to flick on, I grabbed the flashlight and moved it around the kitchen to see which appliance was making the noise — the fridge? the stove? the taps? All these inanimate things have their own peculiar gurgles and burps and hums, but, this night, the noise didn't seem to be coming from any of them. And the noise was persisting. I turned around and shone the flashlight up along the wall where, I no...

A Post a Day in May 20/31 A weekend is a wonderful thing. Whether it falls on the traditional days of Saturday and Sunday, or whether it comes mid-week or in some other combination for you, a weekend is a time to change up the rhythm of the day, a time to step out of routine and enjoy the possibilities of 48 hours that are different from the other 120 hours of our 7-day weeks. If we are lucky, those 48 hours are filled with fun and frivolity. However, it’s more likely that they’re filled with a combination of domestic chores and leisure activities. That was certainly the case for me while I was still working. But now that I have left full-time Monday-to-Friday work, I am very keen to differentiate the weekend days from the weekdays. This may seem counter-intuitive; after all, every day can be a play-day now, right? But, while that might be bliss, it’s not  actually  how it is for me. There are still chores to do and errands to run, and if I don’t watch myself, they leak into ‘...

A Post a Day in May 19/31 Oscar and Tilly had each found their separate ways to Viburnum Lodge, and each loved to tell the tale of their journey: Oscar’s filled with leaps of faith and the charm of feline/human seduction; Tilly’s filled with wonder at her good fortune. Their stories reflected their world view, really. Reflected what they expected of the world. Oscar : “I was born into a ragamuffin house in a rough neighbourhood, but I knew from my earliest days that I was meant for more. As soon as I could, I clawed my way out of the back room and trotted down the road to find the luck I knew I deserved. And I did. I calculated well the looks I gave the humans I encountered — those ready to fall for my natural charm with a bold look into their eyes, a loud purr, and a well calculated rub against their leg. Though it wasn’t til I met Maxine at the driveway down to the Lodge that I permitted myself to be picked up and carried along.” Tilly : “My Dear Human died quite suddenly and I was l...

A Post a Day in May 18/31  All our friends start out as strangers to us, though not all strangers become our friends, of course. However, we can be on friendly terms with some strangers in certain ways that make them a player of sorts in our life. For many years, I walked to work. Along the way, close to the office, I would routinely cross paths with a woman walking away from the building. Over the course of several years, we always acknowledged each other with a smile, but never stopped to chat or connect. If she was absent on my commute, I noticed it and I missed the passing connection we had established. We were on, what legendary urban planner Jane Jacobs calls, ‘sidewalk terms’. Jacobs characterizes such connections between individuals as being without “unwelcome entanglements, without boredom, necessity for excuses, explanations, fears of giving offence, embarrassments respecting impositions or commitments and all such paraphernalia of obligations, which accompany less limite...

A Post a Day in May 17/31 Yesterday’s post laid out the benefits of talking to strangers. Today’s describes how to engage successfully in conversation with someone whom you do not (yet) know anything about. What do you say to someone you don’t know? You can’t leap into politics, religion or sex, because you don’t know who the stranger is. This is where small talk comes in. At your peril, underestimate its value and power when meeting strangers. Small talk gets a bad rap. How useful can anything be that, by its very name, is small? It must be immaterial, right? Well, no. Small talk is everything in social interactions between strangers, because it is the crucial entry point for conversation. If that entry point is not broached, no meaningful conversation can evolve. Silence and distance reign, instead. But initiating the conversation is the very hardest part of talking to strangers. Which is why being skilled at making small talk is an important social skill. And in that departme...

A Post a Day in May 16/31 Covid put the kibosh on one of my favourite social activities: chatting with random strangers met in my travels through the day. These days, I do my errands with focus, intent and purpose, none of which includes spontaneous chatting with those who cross my path. Covid has robbed me of this pleasure, because of the masks, the social distancing, and my continued fear of contagion. Back in the Before Times, I felt no such constraints. One day, while wandering through a store, I found the perfect tote — bright colour, capacious, well priced — and I was excited when I was paying for it. I shared my enthusiasm for my new purchase by telling the cashier all about just how perfect the tote was for me. She was not particularly interested and my friend nudged me, saying, "Too much information, Amanda. Not necessary." I quickly shut up. So, sometimes, the aimless chatting proves over the top; TMI; ok, fair point. But that isn't always the case, of cours...

A Post a Day in May 15/31 Dedicated to my writer-friend Coralee, who asked me to write about not writing, aka writer's block. A writer is someone for whom writing   is more difficult than it is for other people. Thomas Mann Look. Over there in the corner. Do you see it? It’s a pile of clothes, right? Hmmm, no. Look, again. It’s a coat. A coat, for goodness sake! Who would do that? Who would leave a coat lying crumpled in a corner? Well, never mind. I’ll just pick it up, shake it out, and hang it up on that hook over there…that’s better. Let’s see what happens next. Stay with me. That coat is more than it seems. Writing is an act of faith. While an actual deity is optional, what isn’t is the belief that one has something to say — and that one can write about it. Anyone who sits down to write believes (some days it’s more hope than belief) that they have something to say and can find the words to say it. The joy is when the words tumble out. Well formed into sentences, spilling down ...