This afternoon, while half of the other people in the coffeeshop were reading the latest Harry Potter book, I got back to work on my own novel. The Rowling books have their detractors, for certain, but I have to admit I’m curious to see how they turn out. And I really, really don’t want to overhear the conclusion. (This afternoon there was a particularly loud young woman at the table next to me talking about the book, so I put in my earphones and cranked up my music.)

Curious as I am, it felt awfully good to be sitting there doing my own thing instead of consuming someone else’s. It’s a similar instinct, actually — the urge to lose onesself in imagination. It’s certainly scarier to track down your own and risk putting it out into the world, especially when you see all the little lizards with bloodied teeth jumping on the resident mammoth of your species.

There’s an inevitability to these projects: I just find my way back to them, and I can trust now that I will. This week was a challenge, though, first being sick; then I misbehaved and stayed up really late again to play a videogame as a tantrum, because I was frustrated with work, and this led me to having a relapse of my cold.

This week, everyone seemed to want to change the pieces I’d written; apparently this is a common occurrence for freelance writers — H.G. Wells once said “There is no greater human urge than the desire to rewrite someone else’s copy” — but this time it got under my skin. I had a talk with my editor about what she wanted changed, and by the end of the conversation I agreed with her, and had learned some things to look out for in the future. She’s also great at reassuring me that she believes in my ability; it’s just that the company has a very specific voice. So that made it better. (The other people in my client organisation, who change work seemingly for the sake of it, I just have to learn to live with.) Still, it was all a bit confidence-jarring at the time, so getting back into my own book, particularly in the wake of this Harry Potter asteroid hitting the planet, just had to wait.

And today it happened, so all’s well. I went back and re-edited the first four chapters, which helped to reawaken the story for me, then I outlined Chapter Five. I intended to only write the first paragraph or two, following that advice from Hemingway: always end your writing day with something incomplete, so you’re not starting cold the next day. This way you start back knowing you’ve already got a fish tugging on your line. But, oops, I kept going and finished the first chunk of the chapter.

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p>I promise it’ll be finished soon. I’m happy to get back to that world.

I had the worst jetlag ever last week. Every night I was up anywhere from 3 to 6AM. Not surprisingly, I got sick at the weekend. Bluh.

I still haven’t really got my words back, so the book is on pause for another couple of days. I have been managing to get some work-work done. But yesterday I determined to turn it around: I made myself a big pot of comforting, stewy soup, drank lots of OJ, started taking supermegaechinacea, and I took a bunch of herbal “natural sleep” pills at bedtime and had the first proper rest in a while.

Life will shortly resume as usual. And I must remember next time I fly to take precautions. I have to learn how to avoid jet-lag (suggestions?), and I have to boost my immune system, because humans are filthy and it’s predictable that I will get sick when I’m trapped in a metal container with them at high altitudes.

But I did manage to get another item from my to-do list completed: post my Canada pictures. They’re nothing special, but I promised this time to actually document my trip, looking at the places I go in Canada through the eyes of someone who’s not been there before. So here you go…

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I bought myself a new phone/PDA thingy, finally converging all my devices into one. I don’t have to wear a utility belt anymore! (I never did find a grappling-hook I liked.) And I hated my mobile; using it felt like trying to communicate through a chicken.

As I said to my brother, the Samsung’s bizarre interface was like a walk through the wrong part of town after midnight, my path lit only by neon signs, where all the hookers only speak Cantonese.

The downside of the new geeky wonderfulness I’m now using instead? You have to update my mobile number:

07977406750 — UK
011 44 7977406750 — International

I slept until 4:30PM today. Oops! Guess I’m a wee bit jetlagged.

Liz called after I’d been up for a little while, suggesting a picnic on the lawn by the Scottish Parliament, near the craggy, grassy volcanic hill, Arthur’s Seat. My initial inclination was to stay at home and try to recover something of a day, but the honest truth was that it was shot; I couldn’t get any work done at this point. I’m really glad I went: it was the Friday Gang, assembled for a lovely meal on blankets on what I understand is the first proper summer evening here. Everyone was in clever, funny form, and I was reminded why I love these people and am happy they are my friends.

I’ll post my Canada pictures soon, once I’ve dealt with the mountain of papers and receipts and notes I brought back with me. In the meantime, though, suffice it to say that I’ve really absorbed the lesson that I don’t have to make a choice about where home is. I have ‘home’ in Canada and in Scotland. It’s about love and belonging, and I get that all over the place.

Walking with Patrick past the castle this evening, then up the Royal Mile, then back home later through the Grassmarket, I got excited: “I get to stay and visit here all summer!” Of course, the even more exciting thought after that one is “I get to stay here, full stop.”

Apologies for the lack of updates. I’m on hols, visiting with my family on Prince Edward Island, and I’m taking a break from everything (including writing).

I have been taking pictures, though, to document some of these people and places for those from my other world. I’ll post them after I get back to Scotland on Sunday.

Apparently my driver misunderstood my directions; he showed up in Glasgow the other day and had some trouble finding a parking spot.

I’m writing you from a coffeeshop in Toronto, one where I used to sit and write chapters of my other books. It’s bright and sunny and hot, but still on the reasonable side.

Lisa was away in New York City for a workshop, so Alvaro picked me up and we went to a friend’s backyard barbeque party. We left fairly early in the evening, and I turned in right away to have a big sleep. I hadn’t slept at all the night before, so I’m still feeling kind of shattered today, and I’ve got a wee bit of a cold that I’d managed to stave off until now.

It’s nice to be here; feels like a summer vacation.

There’s a temptation while walking around these streets to just shop and shop and buy thing after thing to eat. I did just buy a bunch of shirts, but I’d planned on that. American Apparel has some outlets here — they make non-sweatshop clothes — and the Canadian price is about 2/3 what they cost to order in the UK.

As for food, happily this diet thing I’ve been doing where you tinker with your body’s “set point”, or your natural appetite level, and it’s really been working. So pizza slices, slushies, ice cream… Walk on by.

Okay, great experience: I just bumped into the guy who was my first fan, a really lovely guy who’s a primary school principal and was hugely supportive of the play that Cosgrove and I put on here. Ironically, he studied at Edinburgh University back in the day, and still goes back and forth to Scotland. So I may see him over there next month.

He’s gone now, and I’m sitting here waiting until 3, ’cause that’s when I told Cosgrove I’d call him. I just leafed through Fab!, Toronto’s glossy wee gay magazine, and am happy with my reaction to it: “kinda fun”. Pride is on next weekend — I didn’t realise it would be on while I was here — and I find myself not resisting it. No, I don’t have much time for the go-go-party-boi set. Yes, much of gay culture is utter shite. But there’s no reason I have to keep forcing myself into a position of not-belonging just to hold onto a sense of personal taste and discerning.

In other words, I think it’ll be fun.

Likewise, making all my connections yesterday, taking off my shoes, being seated next to someone for seven hours, all that travel-stuff — I didn’t resist it yesterday. It just was how it was, and as a result it was all just fine. I was allowed to smile and be in a good mood. I’m really aware lately that every moment has this binary sort of nature: How do you want it to go?

It’s time to go outside and play.

I’m sitting in the café at The Filmhouse, waiting to meet a friend for a coffee. It’s blazingly sunny out, and all the people I passed on the street coming here seemed to be breathing a collective sigh for the good weather.

I can’t believe I’m off to Canada in a week. Happily, this time I’m not experiencing any of my usual angst about leaving Scotland. I don’t love Scotland any less for it, but I’m really looking forward to seeing my friends in Toronto, getting into the urban culture there, and sitting in on The Strategic Coach’s workshops — which not only helps with my work, it invariably fills me with ideas for the rest of my projects, too.

Then there’s Prince Edward Island, which is just a joy in the summer. Talking to my folks this morning, I made plans with them to see some theatre there and go to a lobster dinner. Mom also suggested going to the beach, which will be fun. I’m going to book the whole time off and have a proper summer vacation.

As for staying in Scotland, this week I went to the Citizens’ Advice Bureau to speak to an immigration advisor, asking for some direction about what the next steps are for becoming ‘naturalised’ and getting my passport.

It’s pretty involved. I’m eligible for it all, and can do it, but, aside from all the documents I have to fill out (when have I been out of the country? I haven’t kept any of those dates) and get notarised (where do I find a solicitor?), there’s a test. “Life in the UK”, it’s called. I had all the study material already, but it’s been a while since I bought it, and they’ve revised the test material. Apparently it was pointed out that it wasn’t really fair to test new immigrants on questions that most Brits couldn’t answer.

The handbook is written in ultra-PC speak, describing the UK in a kind of “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing” way. I can see how that might be necessary and desirable, laying the groundrules for people who might come from more militant cultures or cultures segregated by race or sex, but it hardly reflects the reality of life in Britain, where people regularly call a cornerstore “the Paki” without blinking.

So this will be the first test I’ve taken since graduating from uni in 1989. I’m confident I can do it — I’ve learned an awful lot since then. But stuffing facts into my head for regurgitation on a single occasion is something I haven’t had to do in a long time. I haven’t even learnt lines in over a decade.

And, to cap it off, applying for naturalisation costs — wait for it — £655.

Yeah.

With my “Right of Abode”, I could stay here the rest of my life without having to do any of this. I just couldn’t live anywhere else in the EU. But I intended to stay in Scotland. So, while I want to be able to pass this test, just to feel like I’ve done the work officially required to belong here, I’m wavering on dropping that much cash for no perceptible benefit.

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I originally articled a bunch of stuff that’s come together for me in the last few weeks, but I woke up this morning (Sunday now), and felt a little queasy about the blog becoming a “Yay me!” parade. Suffice it to say that things are working. They’re still work, but the work is working, if that makes any sense. So my overall experience is one of making progress, which is encouraging. I am encouraged.

Oh, and I wrote Chapter Four of Finitude. I’m having fun with this book. It’s been easy to knock out a chapter a week, though I’m not sure how much, if anything, I’ll be able to get done while I’m in Canada.

Chapter Three is now posted. I wrote it this afternoon, looking out from the coffeeshop at the castle in the sun. I finished, walked home. When I was cozy inside, a thunderstorm rumbled over my little stone cottage and the rain resumed. It’s been raining a lot lately. I’m generally not fussed about the weather, but days and days of full-on rain gets annoying.

A few weeks ago, flatmatebestmate Patrick won a bunch of Starbucks swag at a jazz bar, and, since he’s someone who shoots up brews his coffee at home, he gave me all the coupons and gift-cards. So for several weeks now, I’ve been going to their coffeeshops to work. Normally I wrestle with the whole globalisation thing when trying to decide whether to go there or not, but they do know how to make a good space (except for their tendency to play their music too loud and to play Reggae; I hate Reggae).

I’ve been reworking my finances this week, and in budgeting for the future, one of the luxuries I want to afford myself is “office time” in coffeeshops. I really like working this way. It helps to get away from the house, and — I dunno, I guess it’s part of living the life. So that’s going in the budget. Not that it amounts to much, buying a tea a couple of times a week.

I’ve switched to chamomile tea, because I’ve realised I can’t drink coffee, I just can’t. It messes with my brain chemistry too much. The only problem is that every time I go to order it I forget the word “chamomile”. I don’t know why.

I also stumble over pronouncing “Strategic Coach” every other time I have to say it, even though I’ve been working with them for about nine years.

I just finished writing Chapter Two of Finitude this afternoon. Wahey!

I’ve decided that the right way to manage comments on the chapters is… not to. I’m just going to be quiet, take the feedback and be grateful for it, not try to filter it or to explain anything, when the story should do that. So even though I’m quiet, trust that I’m getting it.

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In other news, a lot of things are coming together for me right now, like money, diet, fitness, and my personal life. There are some times when everything just flies to the four walls, and other times like this when everything just clicks.

I think it might be a corollary of that old axim “If you want something done, give it to a busy person.” I’m a writer, and I’ve got writing to do, so there’s a feeling of orderliness, purpose, and momentum that goes with that. It’s not surprising that it should pull other things into line, too.

My friends Gordon and David are visiting from Canada. Last night we met with my friend Alison at Baraka on Infirmary Street (a nice wee place where the lighting was mellow, the music not too loud, and the bartender nice to look at). Before long, the four of us dropped into a chasm of a conversation about supernovas, the nature of relationships, rainforests, and that gravity is, apparently, about to be rejected as a physical theory.

Somewhere inside this chat, Alison informed me that “Finity” (or rather “Finity’s End”) is the name of a spaceship in a famous Science Fiction series by C. J. Cherryh. So, to avoid confusion, I’ve changed the book’s title to Finitude — which I’m liking more.

Chapter One is now online for the advance readers (just e-mail if you’d like to join the group).