I am moved.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006 , 2:22 PM

I write this post from my desk in the cottage. Yes, the move is finally over.

Patrick was an amazing help. I’m deeply in his debt for all the Ikea furniture he moved and assembled. And he was right: everything did fit into the new space. In fact, through some sort of TARDIS effect, I somehow have actually got more storage here.

Cleaning up the previous flat turned out to be a big chore — yet another thing that displaced a lot of time and put me off my schedule. There wasn’t even any real payoff for it: the landlord barely looked at it when he met me there for the inspection (which really just involved me handing him the keys while marvelling at his pinstriped zoot-suit).

I also had lots of help from my friend Julia, who was visiting for the week (I know her from The Strategic Coach, and she’s “obscenely beautiful” according to Liz), as well as from…

Garry.

Yes, he exists! (It seemed like time to catch up on posting here, and a discussion of events would not be complete without acknowledging him.)

Okay, I’ve got to get back to what I was working on. It’s great to have this space with a built-in best mate who happens to own lots of fun toys, but I still have too many things to get done at specific times. A holiday in my new space would be nice.

Ooh: Labour Day!

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Doing, doing, doing.
Thursday, August 17, 2006 , 10:22 PM

I’ve had a very busy week. But I’m on top of it. ThisGetting Things Done is popular for a reason.

Normally, I’ve got every project in my life floating about in my head, active, open, demanding attention. This is nicer: I just open a folder for the day and only have to think about or deal with what’s in it. Even though it means being more serious and actually doing what’s on my schedule for the day, there are far fewer things to deal with, and they’re set up in a way that I can actually act on them and have a sense of accomplishment about — well, getting things done.

So, yes, I’ve joined another cult.

But the moving thing? Easy. It’s all broken down into little steps, each of which is set to happen sometime, until it’s all done. Same with the talk I’m giving in October, the zine I’m producing, the website I’m creating, the…

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Bunnies and boxes.
Thursday, August 10, 2006 , 3:59 PM

I’m going crazy. I’ve got two flats this month, and I’m trying to get myself moved into the new one, except it’smuch smaller, and I’ve got some big things I can’t move by myself. To make it all worse, I’m miserable at asking anyone for help. In spite of that, it’s coming anyway.

My new flatmate, best mate Patrick, has gone ahead and is assembling my flat-pack furniture because he enjoys doing that and I HATE it. In fact, I loathe all housey stuff. Hate it all. I don’t know why. And here I am facing the necessity to do lots of it, as well as dismantling my press operation to move it to someplace it might not fit.

So I’m like a little bunny in a box whose kill switch is about to go off. (Bunnies’ ability to die at will keeps coming up in conversation lately.)

~

I finally caved: after regularly reading several websites on“lifehacking”, or the science of organisation, planning, and other various tricks to make your life work better, I finally caved and bought the book that everyone on these sites praises: Getting Things Done, by David Allen.

I’m just getting into the meat of it, but the structure-geek in me is looking forward to implementing his system. But why it’s a pressing matter is that I’ve got a lot going on in my life right now, with two big projects at work (a company history for our new client website, and a jillion illustrations for our new team website), along with lots of other press-related projects. But it’s all so big I’ve been finding myself paralysed. (I played a videogame until 6AM the other night, which is a sure sign that I’m overloaded and feel the need to escape.)

Already, the book has helped me see some major flaws in the way I approach projects. For one, my to-do list is mammoth, and floats just behind me like some creature from a Hayao Miyazaki cartoon. But the things on it are often huge, vague, and not things I can act on.

Anyway, I bought some folders today, which would likely make other readers of the book laugh: it’s the first thing everyone does, buy a stack of folders. I guess the idea is to file like crazy and keep everything out of your head so you can just be doing what you’re doing.

I look forward to that, because I’m not there now.

I’m moving!
, 10:40 AM

I just picked up the keys from the letting agent. Patrickand I are going to share this place:

<

p>It’s considerably smaller than the Hollywood Sitcom Flat, but that gives me an opportunity to shed some of the stuffthat’s accumulated around me. I like to shed — which is why I’d make a terrible housepet.

<

p>

Video from Toronto Launch.
Monday, July 31, 2006 , 6:21 PM

I finally posted the video that Alvaro shot on his digicam at the Toronto launch of Idea in Stone.

To see it, click here, or visit the book’s page.

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Glad she had another source of paper…
Sunday, July 30, 2006 , 10:00 PM

My first reader-submitted photo:
My friend Kirsten took The Willies along with her on a recent kayaking trip in Massasauga, Ontario.

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Thank f*@#!
Wednesday, July 26, 2006 , 5:21 PM

…I’ve got a fan!

No, not for the book. Although I have been printing and binding books constantly for the past week. I just mean an oscillating floor-fan. It’s been so bloody hot here lately!

Scotland? This is Scotland, right?

I’ve been a bad friend and blogger, I know. I’ve not picked up my social life here since coming back because I’ve been making books and… other stuff. (Fun stuff, a someone, but I’ve told myself in the past I should not talk about those things here.)

So if you’ve ordered a book, it should be in the post to you now. I hope they don’t mangle it.

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Home again.
Thursday, July 20, 2006 , 12:38 PM

Okay, I’ve been home for several days now, but it’s taken me this long to reach the “Update your blog!” part of the vast to-do list I came home with.

I’ve posted my pictures from Toronto, PEI, and Oban. Just click the image above to go to the gallery. The pics are very small — the next size up and they poked way out of the browser window. If you’d like bigger ones of any of them, just e-mail me.

And if you ordered a book from me while I was away, you’ll be happy to know that production has ramped up to full speed, and I’ve slightly modified the way I’m producing the books, so I’m happier than ever with the result.

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Familiar to myself.
Sunday, July 09, 2006 , 7:12 PM

I just had lunch with my friend David Moses. We were both involved in theatre here on the Island years ago. Now he runs a local video production company and also writes for a CBC show called “Robson Arms“.

We had the best chat for a few hours, mainly about story structure. That was fun, talking with someone who’s passionate about it, too. Structure goes so far to explain why some stories work and others don’t.

I learnt a lot from him about the writing process in television, which is very collaborative. At first it sounded intimidating, this talk of “writers’ rooms” and discussions about hammering out “beat sheets”, outlines, and drafts. But as he described the process, it actually sounded kind of fun (assuming the personalities involved don’t clash).

I’m in a little café in town, where the wireless is free. A number of venues in downtown Charlottetown have that, whereas in Toronto it’s more the UK model of having to buy (ridiculously priced) time with one of the major mobile networks. Free is good. And I’m drinking a root beer, just ’cause I can. I may pop into Dairy Queen on the way home, just ’cause I can.

Diet and exercise. Coming soon.

Graham Putnam was in here when I arrived, and we chatted. I met him when he was just “Anne’s son” — Anne was a stage manager for several shows I was in here. But now Graham is one of the founding members of a comedy troupe called Sketch-22 that’s doing really well here.

Tomorrow I’m going to The Queen Street Commons, a collective office/work space created by my friend Cynthia Dunsford and several others. Cynthia is the radio personality I met last summer when I did the hellish emergency response acting gig at the RCMP. I’m looking forward to catching up with her, and sharing ideas.

Then in the evening I’m going with my folks to see thelatest show Anne is stage managing for The Charlottetown Festival. And after that, I’m hoping to meet my friend Julain, who’s an amazing singer performing in the Festival.

So even though I think I don’t know anyone on the Island anymore, it seems I do, and they’re all doing creative work and doing well at it.

The ground here, as in Toronto, is rich loam that just plucks at my feet, trying to pull out roots. “Stay, stay!” But no, it’s just a visit. And it’s getting on time to head home.

This afternoon, there was a service here to welcome the gay, lesbian, transgendered, two-spirited, etc etc community back to the church as part of PEI’s pride week. I had every intention of going, but got engrossed in my conversation. I suppose chatting with Dave about story structure has more to do with my life than a church service, no matter how well-intentioned, revisionist, apologist, or whatever it might have been.

Yesterday, I spent the entire afternoon sitting out in the backyard on a chaise longue, reading cover to cover a book my father thought I’d like. The air was the perfect temperature and moved just enough to be cooling, just enough to flip the pages. The tree overhead kept me from getting sunburnt, but let through a dappled light to read by. And later in the afternoon, a faint smell of wood-smoke drifted on the air, making me think of going camping.

The book I read was A Stranger to Myself, the recently-discovered memoirs of Willy Peter Reese, a soldier in the Wehrmacht who served several tours of duty on the Russian front. It bordered on too poetic, but ultimately I found myself feeling great empathy with this person; if I were in those insane circumstances, I imagine I would have experienced them exactly that way. One moment he would witness an unthinkable atrocity, but the next moment would present him with a vision of natural beauty or a flash of joy about simply being alive.

In several key places, though, it reminded me of one of Natalie Goldberg’s writing principles: “For every cosmic statement you make, you must give ten concrete details.”

Time to move on. It’s just kinda nice to have a bit of private time in town to just do my own thing. The instinct to do this lets me know it’s time to get back home.

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Launched me over the moon.
Saturday, July 01, 2006 , 6:53 PM

I’m just waiting for Lisa to swing around Mark and Eric’s to pick me up and take me to the airport, so I figured I’d take a few minutes to catch up.

Over the past few days I’ve met or bumped into a lot of the significant players in my Toronto story. (There are still a few I missed; my apologies.) I can’t do justice to how much these meetings meant to me, and a list of names doesn’t make for good reading, so I’ll just skip ahead.

~

Wednesday was one of those peak days. You know the ones? I hope you do.

It started with a meeting between me and my editor, Cath, at her house. I’ve been writing for The Strategic Coachfor some time now, and I’m truly grateful for the arrangement I’ve got going with them. I have a lot of freedom in my life, I’ve got engaging work to do, and they treat me well. But whenever I’ve projected forward, I couldn’t see anything that gave me great confidence. The only way to grow or advance seemed to involve moving outside of my talent — putting things into words — into the business of creating those things that need describing. But that’s not my thing: I’m not a wealthy, successful entrepreneur, nor do I have anything of my own to say to that group.

Cath dreamt up the idea of something big on the fly (this is one of her talents) something that we both got excited about. We sat there on her puffy couch with a perfect summer’s day outside (the humidity and sunlight, the colours of the trees and sky all balanced to raise the setting to the surreality of a remembered childhood summer), and she described a new role: Storyteller in Residence.

The Strategic Coach has all sorts of concepts and tools that thousands of entrepreneurs have used to drastically change their experience of owning a business. Instead of entrepreneurial life being crushingly hectic, isolating, and disspiriting (when money itself didn’t make up for all the personal costs nor provide any meaning) they learned to use it as a tool for becoming more free, having more rewarding relationships and richer experiences, and many of them have developed ways to make a contribution to society much bigger than themselves.

What we don’t really have is a way to capture their experiences, which are ultimately one of our most valuable resources. Sure, we’ve got all these great ideas, but they only mean something in the context of the changes they produce in real people’s lives. So this imaginary role Cath dreamt up would involve me adding that capability to the company. What I do at work and away from work may ultimately become indistinguishable from each other.

I like that.

From her place, Cath and I darted out to the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, a darkened, climate-controlled cement cathedral, where my friend PJ showed us several amazing old books, starting with a gorgeous illuminated Book of Hours (with hand-illustrated figures who seemed to have stepped from a deck of playing cards standing amidst exacting calligraphy and raised gold details).

Then PJ showed us The Wicked Bible, which has a deliberate misprint — “Thou shalt commit adultery” — planted there through act of publishing sabotage. Finally, he took a first folio of Shakespeare from a large leather box, which slid open in two parts like a cigar tube, then from its marbled paper hard cover, and opened its pages for us. Because it’s vellum (not wood), we were even allowed to touch it.

The stories behind some of these texts — “Forgeries and Mystifications”, as the Library of Congress refers to them — were good enough for a slew of exciting novels. (Hmm…)

Time ran out, and we had to take a quick taxi-ride back to the Coach offices, where Dan Sullivan (founder of the company, along with his wife) was waiting in our studio to lay down the recording of a piece I’d written for one of our publications. On this trip, I’d been present for the original phone interview he conducted with several of our clients, wrote a piece based on the call, then got to hear him make this recording.

After work, I went with Margaux to It’s Not a Deli. At first, it seemed like there might only be a handful of us there for the launch, but as we got closer to the start time (well, the later one; I suspect that I communicated two different times), more and more people poured in until the room was packed and we’d absconded with most of the chairs from the restaurant section.

The crowd was made up of old friends from all different slices of my life, along with a few people I’d never met before. The vibe in the room was incredibly friendly.

Cosgrove asked me what I wanted for an introduction, and I gave him a thin brief that would have lasted about eight seconds. When we finally started, he launched into what amounted to a stand-up routine that he just pulled from the air. It was a charismatic blend of piss-take and tribute.

We started the show with Lisa and her two friends,Caitriona and Suzie, who fired the evening off like a shot with a high-energy set of bluegrass music. Their voices blended wonderfully and their instruments — guitars, ukelele, and fiddle — resonated against the whitewashed brick walls, strumming each of us in the audience like happy catgut.

Cosgrove then came back to introduce me. I did my first reading from Idea in Stone, a rather long section from the middle of the book, but everyone got every single moment (laughter’s always the indicator). I have to tell you, that’s just about the best thing in the world for an author.

Coz did his thing some more, pulling the funny from the aether, the girls whipped us up again with some more yee-haw, then slowed it down for an a capella number.

Then I came back on to do two shorter readings from deep in the story. While writing a book, I make an effort to create each chapter as its own story, contributing to the whole, but also providing its own payoffs so that it almost stands alone. I was pleased that these selections worked that way.

When I finished and stood up from the chair, the lights in my eyes made a whitish halftone of the faces of all those people who were clapping and cheering for what we’d just done. The applause wasn’t the reward; the reward was that these people had so willingly extended their imaginations to encompass my own dreaming-time captured on those pages. And they got it. The same things that came to me now lived for them.

We had a raffle for the one spare copy of the book I’d brought, and for two blank journals I’d brought just in case (thank you, Past-Me). Then Lisa and Mark went through the crowd, pimping the book, and I sold eight right there and then, with a few more coming through the website since.

Afterward, we all hung around and drank a few beers as people drifted away. I had a photo-session with Rannie, who took the headshot photo I’ve been using forever. (Which I realise I haven’t credited on the book — bad! I will amend that as soon as possible.) Hopefully something will come of those that I can use as a more current likeness.

Several people made connections, too, between their various talents and needs, which always gets me excited: I like seeing people team up and create things.

~

I’m finishing this entry in Prince Edward Island, at my parents’ kitchen table, looking out at the brilliant green of their backyard. It’s just breezy enough, just warm enough.

Air Canada delivered me to Montreal after my flight to Charlottetown was already supposed to have left, so I got to dash the two miles or whatever it is across the whole length of Dorval airport then shove myself into a heated beer-can of a plane to PEI.

Of course, to complete the Air Canada Client Experience(TM) (“We’re not happy until you’re not happy!”), they delivered my little piece of overflow luggage, but not my main bag. So I’m wearing my dad’s shorts.

More happened in Toronto — more work-stuff, more social-stuff. But the launch stands out as one of the best nights of my life.

<

p>The thing that amazes me most is how easy it was. I’m a bit sad that it’s not easy like that in Edinburgh. It could be, though. It will be before I’m through with it.

<

p>

Gadzooks!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006 , 4:08 AM

Apologies for being out of touch here and in my e-mail correspondence. I’m into the last crazybusy stretch of my stay in Toronto.

Thanks very much to everyone who’s expressed support for my book launch tomorrow (details below), including the good folks at the online magazine Gadzooks, who just posted an article about me.

You can read it here.

(One small correction: I’m a writer for The Strategic Coach, not a graphic designer.)

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Canadian book launch!
Thursday, June 22, 2006 , 4:55 PM

Please come along on Wednesday, 28 June to the Canadian launch of my third novel, Idea in Stone — a magical realist tale that stretches from Canada to Scotland.

You’ll hear two short readings from the book along with fun tunes played by some talented local musicians.

Where is the launch?

It’s Not a Deli
986 Queen Street West
M6J 1H1
(416) 532-4748
Click for Google map.

It’s Not a Deli is a cool gallery/restaurant on Queen West, and we’ll have the place to ourselves. It’s also air-conditioned — ahh!

When is it?
Wednesday, 28 June.
Doors open at 7:30 for an 8:30 start.

How much does it cost to get in?
Nothing! It’s free. And there will be a draw for a copy of the novel and some handmade hardcover journals.

~

You can get your copy of this independent, hand-bound novel three different ways:
— Order a copy at the event.
— Order online.
— Or you can download the free e-book (see the link below).

For more information or to download the book, visit this page.

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Between two worlds.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006 , 3:29 AM

I’m sitting on a GoTrain, which is part of a rail network that serves areas outlying Toronto. I’m not sure how far out it goes — and, to be honest, don’t care. It’s been a grim experience so far, waiting in the beige-tiled bowels of Union Station while people pressed around me or ran, while I waited to see which of the ill-marked platforms my train would be leaving from.

I couldn’t do this every day. I’m grateful I don’t have to.

I’m headed out to see my friend Robert at his restaurant in Milton, Ontario. (Well, I won’t be by the time I post this.)

I’m into the “work during the day and visit everyone at night” phase of my trip. Last night I had a beer with Margaux on a patio then rushed home to pick up books to deliver to Isaac and Gretel. I had a nice catch-up with them in their DIY project house, where they live with their two little ones, who are six years old and three months old.

Tristan, the six-year-old, came into the living room at one point, crying because he couldn’t find his bear, stark bollock naked. I envied him, because there’s nothing I’d like more right now than to be without my clothes. I hate this clinging heat and the way I can always smell my hot mammalness, no matter how recently I’ve showered.

There’s a woman sitting across from me. Her knees are a hair away from touching mine. In this weather, I don’t want to touch anyone. I wouldn’t even for a good reason.

But it’s not bad, despite the way I’ve made it sound. Yes, the heat sucks, but being here is proving to have a good effect on me.

One thing I hadn’t counted on, strangely, was the effect of being in The Strategic Coach’s workshops. I’d been thinking of them just in terms of work, but they also happen to be workshops. There’s a kind of thinking and work available there that just doesn’t happen out in the world at large. I’m good at thinking and planning, but I realise that lately I’ve been feeling fragmented and overwhelmed, and all the pressure I was putting on myself wasn’t helping me get any more done.

(My feet are on tiptoe, ’cause I’m balancing my messenger bag on my knees to use it as a desk, but my legs are starting to shake. But if I put my feet flat, I fear I’ll touch and meld into the woman opposite, whose outfit makes her resemble a dollop of lemon curd.

The workshops have given me an appreciation of what I’ve done since my last visit (learnt a whole new form of bookbinding, travelled to Italy, started my own micro-press, published a book), and this perspective fills me with confidence and pride. I’m also getting more and more ideas each day I’m in that environment about what I can do to simplify things for myself and advance my projects.

I guess where I’m getting to, gradually, is the feeling that it’s appropriate and right to be here. There’s no life I’m missing out on; this is my life, this tri-located existence. As Patrick suggested the other day in a comment, I suppose it’s a gift, getting to experience and live in three different places.

I know a lot of exceedingly cool and gifted people in Toronto, both within and without The Coach, and they’re giving me directional bumps and sparks of thought that make this trip a contribution to my progress, not a detriment.

In short: nothing’s wrong.

Although I spoke to a client of ours from Glasgow this morning, and we shared a pang of homesickness.

~

The meal at Robert’s restaurant, The Harrop House, was excellent, as always. Conversation with him was, as always, a reminder to play a big, heart-filled game, and to remember that it is a game.

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Easy Sunday.
Monday, June 19, 2006 , 3:33 AM

Well that was an easy day.

Very little ended up happening this weekend. I needed to get some things, and wound up doing lots of walking back and forth across this big city in shoes that, while ethical in their materials and the labour used to make them, were admittedly cruel to my feet.

In my walks, I noticed another thing about Toronto: In Scotland, I’m struck by the religious role that football plays in many people’s lives. “It’s not like that in Canada, not even with its equivalent, hockey,” I say.

The World Cup and the Stanley Cup are on right now, and that statement is proving ludicrously wrong over and over.

Everyone in Canada is a hyphen-something, so the last few days all the Portuguese-Canadians and Brasilian-Canadians and whatever-Canadians have been driving around in cars, honking their horns, hanging out windows with big flags, and cheering to each other. The sheer numbers of team jerseys is staggering: just yesterday I saw a couple in their little patch of front yard, him watering the plants, her kneeling down and weeding the garden, both of them wearing red jerseys.

And last night I sat on the couch with Alvaro, drinking beer and watching the Edmonton Oilers play. (“Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-baaaah” — the “Hockey Night in Canada” theme played, which, when I was a kid, always meant that TV was ruined for the evening, as Dad would be watching the game.)

Hockey is so brutal, though. Less than twenty minutes in, they replayed some of the “best plays of the evening”, which consisted mainly of body-checks into the boards, each one a bone-jarring car-wreck between two cavemen. Then there are the out-and-out fistfights, which get people a few minutes out of the game.

The red card moments in football seem so mild in comparison, and the footwork and acrobatics so elegant.

I’ll say no more than that (because it gets enough attention already), except that the landscape of Toronto is altered at the moment by football.

~

This evening, Gary and Cindy came by (Lisa knows Gary from the cater-waiter/actor world, and Cindy directed Lisa’s show for last summer’s Toronto Fringe, and it directing it again this summer). Lisa, Alvaro, them, and I all sat in the backyard under a canopy of trees and barbequed our dinner. The conversation was quick, light, and lots of fun, and time in the backyard like that — it feels now like I spent the weekend at a cottage. I expected to be busier this weekend, but delivering the books I brought didn’t happen, so I wound up actually having a weekend, which was probably necessary, given the level of presence and concentration I’ll need for the time ahead.

So it’s time for bed. It’s a schoolnight: I’m going into the office tomorrow.

Note: Apologies if I’m slow in responding to e-mails or don’t manage to this week: the internet service providers here are fascistic about allowing outgoing mail routed through any servers but theirs. So I’m able to pick up e-mail, but am having trouble sending it.

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Lots of heat, a bit of light.
Saturday, June 17, 2006 , 9:24 PM

Patrick and I got up about 4:30 yesterday morning so he could drive me to the airport. With this gesture, he put all the beads on our friendship tally-board over to my side.

I had a long wait, then a long flight, but it was all straightforward, and I’m accustomed to this now. I had movies on my Pocket PC and books, and a head full of tired. My big bag even tumbled out of the luggage gumball machine promptly after I got through customs.

Lisa and Alvaro met me and we went out to their big family wagon (or, theatre wagon, since the garbage can prop from her show was in the back).

“So are you happy to be here?” asked Lisa.

“Um,” I replied. In the Glasgow airport, I’d re-read a few old e-mails from when I first arrived in Edinburgh and was discovering it, and got choked up. Homesick before even leaving!

We went to their house and sat around catching up. It was cool inside, which was thankful (though now I’m sitting in an coffeeshop/travel agent/internet hotspot and I can feel sweat running down my back). Alvaro made us his amazing patatas bravas. I brought up the idea of going to Spain with them next year, and they were into that (the hearing of which will please my mum no end, as this is what she’s got in mind for our next big trip).

Alvaro had a football game on and Lisa had a catering shift, so I left and walked into town.

People in Scotland often say, “Ach, you lived in Toronto, why would you move here?” To this, I normally reply that Toronto is like a giant mall, whereas Edinburgh is full of history, etc etc.

But on the flight over I’d been reading a report about Britain changing into a country of “clone towns”, and it was undeniably familiar. How many small towns had I been through in Scotland where the same giants had passed through dropping their shop-spoor behind them — Tesco, Boots, Iceland, mobile shops — the same shops you see everywhere else.

And here I was, walking along Queen Street in Toronto, and before I reached the huge commercial centre, I passed by block after block after block of tiny, original boutique stores and art galleries and restaurants and coffeeshops.

Things are not so simple.

It’s the one thing I miss the most in Edinburgh: the independent culture. This morning I saw a copy ofToronto Life magazine. And it’s true: Toronto has a life. Living here is a lifestyle. I tried to picture Edinburgh Life, and laughed. There’s culture there, but it’s hard-won and it often doesn’t survive for long.

And I’m not talking about the Fringe Festival or the Edinburgh Book Festival, because these are not readily open to locals, except as consumers.

I’m convinced, though, that the place is ripe for a renaissance.

~

I forgot my Toronto SIM card in Edinburgh, so I had to buy a new one to get my phone working here. If you need to get in touch with me in the next two weeks, this is the number to use:
647-285-0888

So I did that, and since Rogers is giving me a month of free text messages (don’t they realise that this is the primary mode of communication in the UK?), I sent a mass message to everyone whose mobile number I had.

I met Cosgrove, Eric, and their friends Kevin and PJ at a silly gay bar called “Mask” (with a giant flouncy Phantom/Venetian mask on the back wall). It was good to see them, though familiar and unsurprising — very comfortable.

PJ has invited me to visit him at his work in the Robarts Library — a giant concrete peacock, a horror-bird gifted to posterity by the age of Brutalism. He works in the neck, which was apparently the inspiration for the library in Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose, since Eco taught at the University of Toronto at the time.

There was a specific reason PJ extended the invitation: the archives are currently taking care of a first folio of Shakespeare’s work!

I will find a way to get there.

There’s something at work here thematically: I’ve been reading a wonderful book called 1599: A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare. Then Shakespeare in Love was on telly the other night. Now this.

You gotta follow these things when they show up.

From that bar, I went with Mark to Woody’s, that old standard, bumping into Bert along the way.

Then I bumped into Martin, a school principal who was very supportive of the play Mark and I did here, then of my first book.

We met up at the bar with Mark’s friend Joe. Then I got a response to my text message: Jordan! He came down with a visiting friend of his, and we all had a couple of pints together.

During all this, a drag show started (just to round out the feeling that I’d stepped into a gay theme park), and partway-through it stopped for a speech from the leader of the New Democratic Party, Jack Layton. It was a bit surreal.

I stepped out for a slice of pizza from my favourite place a few doors down, where they make the most wonderful cheesy cardboard. On my way back to the bar, I bumped into Sean Parker, whose past and mine are tangled together.

So all in all, the day had a reunion quality to it, like I was a guest character returning to a show. I was also reminded of what’s great about Toronto’s spirit. I know comparisons are specious, but they’re inevitable.

I waited at a junction (“intersection” here) and snapped a shot of the city with my phone. I’ll see if I can upload it here. Then I caught the streetcar home (which cost a swindling $2.75; at that price, I don’t consider it public transit anymore).

At home, I had a shower to cool down, and I had a big, deep sleep in the guest room, with a fan whirling overhead.

This morning, Lisa made us waffles and we talked more about a plan she had in mind: a book launch. She likened it to her wedding, saying that she realised after their small event here in January that other people have a right to be involved in your life. None of my Toronto community has had a chance to be involved with the launch of my book, so she started sewing together her ideas for an event, which sound great.

The trick for me is to choose to be here, since I’m here. But something like this would make this trip feel like part of the evolution of things, rather than an interruption.

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The X-less Factor.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006 , 9:39 PM

Here’s a conversation I had today by e-mail with my friend Margaux. She’s brilliant and demented.

It’s not safe for work, but by now your office’s cussword filter has already picked that up and reported you.

~

Margaux:

I watched X-Men last weekend (again) and I keep wondering about the shitty mutant powers that are of no use to anyone, including the person who has them.

Sure there are the laser beams shooting out the eyes, and the ability to heal instantaneously, or — ew — to expel bits of your body in the form of spikes conveniently through your median antibrachial veins (or at least, that’s where it looked like they were coming from) for immediately throwing at your enemies.

But is there a mutant gene that, say, makes a person aware of all the fauna living on the surface of their body, or gives a person the ability to know where the ISS is in orbit at all times, or to detect possum pheromones in a 3km radius? I mean completely useless mutant powers. Evolutionary theory says there must be.

I’m kinda intrigued by the useless powers.

~

Me:

I guess the boring mutants must do the admin work at Professor Xavier’s school.

Oh wait, maybe they’re not welcome. I remember several establishing shots in the movies that called it “Professor Xavier’s School for the Gifted”.

===

INTERIOR, OFFICE. DAY. We see PROFESSOR XAVIER and a young STUDENT.

XAVIER: I’m sorry, Stevie, but you’re not gifted.

STUDENT: But, Professor, I don’t have anywhere to go! You were my last hope.

XAVIER: Yes, well, if I took in every child who felt a little different, or had a magical wart or bad dreams or whateverfuckingshit, I’d soon spend my fortune of unknown origin, wouldn’t I?

STUDENT: But I–

XAVIER: Don’t make me mind-blast you. Get a job. Move to Mexico. I don’t care.

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PPCP Syndrome.
Monday, June 12, 2006 , 10:10 PM

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E-book of the month.
Thursday, June 08, 2006 , 5:02 PM

Wahey! The Willies is one of ManyBooks.net‘s Books of the Month. It’s had around 250 downloads.

Now we’ll see if people actually get around to reading it

All my novels are available from the site, whose developer has formatted them for every sort of e-book-reading device, including iPods.

~

I dropped off ten copies of Idea in Stone at the Ottakar’s in the Cameron Toll mall today. So you can buy it there now (for anyone who’s just dying for a copy while I’m in Canada, away from my press equipment).

Then I did my day’s work in their sad wee food court.

~

I had dinner last night with Darling Anita in her new flat. We ate a lovely meal she made and geeked out on back episodes of Doctor Who. She also raised my confidence alot about the idea of moving in the autumn, pointing out the plethora of flatmate websites, and giving me a pleasant shock by telling me how very much less she pays a month in rent than I do.

So, as they used to say, “Dum spiro, spero”.

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Weekending.
Sunday, June 04, 2006 , 10:56 AM

I went to the beach.

Patrick, Liz, Justin, Karen, and I went to Coldingham yesterday and went to the beach. We drove through the countryside — from Scotland to England, ’cause it’s that small here — where we set out a blanket, barbequed food, played with other people’s dogs, and built sand-castles.

It was exactly what I should have been doing yesterday afternoon, being out in the sun, in nature, with friends. Some activities are so simple and wholesome that I’m convinced they negate stress, overthinking, and bad karma.

In the evening, Patrick and I were to meet some friends of his in Glasgow, but our plans fell apart, so he and I went anyway. We had a pint in a pub, one of endless pubs in the city I never would have found on my own, then we went for a walk. We chatted as we passed by its range of buildings, from ornate old sandstone fascades to brutalist 1970s concrete slabs.

At one point, our walk took us along the Clyde River. Yes, the water had a faint smell, and even in the dark we could see things in it, but we enjoyed the views nonetheless, following the bank from the polished edge of the city centre to aging concrete paths from some time ago, where a pair of hulking rusted winches marked some aspect or another of Glasgow’s industrial past.

We looked across the water at a series of ultra-modern waterfront developments — two pyramids, two rectangular blocks, a giant Bic lighter, and a suspension bridge which was held up by a giant white arc curving impossibly from one side of the bridge to the other.

It occurred to me during the evening that I’ve known Patrick for five years now, and 23 to 28 is a significant period of development; he’s a different person in many respects to the one I met. Yet here we were, walking along the river, then through a derelict, spray-painted concrete bit of Glasgow back to his car, still having no end of things to talk about.

I’m going back to Glasgow this afternoon to meet my relatives John and Rosemary and go to our favourite restaurant there, the Ali Shan, where the owners will ply us with booze and give us plates and plates of tasty food.

Ack! Just two weeks until I go away. I feel the pressure to get my life completely in order.

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Architect of Doom
Thursday, June 01, 2006 , 8:23 PM

Here’s the first scene from a short story I’m working on:

<

p>===

Reginald Thornybauk looked up at the building he’d designed. It stood tall and solid against the grey-white Scottish sky. The narrow sides featured coloured patches, like a pair of trainers or a dazzle-painted boat from the time before radar was invented. His eyes followed the patterns up to the top. There, from the roof, someone waved at him.
At least, it looked like he was waving. In fact, he was on fire.
The man pitched himself off the roof, and Reg could do nothing but watch him hurtle toward the ground.
Oh no, thought Reg, I’ve done it again.

Out of my tree, into the Forest.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006 , 4:30 PM

I’m sitting in the Forest Cafe, quite enjoying it here. I had a cheap and wonderful burrito, and it made me smile. Why? Because it was smiling.

This is a huge old room with tall, narrow windows looking out on a lush green courtyard between here and the stone building behind. All the furniture around me is mismatched — velvety, deep couches of all different colours and eras, and wooden chairs rescued from a dozen kerbsides. The floor is wood, but the surface is completely worn away. The walls and ceiling are equally patchy. It’s a giant rec-room, basically. Home-made art is hung around the room, painted on the walls and the front counter.

They have free WiFi. That, the food, and the relaxed atmosphere bring me back. The exuberant noise of the young people who work here and frequent the place sometimes drives me away.

~

Last week was Sloth Week. Not on any official wildlife calendar, just for me.

From time to time, I can’t produce anything. I just need to vegetate, surf, surf, surf the Internet, and give myself a break.

Happily, that’s winding down this week. I’ve climbed out of my tree, and am bothering to exercise in the morning, to dress half-decently, and to get work done on my various projects.

Last night I was knackered and went to bed early, which turned into more of a nap: I woke up at midnight and started sketching out a short story I have in mind.

~

I’m meeting neat people lately. I’ve got lots of good friends here, but it’s been exciting to meet new people, as if I’ve broken through a layer of immigrant anonymity, and suddenly I’m getting to know new folk — people like Joe and Brian, who are up to interesting things and aregood at what they do. I get a lot of energy from that.

~

I hear there’s been a heatwave in Toronto. Crap. I booked my trip a month earlier this year in an attempt to avoid that.

Ugh.

I want to see my friends there, but I don’t want to leave home.

~

FlatmateGeoff is having a mover come around for an appraisal. I need to find a place to live for September, and have no idea where I’ll go. And it’s too soon to actually do anything about it.

(I could get two other people in, but I don’t want to end up being a superintendant, and have to keep dealing with other people moving in and out, which costs me lots of money. And it seems hypocritical for me to be banging on about original culture and heritage while living in this modern space penitentiary of a building.)

Okay, Universe, I’m putting it out there: help me with this one.

I want someplace where I have a nice cozy room, where I have a separate space to properly set up my press equipment, that costs me less than I’m paying now (I just need a pied-de-terre, not a showflat), and where I can come and go with some privacy. That’s what I want.

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Ceilidh tonight
Friday, May 26, 2006 , 5:50 PM

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Eighteen again?
Thursday, May 25, 2006 , 12:27 AM

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Permission.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006 , 10:55 PM

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Every flavour of e-book.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006 , 11:47 AM

The very bright Matthew from ManyBooks.net has run my novels through his giant code machine to make them available in every major e-book format, and even readable online. Each of them has already been downloaded at least a dozen times!

Here’s my author’s page on his site: Hamish MacDonald on ManyBooks.net.

Thanks, Matthew, for all your help!

P.S. Patrick told me that one of the formats works on iPods, for those of you plugged into the world of white deciduous appliances.

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Yes, THAT easy.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006 , 12:59 PM

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Conclusion.
, 10:26 AM

A friend pointed out that I’d told 2/3 of the story about the writing workshop, which rather violates the principles I’d been talking about here.

The last night, we attended a short play which had been put together from oral histories about Edinburgh’s past. It was a good introduction to the highs and lows of what’s happened here in living memory. After that, the writing group read out what we’d been working on.

Everyone’s piece had some unique merit to it, and just within a day had grown stronger, as each participant had been open to feedback and incorporated it in their work. My advice to a few people had been to drop the political jargon and stick with the personal, which did have the effect of making the pieces more inviting and less of a closed-loop diatribe. And, as I mentioned before, the trick for me was to actually write something with a point. My piece was about my “army buddy” Andy, and my being his token gay mate.

Ironically, Andy texted me yesterday morning saying he was in town. We hung out, and had a great time, as he’s a very funny guy, full of great stories — one of those people like my friend Kirsten that weird stuff always happens to. Kirsten’s writing books about her experiences now, and Andy really should. Passing out at a latrine in the middle of the Iraqi desert, climbing out the window so as to not be found by a mad ex-girlfriend — it’s schadenfreude at its best!

The piece I wrote was an assigned topic, not something I was burning to write about, so ultimately I think it was kinda ehh. But after last night, I do stand by its conclusion: So I’m the token gay mate. There’s no problem here unless I choose to have one. And why bother?

On Sunday, I went on an LGBT history walk around Edinburgh. The walk was very good, because the guide, although he insisted he wasn’t a historian, really knew what he was talking about. I learnt a lot about the city, some of which was angering, some of it frivolous, some of it lusty, and some of it ennobling.

Afterward, I wondered what to do with all this information. It’s the past; things are different now. Ultimately, it’s left me with a feeling of gratitude, that I can be so blasé about it all.

Before the walk, I went to the “Remember When” exhibition that’s currently on at the City Arts Centre. It’s very well done, and I want to go back to take in some of the more involved elements, like the videotaped interviews with pro-rights campaigners like Robin Cook, and those who were vehemently opposed to scrapping restrictions on what people were legally allowed to do in private and at what age.

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Soliloqueso
Thursday, May 11, 2006 , 4:44 PM

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Structure is why we care.
, 10:05 AM

In last night’s session of the writing workshop, we read pieces we’d written as homework, then the instructor and the others gave their comments. I didn’t realise this was how it would work, and I generally hate that sort of thing, since I think all most writers can say in these situations is what they would have written.

My piece was just some rambling, babbling thing because I didn’t really have anything to say about the topic I’d been given. I read it, though, and the class laughed and said they thought it was funny — which I hadn’t consciously tried for, but I always get something out of being successfully funny. In writing, so many people go to dark and twisted places, which in a beginning writer can be really tedious: Yeah, black tears sprung from the bottom of your soul and fell into the pit of your blah blah blah. Why should I listen? This is what Cosgrove and I call “Dungeons and Dragons” poetry. It has no entry-point for the listener because it’s not intended for the listener. Its purpose is to sanctify the writer’s pain. But as pop psychologist John Bradshaw devastatingly claims:“Your suffering is ordinary!”

Same thing with my piece, though: I didn’t really know what I was supposed to produce from the exercise, so I just wrote random stuff. But the feedback I got just reinforced everything I’ve learnt since those early Natalie Goldberg days. She was my grade school teacher, if you will (and those lessons are fundamental to everything that follows), but my ‘university’ teaching came from John Vorhaus.

Vorhaus’s books on writing (Creativity Rules and The Comic Toolbox) place a lot of emphasis on story structure, because structure makes a story rewarding for an audience: “We started here, and we wound up here.” It means that there’s a point to why we’re hearing about this moment in the character’s life. The instructor of this course calls it “the liminal moment”. Joseph Campbell referred to it as “The Cosmogonic Round”.

Basically? “Beginning, middle, end.” So while cherry blossoms are essential, there’s got to be a context in order for them to matter.

So in addition to doing some work and making some books today (to fill orders — thank you!), I’ve also got this piece to rewrite and make into some sort of story.

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Achoo!
Wednesday, May 10, 2006 , 11:56 AM

In a break from reworking a piece, I’ve been reading a page on MetaFilter about how to deal with close-talkers. Some people chimed in with a Hamishesque “Just communicate” (which I probably wouldn’t actually do in this instance), while others give descriptions of various body-fu moves to make it more difficult for a person to get closer. But then someone recommended a brilliant bit of “social engineering”:

Sneeze!

~

The launch on Friday was a hit. Well, according to Flatmate Geoff: I’d run myself down so much that by Friday night I was feeling pretty poorly and had come down with some kind of bug, so I wasn’t completely present. But lots of neat people came over, and they were great at striking up conversation with each other and keeping the party balloon in the air, so I’m taking Geoff’s estimation as the final word on the event.

Then I went through to Glasgow on Saturday for a weekend fling with someone charming and hot whom I’d met the previous weekend, and I learnt a few lessons:
A) Hamish can’t keep his yap shut and sometimes this costs him relationships.
B) Really, really, dating people significantly younger than me doesn’t work. Really. (Am I listening yet?)
C) While the above may be true, perhaps I don’t need the person I’m with to be like me. My personal expectations and the boundaries of my self don’t have to extend around a partner. Or do they? Are my ways becoming set?

~

Last night, I attended the first evening in a three-part writing workshop that’s part of the “Remember When” project, which is a public display about the history of queer folk in Edinburgh on at the City Arts Centre next to the train station.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the evening proved to be quite valuable. The instructor is an American who studied at the University of Edinburgh. He was on fire the whole night, burning with ideas about the history of queer writing, and about the importance of personal narrative.

I used to write every day, piles and piles of stuff, journalling away about whatever was going on in my life. When Cosgrove and I were first becoming friends (meeting through a poster I put up in a community centre about a writing group I wanted to start), I chided him about only writing for product, only when he had some purpose that he was writing a poem for. “You have to write about everything!” I said.

I don’t write like that anymore. I suppose blogging has kind of taken its place, but there’s lots I don’t say here. And I also dismiss a lot of personal writing as needless indulgence. There’s only so much time, and if all that writing’s not leading anywhere, what’s it for? But here it is time when I might be starting another book, and I find myself missing a thread of personal importance that would make me go with any one idea. Starting with product is working backwards, and inevitably leads to creative paralysis.

The instructor last night mentioned Augusto Boal, who did theatre work in South America with the politically oppressed to help them find new solutions. In PEI, I was invited to take part in a workshop based on Boal’s work, and in the course of that workshop, the instructor introduced me to Natalie Goldberg. And Goldberg was my entry-point to writing — writing about everything, capturing the raw material of my own experience and honouring it as “enough”.

But here I am these years later, and I’ve developed an identity and a body of work for myself as a writer. I’ve got a style, I suppose. But this session last night made me take a few steps back, looking both at the history of people who wrote from a perspective different than “normal”. I struggle with that, because I don’t want to be a “gay writer”; I think that’s needless ghettoisation, or even an implicit request for critical lieniency. On the other hand, though, there’s a point where all this blending in is a denial: This difference did make growing up difficult. My perspective today is still not the same as most people’s.

Of course, this can move along a continuum over to the realm of victim politics. After reading pieces he’d cleverly wrangled us into writing without preparation or forethought, the instructor gave us writing assignments that would deepen what we’d written, or give us a different perspective on it. One of the lesbians in the room (so many angry piercings, like a bass after a lifetime of “catch and release”) had written a diatribe about gender this and inclusion that — all very articulate, with a composition style that crackled with its political precision. But that was the problem: it was so rehearsed, received, formulated, and filled with LGBT(XYZ…) jargon. The instructor’s assignment to her made me want to hug him: “Write a piece about someone who’s a stereotype, and write it without any anger.”

Of course, this hearkens back to theatre school, and acting a character from an honest place, not commenting on him. I suppose I’ll probably be familiar with most of what we do in this course. But so what? That’s not the same as actually doing the work and applying those ideas. This is what The Strategic Coach is all about: these entrepreneurs are already smart and successful. Yes, we give them ideas and tools packages in an original, clever way. But the thing they consistently thank us for most is providing them a space where they can think, because they’re usually too busy to have perspective on what they’re doing. Same thing here.

I was very careful throughout the evening to not play my “professional writer” card. It came out during the introductions, but I wasn’t there to challenge the instructor; I was there trying to get to Beginner’s Mind and learn something. I have nothing to prove, and even less desire to come across like an arrogant prat. I’ve worked too hard on this indie publishing thing to start going there.

This was part of my motivation for going to the event, to see who else on the Edinburgh scene considers themselves a writer, or wants to be. The workshop participants ranged in age across three generations and various styles of “gay” (or whatever), sitting at folding tables around a small white room with a projector connected to a laptop casting images of Whitman, Williams, Wilde, and all the other bent Ws on the wall. Some of the others said they were there just to explore an idea, but several said they hoped to be published. (And said it in exactly the way one would say “I hope someone asks me to the prom.”) So maybe I can offer something there.

My other motivation was to scrub away all the style and the expectation to produce, and get back to capturing original details, since that was what made me first fall in love with writing.

Sure enough, walking home after the event, I found myself looking through the pink cherry blossoms on Princes Street, up at the beige castle walls and the white moon beyond, feeling a gentleness in my soul, a patient satisfaction that this is enough.

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Launch Day!
Friday, May 05, 2006 , 1:00 PM

Today is the official launch of Idea in Stone. For all the details, you can read or download the press release.

Several websites have been kind enough to give the book a mention, including these two, which have lots of great information for anyone looking to do something like this:

The DIY Publishing and DIY Poetry Web Ring

The Burry Man Writers’ Centre

Especially meaningful are blog-features from my great friends Cosgrove and Liz (Liz’s even has an interview we did!):

Liz’s LiveJournal

Cosgrove’s blog

Thanks everyone for all the support you’ve given me on this project. If you’re in Edinburgh, feel free to drop by my place tonight after 7PM for a little celebration.

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Idea in Stone book release!
Monday, May 01, 2006 , 8:37 PM

My third novel, Idea in Stone is officially released this Friday, 5 May, 2006.

You don’t have to wait until then to download the free e-book or buy a hand-bound paperback copy!

And if you’re going to be in Edinburgh, come along to a wee shindig at my flat anytime after 7PM! No pressure to buy a book; it’s just a chance for me to share this achievement with the community of people I care about (if you’re reading this, that’s you). Friday is also the fifth anniversary of my arrival in Scotland!

Beltane 2006
, 7:48 PM
For the fourth year running, I attended Beltane, the fire festival atop Edinburgh’s Calton Hill that celebrates the end of winter and the coming of summer.

Due to its nature as an event with lots of glowy fire in lots of pitch-blackness, my pictures are rubbish. As an event, though, it was a great success: something of the people, for the people, that’s lots of fun. I love seeing an event of local culture getting stronger and better supported with each passing year.

P.S. Beltane is something of a fertility rite, so I caution that some of these pictures are not safe for work.

<

p>Also, please note that the comments and the discussion on externally-linked sites are outwith my control, so read those at your own discretion.

ScotRail song.
Friday, April 28, 2006 , 6:46 PM

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Hello, Thursdaylings!
Thursday, April 27, 2006 , 1:16 PM

Hey there. I’ve not much to report: been working away, day and night*, putting together a press release as well as doing work-work. Phew! I’m almost finished the e-mail series to accompany The Laws of Lifetime Growth. The book has even enjoyed some time as a #1 bestseller on Amazon.com and Amazon.ca!

Oh, and there’s now a copy of Idea in Stone available through the Edinburgh public library system. I regularly donate books to the library when I’m finished with them, but I was beaming like an idiot yesterday when I gave them that one.

~

I’ve added a comments feature to this blog. Forgive me if I forget to check them at first, as I need to get used to this extra form of communication.

~

I just answered a query I got in response to the DIY press article I wrote for NoMediaKings.org. Someone in Texas wanted to know what glue I use for perfect-binding. It’s Bostick’s All-Purpose Clear Adhesive. It’s pretty potent stuff, and every time I’m leaning over a book I think, “I probably shouldn’t be doing this.”

Maybe there’s a market, though, for the huffable novel.

* I must watch this tendency, because I came down with a cold while I was in Italy. I hate how my body knows when I’ve got time off and chooses then to get sick. I’d love to find a way to buffer myself against this before travelling.

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Idea in Store
Thursday, April 20, 2006 , 7:36 PM

My novel Idea in Stone is now in stock at Word*Power, Edinburgh’s radical independent bookstore.

Thanks to Flatmate Geoff, it’s now gone through anotherseries of copy-edits. One great blessing of being a DIY publisher is that each copy can be a slight improvement over the previous one!

Apologies to those whose copies contain typos. If you buy a copy between today and May 5 and find a typo in it, I’ll buy you a beer!

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Practice.
, 8:39 AM

I made a couple of wee hardcover books yesterday, just to keep my hand in, and ’cause I was inspired by all the paperies I saw in Italy. I bought the paper that I used for the covers while I was there, including some hand-made marbled and block-printed sheets.

Despite the fact that I conduct so much of my activity using digital equipment, there’s nothing like a book in your hand, or writing on paper.

I don’t know why I’m fascinated by seeing and making miniatures.

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Three fingers bad…
Tuesday, April 18, 2006 , 8:31 PM

I’ve been drawing cartoons since childhood, and the whole time I’ve been participating in a wanton act of illustrative anatomical ignorance. That’s right: I’ve been drawing characters with three fingers! It’s just not on because human beings have four fingers. (Well, except for my late grandfather, but there was a war involved in that.)

So I’ve made a pact with myself: I will draw four-fingered humans from now on. I started today with an illustration I did for the e-mail newsletter series I’m writing for work:

Now when we get into mice and dogs who wear trousers, it gets a bit confusing. I don’t see that coming up anytime soon, though.

~

I went to bed early last night, having taken some time to unwind first. It was really worth doing, and I had a restful, quiet sleep because of it. I popped out of bed this morning and dashed out to a cafe, where I wrote two versions of an article and drew some illustrations to go with it. Then I came home and cleared away a bunch of niggling grown-up life-admin stuff. Good day!

~

I got an e-mail from my folks last night, telling me they’d arrived back in Charlottetown. I miss them

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Finished roamin’.
Saturday, April 15, 2006 , 7:29 PM

[snip snip snip]

I posted a bunch of stuff over the past two days, but I’ve just removed it. I’m not quite sure how to articulate this, but there are times when I’ve post thoughts, then afterwards they just feel like too much blather, words that didn’t need to be said. There’s stuff that circulates around my head, but that doesn’t mean it needs to get posted here. I feel a bit overexposed when I post stuff like that — not in a publicity sense; more like a photograph.

I’m not trying to be stingey with details, shut anyone out, or be reclusive. And it’s not that things have to be big and important to be posted here. It’s just that sometimes nothing needs to be said.

~

Like Italy…

I’m not going to write about it. That was part of the point of taking a break: no writing. Also, it was about being with my folks and our friend Olivier, not gathering material. That’s just for us. It was a perfect getaway, and made me love my parents even more, if that could be possible. Olivier was also the perfect guide — a role he naturally gravitated to, for which we were grateful.

I took hundreds of pictures, though, which you’re welcome to look at, if you want.

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Life around the flat.
Saturday, April 01, 2006 , 5:54 PM

I went out last night with Flatmate Dave and his mates Erol and Frank. It’s been really easy to stay indoors lately; although winter is essentially over, the last two or three weeks have been real soul-suckers. So I gave myself a shove and left the house. Gotta hang out with Dave while he still lives here, too, though we both agreed that we might do more social things together when we have to make a conscious effort.

We didn’t do anything big, just went for dinner and to the Regent pub, but wherever we went we ended up chatting with strangers, which I always love. And there was no smoke! I’ve stepped into some Bizarro Scotland where the air indoors isn’t blue, and I like it. I keep rediscovering places I would have liked, like the back dining room at The Elephant House.

Tonight I’m off to a party where I’ll just know one person, my mate Arthur, and I’m looking forward to it. I’m feeling ‘on’. Arthur is a bookbuyer at Ottakar’s (at least for now), and suggested that they could carry my book. That would be cool. The launch is on 5 May, and I still have a lot to figure out about how I’m doing it. But tonight there will apparently be a bunch of writery, publishery people at the party, so perhaps I’ll get some good suggestions from them.

The lovely thing is that I don’t need to schmooze anyone, since the path I’m on now is an autonomous one. I like that.

~

<

p>I need to pack tomorrow, ’cause I’m off to Italy Monday for nine days. I can’t wait!

<

p>

Copywriting for the bro’.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006 , 3:57 PM

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Answered calls.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006 , 9:09 PM

This afternoon the police came by my flat. It’s okay: they came because I called them. More specifically, I’d called the Environmental Health line because of the noise the upstairs neighbour has been making for the past few weeks.

The policemen were charming, friendly, and surprisingly sympathetic and unjaded about my situation. Not only did they make me feel ‘heard’, they took action right away, leaving an official notice upstairs (because of course the neighbour was out and the flat silent when they arrived), and calling the upstairs landlord. Not only did they do that, they then called me to report back to me about their actions. I felt very well taken care of. Here’s a cheer for the Lothian and Borders Police!

And my friend Phil McLean has offered to take my picture. He’s one of the “Dunderheids” with whom I’m creating a collaborative zine-book. I met with two of the others, Sheila and Sergio, tonight to pick up the pace and talk about what’s next.

Lots of good, creative stuff going on these days, despite the dreich weather. I’m getting a bit run-down, though, and can’t wait to meet my folks in Italy next week.

I also had to sew three different things today — not books, but regular things, like the elastic on some boxers, a shirt-cuff, and the edge of a little travel bag for plugs and cables. I’m not sure what that was about, thematically.

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Two requests.
Monday, March 27, 2006 , 8:53 PM

I need…

— Someone to take a new headshot of me. I like the one I’ve been using (the hallway one on the Photos page), taken by my friend Rannie Turingan. But that was six years ago. The one on the right is just a little low-resolution snap from last summer. Mom says the old one makes me look like Austin Powers. (Several people have mistaken my shirt-collar for some sort of ruff.)

— Someone to kill my new upstairs neighbours, who like to listen to crap boom-boom-boom music real loud. Who likes this music? And why do they always move in next to me? I end up having to be Bad Serious Neighbour who goes knocking on the door.

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Ethics and androids.
, 10:02 AM

I’ve just switched to Smile.co.uk, an online bank that specialises in ethical banking. This means that, unlike my previous bank, they don’t fund activities like arms trading, predatory lending, and projects that generate excessive environmental damage.

Only one thing about them makes me uncomfortable:

Headquarters of Smile.co.uk banking:

Headquarters of Tyrell Corporation, makers of homocidal androids:

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Do-It-Yourself Publishing
Wednesday, March 15, 2006 , 11:10 AM

An article I wrote appears today on Jim Munroe’sNoMediaKings.org. (Jim’s site is an excellent resource for indie authors, ‘zinesters, and filmmakers.)

In it, I explain everything I’ve learnt since 1999 (whendoubleZero came out) about producing your own book. Since August, as you’ll likely have read about here ad nauseum, I’ve also been learning how to literally produce books myself, first by learning how to saddle-stitch and bind hardcover books, then moving into creating perfect-bound paperbacks of my work.

~

I found a great site the other day by a man named Bob Baker, who offers creative types (authors, musicians, craftspeople, &c) ideas for marketing themselves. You can find it here.

Yes, he sells books on the site, but it isn’t one of those yeechy ‘zillion-pages hyping one secret product’ websites. There are actually lots of good free articles there.

~

The Scotsman ran another article about Edinburgh being named the “UNESCO City of Literature.”

If you’ll pardon my English…

Horsesh*t.

<

p>This venture was spearheaded by a literary agent, and aims to promote Edinburgh as one of the world’s focal points for literature. This is already true of the city. But while the project dredges up the bones of Burns, Stevenson, and Conan-Doyle, and sidles into the limelight of JK Rowling, Ian Rankin, Iain Banks, Alexander McCall-Smith, and others…

• It does nothing for the small presses here that are going out of business.
• It does nothing for writers who aren’t already millionaires.
• It does nothing for independent bookstores like Ottakars, which just closed its flagship store in the city.
• It does nothing to promote literacy in the city.

Okay, they’ve talked about promoting literacy, but so far the project, which costs the city something like £200,000, has focused on bizarre schemes like putting an already-established writer in a mall to write about the “culture” there, and on predictable industry obsessions like securing an awards show (folks, art is not a competition).

So what’s an independent to do?

Ignore it. Get on with your own thing.

In producing my work, of course I hope to gain some more readers for my books. I’d also be thrilled, though, if authors and potential authors got religion about putting their own work out there. We creative people need to understand that we don’t need permission or validation from businesses to justify ourselves as artists. Editors and critics do not make a thing art or not-art, even though we’re thoroughly subscribed to that idea as a society.

Where are the indie authors in Scotland? I want to find them. I want to join them. And if they’re not out there, I want to help create them.

Actually, the piece was about Scottish PEN leveraging the UNESCO moniker as an opportunity to make Edinburgh a haven for writers in exile. Great! Turn a bit of PR puff into something that could actually be beneficial to people who need it. But what those writers are supposed to do when they get here, I don’t know.

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Snip.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006 , 4:17 PM

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Stopping for directions.
, 12:41 AM

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Big, fat day off.
Sunday, March 12, 2006 , 10:02 PM

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In typographic detail.
Saturday, March 11, 2006 , 12:17 AM

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It snowed in Edinburgh today.
Friday, March 03, 2006 , 5:22 PM

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Oh Happy Day!
Thursday, March 02, 2006 , 1:21 PM

YAY! I got a machine this morning that’s a bit of mailroom/direct-mail equipment designed to fold pages. Right now, it takes me about an hour to fold the pages for a book. This device will reduce the time to a matter of minutes. I had to fiddle about with its measurement settings for a while to get it to fold my small book-sized pages instead of letter-sized pages, but I knew it would be possible because the same machine is sold for both North American 8.5″ by 11″ and European A4 pages. And I did it! While making the final adjustments to it, I made the innards for a blank book in just moments. Yay! This will allow me to be prepared for much larger numbers of orders. I’ve yet to decide what I’m going to do for a launch, publicity, or to even articulate what my intentions are in doing this.

YAY! Last night I did up a cover for my friend Kirsten’s play that she gave me ages ago, and she loved what I produced. (She’d grabbed clip art to represent the characters in this murder-mystery spoof-cum-better-murder-mystery — she knows what sells in the summer stock, but still wanted to do such a play her way. The clip art worked as a sketch, but even better was having a custom illustration and proper type treatment!) This is just one of a bunch of long-outstanding tasks that have been nibbling at my attention and are now done.

YAY! While running errands I picked up some trousers I’d had mended: my two pairs of khakis which I mostly-liked, but was always uncomfortable about ’cause they had kinda big stove-pipe legs. No more! Now they are proper jeans-sized legs. About the same price as new cheap trousers, but these are good ones made by children. Yes, they’re Gap — I felt awful at the time but needed ones for work post-haste two summers ago, and I didn’t want to go buying more of them now since it’s probably the same story for any shop in town. So these will last and I haven’t sent an extra pair of trews through the world-net.

YAY! When I got home I found a cheque from the City of Edinburgh Council in my mailbox, refunding £125 for Council Tax from my last flat. I thought I’d already got and spent that!

YAY! The outstanding Council Tax and phone bills for this flat are now sorted. No more huge mystery bills hanging in my imagination. (£94 for electricity since August! Outstanding, particularly considering how generously I use it here in my factory.) [Boo! Flatmate Dave is moving out; Flatmate Geoff and I have to replace him by 7 April.]

YAY! I’m up to date on my work and will be able to meet my deadlines now in my usual fashion. The Production team offered to take over the design bit of a project I’ve been working on so I could focus on my writing — as I should be doing, since the company is all about individuals focusing on their specific talents, and web/PDF/whatever design is something I have some ability but limited energy for. This is a huge relief, because I was starting to catch on fire from the stress of doing the whole thing. I finally stopped and asked for help, and I got a firetruck full of it. You’d think I’d remember to do this by now.

YAY! I have time and space tonight to work on a short story and hopefully produce some books to test out my new process.

<

p>So as you can gather, it’s something of a Yay-Day.

<

p>

A reasonable hand-drawn facsimile.
Sunday, February 19, 2006 , 8:05 PM

Last night I wore my own kilt for the first time. I meant to get pictures, but it didn’t happen.
Unlike the hired kilts I’ve worn on two other occasions, something about this one felt right — the fit, the style. It’s just black (even though I’m entitled to wear the MacDonald Clan Ranald tartan), but that seemed like a good, modern, all-purpose kind of style. I managed to get boots and a belt that weren’t leather, and I wore a black T-shirt. I gotta say, it was pretty cool — as if someone else dressed me!

There are layers of significance to my wearing a kilt, most of which are obvious. The one that isn’t has to do with a pact I made with myself: A couple of years back, I told myself that when my first book sold, I’d use the advance to buy a kilt. Something in that typified the way I’ve been waiting on other people to make my future happen.

No more waiting.

I bought myself a kilt this week because I’m perfectly able to do that all on my own. Likewise, you’ll see some changes in my website, with one notable addition on the left-hand side, that reflect how this change in attitude has filtered through to my personal water-table.

I have the ability to produce my work from end to end, from the initial idea to a book you can hold in your hand. I don’t need anyone to discover me or deliver me. Instead of paying attention to businesses, I want to pay attention to readers and to stories, to the craft of what I do.

I read a great interview with Alice Walker this week, which went a long way to articulating the feelings I’ve been having, shifting from bitter sentiment to a powerful, happy feeling of realising I already have everything I could need. I’ve got a job I love, I’m self-sufficient. I can create just for the joy of it instead of making myself wrong and creatively hung-up for apparently not being marketable.

“When you are working on your work,” Walker said, “you really don’t have to be concerned about what other people are doing.” She talked about her anger when one critic said that Toni Morrison had to transcend writing about black women to be accepted. In her rebuttal to that critic, she said these golden words: “We will never have to be other than who we are in order to be successful.”

So here are some different, more interesting answers to questions people have been asking me for years:

Oh, you’re a writer. Are you published?
Old answer: No.
New answer: Yes, I’m a writer. And I publish my own work. I have my own press and I hand-bind my books.

I’d like to read one of your books. Where can I get them?
Old answer: Oh, you can’t.
New answer: You can buy them from my website. I’ll make them myself and send them to you.

There will be product pictures added as I make samples of each of the things I’m selling. I’ve been giving them away up until now, so I never have any around! Time to stop doing that, and to value my work.

I feel like I’ve stepped back into that creative community, like the ‘zinesters I met in Toronto when I put out my first book. In a commercial sense, that was the time when I was furthest away from ‘proper’ literary life. In my own life, it was the most switched on and relevant I felt as a creative worker. I’m supposed to be stuffing manuscripts into envelopes to send them off to capricious editors, but to hell with that. Self-publishing in Toronto gave me the chance to see a stranger reading my book on a streetcar, to do readings, and to meet other people who also weren’t waiting, but were doing their own creative thing for the real people around them, not for the marketplace or some imagined lottery of commercial recognition. I want to do that again. It’s going to be a lot of work, but it’s time to do that work, and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing.

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Days of the weak.
Saturday, February 11, 2006 , 3:45 PM

I was chatting with Cosgrove on MSN the other night, and he made a request that I keep blogging about little stuff, even though, yes, I’ve got super-secret project I’m working on (which anyone who’s been reading might guess in a second).

So.

I started at the gym near my house yesterday. It’s a former biscuit factory (oh, the irony!), and nothing fancy to look at, but it’s a good, serviceable facility inside. Goderre bought me a month’s membership when he was here as a thank-you for letting him stay. I’d gone in for an orientation the other day, and arranged to meet with someone to create a program for me yesterday.

I’ve let go lately, but I still think of myself as fairly fit. I walk a lot and am fairly careful with what I eat (except for snack food, my downfall). And I did pretty well as this cute young lass went through devising exercises for me to do and writing them out on a chart. But about 4/5 of the way through, I got that oxygen-drunk feeling and went all cold and lightheaded. “Are you alright?” she asked me. “You look a bit pale.” I sat down and took a break, then we did some more, I sat down for a bit, then we did some more, and I got more lightheaded.

I assured her that I wasn’t unwell, and that if I were I would tell her. But I wasn’t used to getting all that oxygen. (I guessed.) It was kinda embarrassing, really, being a grown man, trying not to faint in front of this slight blonde girl.

We cut the session short, and she talked me through the other exercises that are in my routine. They’re ones I’ve done before, back when I used to go the gym downstairs in The Strategic Coach’s mailroom every day. But yesterday I was forced to sit on a mat, catch my breath, and go home.

So it was humbling, but I’m definitely going back. I’m stiff as hell today, but I feel great. I’m all ears if anyone wants to e-mail me suggestions about how to keep that lightheadedness at bay while working out.

Actually, I know part of the reason: The trainer asked me “What did you have for breakfast this morning?” I realised that I’d kinda forgotten to eat for two days, except for part of a bag of corn chips.

Mental note.

~

When Goderre was here, we went to the Museum of Scotland because I love it and subject everyone to it.

One display features the mask used by a country preacher during the Jacobite rebellion as he travelled about, ministering while trying to avoid getting caught.

That’s sensible enough, except that this is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen:

Preacher? Holy! That reminds me of nothing so much as the spooky David Cronenberg character in the movieNightbreed.

~

When Goderre and I went through Glasgow Prestwick airport, I saw that they’d rebranded the place. The slogan? “Pure dead brilliant!” I thought that was, well, pure dead brilliant: instead of trying to compete with the posh executive airports, they went straight for the local slang.

Well, except it was pointed out to me by my Actual Scottish Friend JP that “pure dead brilliant” is from Glasgow, not the Prestwick area. Except they call the airport Glasgow Prestwick, so I’ll cut them some slack there, ’cause they’re trying to pretend that the place is remotely related to Glasgow (even though it’s way over on the Ayrshire coast).

The branding continued through to some funny illustrations, like a ‘graffiti’ tam on the washroom-symbol man, a scarf on the woman, and a shawl over the lap of the handicapped figure.

And over the bar?

~

The last day Goderre and I were in London, we ended up in Soho, where I found The Best Bookshop Ever — The Dover Bookshop.

Now, as a somewhat illustrator and graphic designer, I normally loathe clip-art, but this shop was full of the best books of royalty-free (or “permission-free” in their argot) images, each with a CD full of high-quality scans of the artwork in the book. I bought one of these, which has already proven immensely useful.

I also got two other books on papercraft displays and packaging that I’m really excited about but would bore the bejeezus out of any normal person.

~

Coming back home on the train from Glasgow Prestwick, I looked out the window and smiled.

I just love Scotland.

~

I’ve been working on a big project lately related to our upcoming book, The Laws of Lifetime Growth.

While working away on this in the Edinburgh Central Library yesterday, I listened to some recordings I’d downloaded in the morning called “One-Minute Vacations“. These are really fun, little auditory landscapes like a street scene, bells, water buffalo splonching through mud and breathing, the sound of a train, and so on.

Just something different.

~

Yesterday I walked to the post office to send something off and I saw something I’d never thought about before: street sign calligraphy. The road crew of two were chalking out guidelines and letterspacing marks, then filling them in with that thick industrial yellow paint they use:

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Time out.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006 , 1:38 PM

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Be back soon.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006 , 2:59 PM

<

p>I’m kinda buried in stuff at the moment:

• I’ve got a house guest from Canada. (Whee, sleeping on the floor for a week! No one visit me for a while, even if you’re as lovely as this friend is).
• The leak from the flat above has come back, splitting and beading through the plaster and paint work that just got done last week. But they hadn’t fixed the leak. Cleverness abounds.
• I’m going away to London for the weekend. This time I’m determined to see some of the key attractions I keep missing. Maybe that’s why I don’t ‘get’ London.

Hence the lack of posts.

<

p>When it rains it pours… and sometimes from the ceiling.

Welcome to Editor-World.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006 , 9:54 AM

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Happy Saturday
Saturday, January 21, 2006 , 1:11 PM

Now, most people who read the last post would probably infer that I must be feeling bummed out right now.

I’m actually feeling very happy.

See, that stuff is just business. It happens; it’s part of the job. The trick is to remember that I’m already a writer. I can already tell stories, make things up, and now I can even make books. So it’s just a question of getting help to do it on a bigger scale. But apparently it’s not time for that just now, which is totally okay. Things are exactly the way they’re supposed to be. And I can make other things happen from here.

~

This, the “slanket”, is a slice of magic:
The Slanket

I wish I had one of those at my old flat. This new one, it’s actually heated. And I think Flatmate Dave may have fixed the clunking noise the pipes were making in the wall beside my head every morning. Please, God, let him have fixed it, or I’m eventually going to have to move from The Hollywood Sitcom Flat, and it’s awfully nice.

~

Much to do today. Have a good one.

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The Biz.
Thursday, January 19, 2006 , 7:03 PM

And so it goes.

That was the last publisher in Scotland.

Hmm. Plan B. Or, rather, a better Plan A.

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Ohhh, Canada.
, 12:25 PM

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New e-mail address.
Monday, January 16, 2006 , 11:07 PM

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Fresh install.
Thursday, January 12, 2006 , 11:30 PM

Ahh. I wiped my hard drive and did a fresh install of everything.

Zippy new-old computer!

And because I’m the master of backups (from hard experience), I haven’t lost any of my files, and in fact found some good old ones while merging my archives.

But, now I need to sort out my e-mail. Things went bad with my webhost‘s servers a few months back, so they shifted me to a different type of machine. In the process, I got rid of all the e-mailboxes I’d set up and just let everything flow into the default account. But I’m sick of looking at all the junk, so until all spammers everywhere are righteously executed by dropping them into a pit of hungry kittens, it’s time to skim off the good, creamy e-mails and let the rubbish spam ones curdle unseen until I can be bothered dealing with them.

So, yes, one of those annoying “Please update my address” letters is about to come, but first I have to think of what to call my in-box. I’ve already used:
— mail@
— inbox@
— letters@
— mailbox@

What should I call my new e-mail account? I have a selection of prizes the successful namer can choose from. They’re all geeky, but I have the kind of friends who might actually be able to make use of them. They include your choice of:

— The Elements of Authorship, by Arthur Plotnik
— Making Books by Hand, by Mary McCarthy and Philip Manna
— Handmade Books, by Sue M Doggett
— a WinTV USB television tuner
— a 3.5″ hard drive enclosure (sorry, no drive)
— a USB battery charger (for recharging batteries on the go without worrying about international mains plugs, assuming you’ll be around computers)
— a AAA battery emergency charger for USB devices
— a bastard file (no, this is not a list of my exes, but a high-quality tool)

God, I own strange things.

Stipulations: Since my domain is my name, I’m not particularly interested in repeating my name before the @-sign. So let’s chuck that one out at the beginning. (Besides, who else is going to be at hame.land?)

The contest closes on Monday, 15 January, 2006. The judge’s decision will be based on completely arbitrary personal tastes and will be final.

~

Life has been handing me a review of twocommunication courses I did. This has mainly been around my citizen’s advocacy work. I’d been feeling claustrophobic about it — underqualified and overcommitted. Tonight I met with my advocacy partner and someone from the organisation who introduced us, and I just told the truth.

I let the guy I’ve been an advocate for these past six months know that, while my brother and my dad may be excellent social workers, I’ve discovered I’m just not one. Someone else could represent him better, and maybe get more action from the local social work services than I’ve been able to. There’s other stuff I feel I should be doing instead.

And I’ve been spending more regularly scheduled time with him than with anyone else in my life; nobody else gets that time because I’ve got stuff I want to do, stuff I dream of doing. And it’s got to be the same here, too.

So the organisation will be replacing me with someone who’s interested in being a long-term advocate.

He got it, was okay with it, and made a counter-request: that we still meet from time to time, maybe once a month, because it’s important to him to still have me as a friend. I accepted. He’s a great guy, and I can find it in myself to have something at stake in meeting him, continuing our friendship, and not just have it be an obligation.

It was a conversation that was a while in coming. It took my being honest when it wasn’t easy, and it took my asking for help, which also doesn’t come naturally to me. But this feels so much better.

The truth does set you free.

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The bald-faced truth: penguins are mingin’.
Sunday, January 08, 2006 , 4:00 PM

Yesterday was Liz‘s birthday, so the gang and I went to the zoo for the day. It was cold and lots of the animals were asleep in their various boxes, cages, and trees, but the place is surprisingly big, so there were still lots of oddities to see:
— colourful birds with what looked like wooden armrest ends on their heads
— a wee dachshund rat-beast with spiky horns I called the “demonweasel”
— vampire deer with fangs
— pygmy hippos that looked like they were made of chocolate mousse
— an anteater I loved, who was kept with a sort of wolf, making me wonder who made the executive call on putting these likely-expensive animals in together
— screaming baby humans being fed deep-fried food

I don’t know about intelligent design, but there’s an argument to be made for a Creator with a weird sense of humour.

After the zoo, we napped at Liz’s, then went to Monster Mex , a new favourite restaurant with margaritas and great Tex-Mex food, then on to Frazer’s Bar.

When I got home, though, I found there was still a certain pong in my nose or my imagination that I just couldn’t shake: the smell of penguin shite. No one warned me that these little beasties stink so much. And they have this strange ability to fire this stuff, like projectile white latex paint, from their butts. Blyeech.

And the whole day my beard was driving me crazy. It felt like I had bugs crawling all over my face, and my scarf wasn’t helping, so…

~

Oh, and the insomnia? I think I’ve got a hang of this sleep thing. I stopped in at a health food store the other day, where I got a bottle marked “Serotonin”, though the ingredients more accurately listed “tryptophan”, which I recognised as the amino acid (or enzyme, or whatever it is) that’s also in turkey, which makes us feel so much like napping after Thanksgiving dinner. I also bought some Sleepytime tea, since I was going the whole health food route.

It occurred to me while in the shop that I’ve been tending to just stop at the end of the day — turn off the computer or whatnot — and jump into bed. There’s no transition there.

So, instead, I swallowed one of these tryptophan tablets (unfortunately right after having seen the scene inDownfall where Hitler and Eva Braun take their poison), put on some tinkly music, lit some candles and an oil-burner with lavender in it, sipped on some herbal tea, and relaxed.

Within half an hour, I felt so sleepy! I was kind of excited about it, which slowed down the process a bit. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw all this dreamy imagery, which soon lost its coherence, at which point I’d think “Ooh! I’m falling asleep!” But then I wondered how to go about giving up my consciousness. And that was a bit scary, too, like a practice death.

But it’s been three nights now. Much better sleep.

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Then and now and some other stuff.
Thursday, January 05, 2006 , 3:24 PM

Plus ca change, plus la meme…

I got lots of very handy things for Xmas, like this enormous suitcase. I liked puppets a lot when I was little, but suitcases are useful for grown-ups. So were the other gifts I got, like a metal ruler that shows you the length of something but also points out where half of that length is. Sounds weird, but that’s going to be handy. So stuff like that. I’m well set-up for my new year’s projects.

I finally made a book for myself, and I sat down to do some planning the other day. Here’s the exciting year I dreamed up:

It makes sense to me, and that’s all that matters.

Here’s this year’s iteration of “The Picture on the Stairs”. It’s a family joke that we’re such bad photographers, usually cutting each others’ heads off. Ironic, then, that my nephew is going into graphics and photography. Maybe he’ll be the one to break the family curse!

~

I’ve been experiencing terrible insomnia lately. It’s not jet-lag, ’cause I had it in PEI, too. I lie in bed for hours, thinking, thinking.

Last night, I resorted to listening to a hypnosis recording that’s supposed to inspire deep sleep. I fell asleep — partway through the instructions — then I woke up againwhen it finished playing.

I’ve got some stuff to push off the back of my mental boat.

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Happy 2006!
Sunday, January 01, 2006 , 9:27 PM

<

p>

<

p>

<

p>

Have you seen this goat?
Friday, December 23, 2005 , 6:55 AM

I bought my parents a goat for Xmas, but I lost it. Okay, they were supposed to get a gift card which I now can’t find, and a family in Africa gets our goat, so to speak, along with all kinds of milk and agricultural training through raising it.

I just hope it writes us letters about life in its new home. I’ll have to ask Oxfam if that’s part of the sponsorship deal. I hope it goes to a good school and doesn’t get eaten.

God, it feels good to have made my presents this year, and to have stepped completely outside the CashMas machine. (As Patrick calls the holiday. He writes it “$mas” — even better.) It did take advance planning and some work, but the people I gave things to were all worth it, I figured, worth my thinking about beforehand and being creative for. (Next year? Totally buggered. I’ll have to find some new thing to do. I’d be even happier if we all skipped it. All I want is to be with these people I love.)

My friend Kirsten told me that she got the boo– Er, the present I sent her. Given what I’ve been up to lately, she knows full well what’s inside the wrapping. But she doesn’t know exactly what kind of [thing] it is. And it’s her only present! All her relatives and in-laws accepted her request to give her gift-money to a charity.

Likewise, I’m floating in “stuff”. I don’t need anything this year. It’s all bonus, and for everything that comes in, I’m going to want to give something away.

In other holiday news (for this was my first official day of holidays, though I finished some work today), the facial hair project is not going well.

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Canada catch-up
Wednesday, December 21, 2005 , 3:25 AM

Okay, here’s the story. Briefly. Well, I’ll try to be brief, but this one’s going to require a lot of stamina from both of us.

I’ll start from 5 December, when I flew to Canada.

Monday
Sunday Patrick offered to come over and help me pack. “By which,” he said, “I mean ‘Get in the way’.” In fact, though, he helped me immensely by wrapping my presents. Several recipients have commented already on the gordian knot quality of his wrapping. The secret is in the double-sided tape. What won’t be a secret to anyone is that I didn’t do it myself.

So I bagged my baggage, and Monday morning I lugged my luggage to Haymarket Station. Despite my recent bitching about Air Canada, the rest of the day was pretty much seamless, with the exception of picking up my suitcase at the end of the trip, which was slightly delayed. This provided an opportunity for me to practice notogling one of the other passengers: I’d made a decision for this trip: “It’s staying in my pants.” No dalliances, trysts, or sudden fallings in love to mess up my life.

Lisa picked me up at the airport in her new truckasaurus, and took me home, where Alvaro — whom you might remember from my Spain pictures — was waiting, and made us patatas bravas, one of my favourite Spanish dishes.

Tuesday
I went to work, said hello to everyone, was made to feel very special. I was supposed to be in the workshop, but I’d also said I’d finish an article that week. Normally, I say ‘yes’ to everyone’s requests and come off like a hero — except what people forget is that’s all I do, it’s what I’m there for, writing these things. This time, though, I had something else I was supposed to be doing, namely sitting in the workshops. So I begged off that day’s, since I was scheduled to be with the same coach the next day, and worked on the piece. I didn’t get it finished, though, because, contrary to popular belief, offices are a terrible place to try to get anything done.

After work, I met my friend Robert for supper, and we had a great conversation, as always. I was feeling jet-lagged, or like I’d caught another form of the flu Patrick and I picked up when we went to London (an airplane bug?), but it was good to see Robert. I also needed to decompress: Why is it that co-workers feel it’s perfectly okay to ask about my personal life, even ones I don’t know that well? I was feeling all chipper on the way to Toronto, but the frequency with which this conversation came up put me in an oscillating funk (one that comes and goes as I think myself into and back out of it).

After supper, I went home and worked until 11:30, finishing the piece I was responsible for. The later it got, the more jet-lagged or jet-bugged I felt.

Wednesday
I went to work and sat in Russell‘s workshop. Once again, I was reminded of the value of these trips: The audience I’m writing for sits in that room, and talks out loud about their biggest issues. Getting this insight is enormously beneficial to my writing work for the company. Also, I can’t help getting ideas for my own life.

After work, I went home and met up with Lisa, then travelled with her to her seminar series. About ten years ago, I took Lisa to an introduction about The Landmark Forum, a workshop I took that changed my life. (It sounds like a big claim, but I can trace everything I’m doing now to the work I did then.) Now, all this while later, Lisa decided to take the course. The seminar’s a wee freebie they throw in to help put the ideas into practice. I figured it would be good to go back to the mothership for a refresher. The shifts from that course are permanent, like learning to ride a bike, but my humanity hasn’t cleared up yet, so there’s always new junk to sort out (or reoccurring old junk, more like).

The first person to share what had happened for him that week talked about his best friend — his best friend who’d been captured while on a peace mission in Iraq. The friend was probably going to be killed the next day. (I’ve just searched, and it seems the captives’ fate is still undetermined.) Suddenly my “So have you got anyone special?” rash vanished.

As others got up to share about their progress and setbacks, though, I was reminded that everyone’s problems are life-sized: No matter what challenge is in front of us, it’s going to take up all of our attention.

I sat there for a while, feeling like the perfect transformed being, then decided to give it up and do the work myself, too. I had a wee breakthrough as it occurred to me — though it sounds obvious when spelt out like this — that the past situations that were smarting me were just that,past, and I was free to enjoy myself. It mostly worked, and was useful for the rest of the trip, though people continued to ask me That Damned Personal Question.

I darted from the seminar over to a bar a block away, where my buddy Cosgrove happened to be doing his first stand-up comedy set that night. Yeah, this is how the whole trip has worked out so far: I made no hard plans, but just let everything fall together, and these were the sorts of convenient opportunities that showed up.

Cosgrove was good. I hate watching comedians who make me worry for them. Coz was strong — too strong, even: Most comedy is a conversation, but his piece was so seamless a monologue that it went through the crowd like a train, and they didn’t seem to know how to keep up and catch a ride. So as a stand-up comedian, I’d say he’s a great scriptwriter. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind hearing that.

Thursday
Another Coach workshop. This time, the coach wasGary. I think he was the first associate I saw present a Strategic Coach workshop, but he’s really ramped up his skills since then. The workshop day was very congenial, and Gary was on. Talk about stand-up; he had the group laughing for much of the day. Nice to see that even these coaches of ours, who are very successful entrepreneurs, are still working and progressing, trying to get better at what they do all the time. It’s especially winning when they authentically reveal the ups and downs of their own businesses as a model for applying Strategic Coach concepts.

After work, I went out with my beloved co-worker and even-before-that-friend Margaux. She took me to 401 Richmond, a former tin factory that’s been saved from demolition and converted into a building full of working art studios. They had a holiday sale on, so Moo and I looked around. There was a lot of great, inspiring work going on. We bought some hand-printed paper for next to nothing (which in pounds stirling is currently half of nothing), then joined a party in progress for an organisation that, it turns out, Margaux volunteers with, teaching math skills to children. Margaux does a bit of everything, because she’s filled with endless curiosity and brains. Literally; all her internal organs must also serve as bits of extra brain. That’s the only way she could be like that. It makes her very compelling to be around and to talk with.

From there, we went to the Christmas party at her condo building. Here’s a link to it when it was an empty Sears warehouse and the late Ninjalicious did some “urban infiltration” on it. Much more interesting than what I can find on the web about it now, because it’s been transformed into yuppie lofts. Half the people at the party had exactly my look. That made me feel icky.

Speaking of which, I was sat at an abandoned new iMac at work one day and found a little photo-booth feature. Here’s what it thought I looked like:

Friday
Another workshop. This time with Patti. She’s fun, and very dynamic. I get lots of useful stuff when I sit in her workshops — different things, as I do with each of the coaches. She’s also — shh — a Landmartian (sorry, my word for those of us who’ve done Landmark workshops), so we share that language.

After work, I moseyed over to The Paper Place and picked up some bookbinding things I can’t get in Edinburgh. Then I rushed across town to meet Cath, my treasured editor. We were supposed to go to Lotus Garden, one of my favourite Toronto restaurants, but, alas, Cath informed me with a call on my mobile that it was closed. Goodbye, hot and sour soup, I’ll miss you. At least I got to hang with this great woman.

Saturday
I went for brunch with Lisa and Alvaro. They’re getting married. It’s largely so he can stay in Canada, but they also happen to love each other. Handy. We went to order Alvaro’s ring after brunch, then went back to the house, where the two asked me to give them a lesson in bookbinding. We got halfway through, each making the innards of a book, then Lis had to leave for a catering shift — likely for horrible wealthy people who would treat her as a semi-invisible and disposable form of life. (The fate of a singer/actress.)

I met Cosgrove and Eric for supper with their friendsJane and Jason. Jane is an insanely cool urban chick, yet she’s nice-cool. She’s also responsible, I’m told, for the Telus wireless network’s ads with all the cute wee animals in them. Jason used to be a manager or sound guy or something for the band Insane Clown Posse. He’s a big, hunky, sweet guy. And they live in a condo way in the sky with a wall of windows looking out over the city. While we ate our supper, fireworks went off over Toronto’s city hall. For us, it seemed. Nice life they have there.

From there, we went to Gord’s house party. Gord visited me not long ago in Edinburgh. Very nice guy, an entrepreneur with his hand in half a dozen different projects, from a brewery to a travel business to a company that’s turning car engines into single-propellor airplane motors. More urbanness, then a taxi home.

Sunday
Brunch at home with Lisa and Alvaro, then we made covers for our books.

That evening, I met my ex, Jordan, and his new fella Seth for supper. I love Jord to bits — appropriately: it ended well, and we still care a lot for each other — and this Seth fella is cool. I liked him, and they seem to have a good thing going, which made me happy.

During supper, a watress at this restaurant came up and stood in front of me. I wasn’t sure why she did, then it dawned on me: She was a he, the third actor Cosgrove and I worked with on our play, then fired along with the director. I’m not sure if he was sporting tiny breasts or what was going on. He’s aged even less than I have. I have to have a talk with my alchemist.

Sunday night, I slept the sleep of the gods. I needed it, and got it.

Monday
I sat in on Dan‘s workshop. Dan is a mentor, a friend, and the owner of The Strategic Coach, along with his wife Babs. His workshops are a real treat, since they’re where much of the company’s material is generated.

In the evening, I went with Mark and Eric to Robert’s restaurant, where we ate a lovely meal on a cold, snowy night in front of a fireplace, and had a conversation about the workings of the universe, and Eric ate an elk. Well, part of one. I’d never thought of them as something edible before.

Tuesday
(It’s late; can you feel me speeding up?)

Another workshop with Dan. More ideas for work and for my own life. Afterward, I found myself with an evening off, which I enjoyed. I read one of Art Spiegelman’s brilliant Maus books.

Wednesday
I drew all day at work. I’d been asked to do some illustrations to go with the presentation of Dan and Babs’ gifts at the company lunch, and I wound up drawing a little story about them as Lord of the Rings characters, since one of the gifts was tickets to the musical based on the books. (Meanwhile, I’d been hearing backstage stories from Lisa’s downstairs lodger, who’s in the show. Sounds like it’ll either be a terrible train-wreck, or the most spectacular theatre presentation ever.)

That night, I went with Cath and her very cool friend Fidel to RED. I can’t do justice to RED without using a lot of words, and even then, it’s something you really have to experience in person. Basically, it’s a cabaret featuring work by various independent Toronto artists. It’s funny, it’s surprising, it’s a real breath of fresh air as entertainment, and for me it’s always very inspiring.

Thursday
I walked across town in the crispy winter morning to Cath’s, where we worked until lunchtime. Then we ate and went into the office. I drew some more and tried to work, but work in an office, as previously mentioned, is hard to do.

In the evening, I went out with Ross. He was one of the original Strategic Coach team members, and is leaving now to work independently. It’s probably a good move for him, but the idea of cutting thta tether and becoming a free-floating “consultant” scares the pants off me.

Ross was the person at The Coach who interviewed me (though things were mostly decided during my playing videogames after work with the multimedia team; apparently I died well). A feature of the interview was “The R-Factor Question(TM)”, a Strategic Coach relationship-building tool that basically asks where you want to be in three years, as a background for relatedness and to see if a partnership would be a good fit. I risked all and told the truth: I wanted to be a writer. In the meantime, I said, I wanted to do multimedia with a talented, cooperative team, and to see a working end product I could be proud of. The team gave me that in spades, but the best thing about the question was when I noticed that things had actually turned out just as I said I wanted them to.

Friday
A big, good day.

I went to work and finished writing February’s Strategic eNews. Ting! (If this were a movie, that would be a typewriter carriage bell sounding and the carriage being returned with a happy slam as the last line was completed.)

The afternoon was taken up with the Strategic Coach’s Toronto team lunch. I’d been asked to present the story I’d written and illustrated for Dan and Babs, which was fun to do (lots of laughs; Hamishes are validated by laughter). It also kinda nailed my ongoing presence there at the company. We also received generous gifts — a custom bottle of wine and a gift certificate for a swank restaurant. I drank my wine that night with Alvaro, and our HR person was nice enough to exchange my coupon for cash, since I was about to leave town. Of course, the money was gone before I got to Charlottetown.

Here’s a picture my good friend and co-worker Julia took of us at the lunch:

After the lunch, in keeping with the synchronicity of my spontaneous planning this trip, I had the opportunity to go to the recording studio with Dan, Cath, and two other team members (Paul and Myrna, both of whom are amazing at what they do, and good people, too). I got to see and hear Dan recording the audio track of a piece I’d written the week before. When he came out of the glassed-in booth, he said it had been easy to read, and felt exactly in keeping with the tone of the series it was written for. He said to Cath “We should keep him.” I was happy.

I found myself with another free evening — hazzah — so I went to a movie. (For more on that — like you need more at this point — see my comments on Cosgrove’s blog.)

Saturday
In the morning, I had brunch with Lisa’s gang, cater-waiter-musician-actor people. A foolishly talented bunch.

I spent the afternoon picking up more things I couldn’t get in Edinburgh, at least not at that price. Then I went to Cath’s in the evening to help her set up for a surprise birthday party for her brother. Dave and I used to work on the multimedia team together, and now he’s married to this powerful creative soul of a wife, Lisa, who’s brought out a whole other side of him that’s incredible to watch. He’s on sabbatical, or something, and he’s focusing on photography — just one of the many things he could be doing. He’s already travelled to the Czech Republic with her to do a puppet show. As you do, right?

Cath spent the evening in the kitchen. She’s a wonderful cook, though me being me, I can’t imagine that being fun. Instead, I wound up talking with friends and strangers in her living room, trying to make them laugh, and largely succeeding because I’m funnier in Canada. Not quite sure why that is, but I kinda get off on it.

Sunday
I ate breakfast with Lisa and Alvaro, then our friends Gary and Cyndi came by to say hello. They’re pregnant. Everybody’s pregnant, or getting married, or divorced and in love with someone new.

In the afternoon I went with Cosgrove and Eric to a house party. Kevin and PJ are ex-priest friends of theirs. Yeah, it sounds very conflicted, but they’re happy, great guys, and it all makes sense to them. They have a tastefully gay, expensive, and well-decorated classic old Toronto house, and it was full of people (including Cosgrove’s earnest, warm Irish father and his funny little devil-imp of an Irish mother), food, and cater-waiters (none I knew) brandishing wine. Everyone gathered around the piano to sing Christmas carols, and I just went limp and gave into the spirit.

And just because it’s been that kind of trip, Lisa happened to be playing a fundraising gig at Woody’s, our old gay watering hole downtown. So Coz, Eric, Bert and I went down there in the evening. I drank many pints and endured the horrible, lip-synching, decorated trees of drag queens until my friend and her accomplices did their real, live, actually talented little thing. The evening felt like a curtain call, where all the characters come back at the end.

To cap it off, I finished off the night with a slice of the best-worst pizza in Toronto.

Monday
A knock on my door and an apologetic word from Lisa let me know that my alarm had malfunctioned. I rushed to get ready, surprisingly un-hung-over or tired. Lisa’s friend Katrina, who’d accompanied her the night before on stage, drove us to the airport. Because, like I’ve said, it was that kind of trip, Lisa and Alvaro’s flight was scheduled for the same time as mine. Glory be!

My parents met me at the Charlottetown airport, a happy sight. I’m so grateful for them, and for the relationship we have, such that coming home for Christmas is a treat, not something to endure.

Last night, Mom and I went to Trinity Church (where she sings in the choir) to see the local television news presenter, his wife, and the weatherman put on a concert to raise money for the local food bank. They were all talented, and the two men obviously relished the opportunity to let loose the banter they have to rein in each night on the evening news. Even better, they raised $4,200. In a small province like this, that will make a huge difference. How great that three people can just whip something together and have that impact.

Tuesday
…Which brings us, at last, to today. I worked from home, in-between chats with Dad, then this evening went to see the Narnia movie with Mom. The film was a bit clumsy, the story a bit dated, but it had some moments. It’s impossible not to compare it with Lewis’s friend’s work and Peter Jackson’s filmic translation of it, and it comes up well short. What’s great, though, is that, between this and seeing the latest Harry Potter film, my mum has acquired a taste, or at least a curiosity or tolerance, for magical stories. “Maybe I’m ready to read your work,” she said. Maybe! If she can get through all that over-earnest, liony-witchy fantasy stuff, a bit of Idea in Stoneshould be easy to digest. I find it exciting that my mum should be exploring new, imaginative ideas at 70 (though don’t tell her she’s 70, ’cause she really isn’t at all).

Okay, one more picture: I’m conducting an experiment. Now I’m out of the woods with the Toronto Celibacy Project, I needed something else to do. So I’m going all shaggy, or at least trying to. I’d like to try looking as old as I actually am, or to see if I can pull off “rugged” or something, just for a bit:

So, in closing, how’s it going? Well, some things shifted for me when I was in Toronto. Some ice broke up, and things are flowing nicely toward the new year. At work, we’ve got a new book coming out which looks like it’ll be a big deal. It’s called The Laws of Lifetime Growth. (This is our first time working with an outside publisher, and they’ve already sold the translation rights in five countries, so we’re all pretty excited about it.)

Anyway, the first of these laws is “Always make your future bigger than your past.” This one had been making me uncomfortable for a while, because when it came time to plan about the future, my knees went all wobbly. All I could think about was the stuff I didn’t want to see again: no luck with getting published, and bad relationship experiences. But during this trip, something really dropped into place for me. It’s something else that Dan always talks about, namely that a person needs to take ownership of his or her future. I really got it this time. As always, it’s nothing new, but another facet or reflection of the truth. Instead of avoiding making plans ’cause I’m worried about some select bad bits of the past happening again, I can just place out ahead things that will satisfy me. Yeah, there are lots of things I have no control over, especially when it comes to others’ reactions. But I have total control over my performance. So focus on that.

Geez, that’s almost verbatim what I was wrote in a Coach newsletter this afternoon. It’s all tied together.

So the two shifts from Toronto, boiled down to their essence, are: “Past stuff isn’t here, so let go of it and get on with being happy now” and “You want to be happy in the future? Just plan on doing things you’ll like.”

Lord, that sounds so basic. But as they say, just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it’s easy.

I also got a truckload of ideas about my next book — as disruptive as helpful, but in a good way — along with some exciting notions about what I want to get up to this year.

Bedtime. If you got this far, give yourself a cookie and pretend it’s from me.

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Hinterland what’s what
Monday, December 12, 2005 , 2:04 AM

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Tuesday, December 06, 2005 , 3:53 AM

Here’s a point I’ve not heard made before, put forward by Brian Dean, the creator of a ‘zine called Anxiety Culture:

===
I’ve heard the stories about JK Rowling writing Harry Potter inside cafes because she couldn’t afford to heat her home, but I’ve not seen any comment in the media about how Harry Potter wouldn’t have been written if Ms Rowling had been employed in a job.
===

I’m sitting in Heathrow airport, not using the T-Mobile wireless offered by a sign at this desk. That’s why this message will be posted at some unspecified time in the future.

I am, however, taking advantage of the free power-point in the floor. There are far too few of these in airports, and we technowieners hungrily compete for seats like this one.

The power-point consists of a trimmed piece of carpet lifted out of the floor and haphazardly set to one side, exposing an aluminium-lined depression with an industrial-looking pair of sockets. It looks exactly like something I shouldn’t be plugging into.

I should go check and see if they’ve assigned my flight a gate yet.

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Catching fire.
Friday, December 02, 2005 , 3:13 PM

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p>

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p>

That’s “geek”, not “loser”.
Sunday, November 27, 2005 , 8:28 PM

Oh no, I broke another pair! They split right in two when I was cleaning them last night.

I went to buy new specs today. This means I get to sport this classic look for the next few days:

To be honest, I’ve got an old, old pair that are still in decent shape, but I kinda enjoy the idea of walking around like this, just as a lark.

Bert cited a lyric on his blog that seems a propos: “The loser is the one who cries.”* And I’m laughing, so I guess I’m okay.

*Jennifer Warnes, “I Know A Heartache When I See One”.

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Princess Leia is a bigot.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005 , 10:39 PM

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Putting Eeyore in the thresher.
, 1:32 PM

My best mate in Toronto just posted a blog entry about how he’s in his mid-thirties and he feels like his life isn’t working. I’ve had some of these moments lately myself — getting dumped, receiving a couple of rejection letters in a row, that sort of thing.

But the difference between a successful person and a failure is often just a matter of who gives up first. (I recently received a request to see the rest of my manuscript from a local publisher I’d sent the partial to, and have been invited to submit a short story to a new magazine*, so there you go.)

It’s also a matter of perspective: I’m sitting here in a cozy jumper, with a full belly, in my giant flat, thinking and writing for a living. What unbelievable luxury! How dare I not be appreciative? If I ever feel unsuccessful it’s because I’ve got my glasses on backwards.

So here’s my advice to my bud. I post it here, partly because it’s a bit long for his comments page (and I can’t correct the HTML there if I made any mistakes), and partly because you might find it helpful on a rainy day. Here goes…

~

<

p>I’m gonna barf on you all the stuff I say to myself in these moments:

• Stop comparing yourself to other people, and stop peeking into the parallel universe of how you think things are supposed to be. There’s nothing but dissatisfaction to be had in either activity. (Or smugness, if you choose to compare yourself with someone who sucks.)
• You’re in what they call “The Gap” at The Strategic Coach — the permanent difference between the actual and the ideal. Instead of focusing on perfection, take a look at what progress you’ve already made. You’ve done a lot of stuff. “Oh, but not compared to…” Forget that. In a couple billion years, the sun will expand and erase all signs of all of it, so whatever we do here should just be for our own enjoyment, not because it’s impressive. None of it is ultimately important, so stop making yourself miserable about that. Take a look at yourself three hundred years ago when I first met you. Believe me, you’ve grown. And I’d still choose to be friends with Old You, so imagine my excitement at getting to know Now You. I also believe that Future You can be even cooler, but only if you stop putting this kind of hair in your mental drain.
• Take the next small step. Don’t worry about sorting it all out. Just take the next insignificant step toward what you’d like to have instead. That’s all you’re responsible for right now. Trying the other thing will just throw you into “The Gap”.
• Do something for the fun of it, not the outcome.Take one of these things you aspire to, and try doing it for yourself instead of doing it because you want the activity to save you. You’re already saved (or there’s nothing to be saved from, depending on how you want to look at it).
• Remember: this is it. Even if you got all the stuff you ever wanted or thought you should have, you’d be no more alive than you already are in this moment. People who expect achievement to deliver them go bugnuts and start eating fried peanut butter sandwiches, downing suitcases full of pills, and wearing white sequinned polyester suits modelled on the flying squirrel. It’s not pretty. Don’t do it.
• Stop hating yourself for not being someone else.You’re using smoking and the gym and probably your writing career as excuses to dislike yourself. You know what? I don’t care about any of these (except that I want you healthy ’cause I need you around for the rest of my life). In fact, we all like you for who you are and want more of that guy. Except he’s busy sticking his hand down the garburetor. Stop it. Get out of there and give us more of you.
• Be grateful. Your stick house hasn’t just been tsunamied away along with your family. You don’t work in the dark making Happy Meal toys. Half full, half empty — sod it! Just appreciate that you’ve got a drink in your hand. Try focusing on what already works around you, what boons you’ve received just by being born lucky, what you love and already have, and watch how quickly your spirits lighten.
• Get selfless. You want people to give you stuff? Do something for them that they’ll appreciate. It’s no use sitting and waiting for mystery people to FedEx gold ingots to you. Why would they? Take the focus off yourself and what you feel you deserve, and improve someone else’s world, then watch how quickly they want to do stuff for you.
• Change your state of mind. Listen to some music turned way up loud. Go someplace completely new. Draw a picture with your non-dominant hand. Drag that needle across the record and scratch the hell out of the boring dirge your brain’s been singing. A change of energy makes fresh things possible.

Yes, life can be hard. Yes, it can suck. But it’s only ever boring if you make it that way. Joy is not the absence of suffering, but a celebration of the totality of life. And that’s always available. Happiness, on the other hand, is just a badly-made kite in the hand of a child prone to temper-tantrums.

*P.S. Confession: I’m proud of myself for setting up a meeting with a woman from this local magazine, because I was nervous about what to write, and about what people would think of it and of me for writing it when they see me around. But I’m not much of a writer if I don’t bloody well take opportunities to write, am I?

It’s allowed to be scary.

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The value of X.
Monday, November 14, 2005 , 6:38 PM

I have a new theory: The Love Variable.

The Love Variable, or x, can only contain one value at a time. If its present value is bothering you, you must replace it. It’s not possible to just ignore its present value. Of course, x can also be unassigned. But absence of a value tends to bother people, too. You’re free to pretend that x isn’t real, or to try to substitute it (with, say y, wherey=”career”, “friends”, “new shiny something”), but ultimately x will still exist.

It’s like Newtonian physics: Two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time.

So I’ve been trying to get Mr Previous out of my head and get over him, but it’s been tough, ’cause he’s still x — even though now when I think about it he seems completely wrong for me, and besides that, he just wasn’t that into me. But now someone else has shown up, a new value for x. It’s not even a possibility, really. Maybe a one-time visit. The future of this x is wholly undecided, and maybe even irrelevant. All that matters is that x has been reassigned. It’s a tonic for what was ailing me.

I gotta remember this.

~

Meanwhile, I’m working like a freakin’ elf to get my Xmas presents made (and dread the thought that I stillwill probably find myself in a situation where I should have something for someone important and don’t).

I’m proud of them, and wish I could showcase them here. But that kinda defeats the gifty-surprisey bit of it.

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A Blackpudlian adventure.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005 , 6:03 PM

This past weekend, I went to Blackpool with Flatmate Dave, Flatmate Geoff, and Patrick. It was the next in my ongoing series of lessons in British enculturation. And was it!

I packed my valise and went out this morning, which was a great thing to do. I got some work done at the library, then wandered around to pick up bits and pieces for my few remaining Christmas projects.

I was supposed to stay out, but I had a felafel for supper and got pink oogey sauce down the front of my trousers. So I came home to change, and had time to put together my pictures from this weekend. I’ll warn you: I took them with my PDA, so the quality is crap. That’ll have to suffice, if you want to get a glimpse into my high-flying life. Click on the thumbnail above to go to the gallery.

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Splutter.
Thursday, November 03, 2005 , 12:05 PM

I have a cold. I’m eating grapes.

P.S. (12:05AM) I just got myself and Flatmate Dave drunk on overproof whisky Hot Toddies so we could both fall asleep and get better.

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Air Crapada
Tuesday, November 01, 2005 , 9:45 PM

I’m well aware that customer complaints sent through websites are immediately routed to the electronic equivalent of a paper-shredder, but I had to send this one to Air Canada, just to get it off my chest:

I just received an e-mail informing me of your decision to remove complimentary food service and special needs meals from your international flights.

I’ll be bringing a sandwich, and reconsidering using Air Canada for my travel needs. It’s not about the money, but I don’t know if Air Canada can understand that.

I love Dan Sullivan, the owner of the company I write for, because he’s a good man and a great thinker, but I especially love him for his wit. Here’s one of his gems:

“Air Canada’s motto is ‘We’re not happy until you’renot happy.’“

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p>P.S. I just reread Air Canada’s letter, which actually seems to only be talking about domestic flights over 1.5 hours. So I may have shot my mouth off there unnecessarily… In this instance. But the Air Canada experience is not a pleasant one regardless. My friend Gord — who owns a travel agency regularly sending groups from Canada to Norway — visited me recently, and Air Canada cancelled his return flight to London without notifying him. Smart one, AC.

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