And the winner is...
Have you always wondered how books get onto shortlists for the various book awards? Well, in the case of the Cybils [ http://dadtalk.typepad.com/cybils/2006/10/the_cybils_judg.html ], cyber-savvy readers nominate titles for the long lists. Then, blogger-types read all the nominees and create short-lists. And then, panels of booky bloggers select the winners. As a judge in the picture book category, I am very curious how this is all going to pan out. I believe nominations are still open, so if you have a favourite picture book (there are two categories, non-fiction and fiction), YA novel, fantasy or sci-fi title, middle grade novel, graphic novel, etc. that you just love - here's your chance to help it get on a prize list.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Ever seen a dog picking raspberries? This is Gus up in Winlaw, helping himself to a snack... Note that I've been busy retro-posting some entries from my recent road trip. You'll need to click on the archives for October to see the entries and photos... Sorry about that. Such are the perils of no access to the Internet while travelling!
Monday, November 06, 2006
In my talks to students in schools, I usually talk about how much I like writing in restaurants and coffee shops. Big-eared, nosy people like me never tire of eavesdropping… Here are some notes taken during a certain recent book tour…
Overheard in a BC Café
Indulged in another road trip favourite, a tasty Reuben sandwich while making some
notes about my day for later typing into the blog. Kept getting distracted, though, by the raucus group of ‘these-could-only-be-Canadians’ chatting away at the next table.
Here are a few snippets from said conversations,
“So there are these six lights floating there by the side of the road…” and he says, “What the hell is that?”
“Three moose!”
"Moose?"
"Yeah - their eyes were shining like flying saucers! They looked like they were floating at the side of the road."
“Man, you don’t want them suckers running out in front of you.”
“Yeah, truck killers, man.”
This is followed by one tale after another of trucks, tractors, four-by-fours, and flatbeds getting stuck in places where such vehicles were never meant to be … buried in mud over the axels, tipped over in huge holes, sunk in rivers, stuck in trees… These tales are told in two parts.
Part A: How the vehicle came to be stuck in the first place – while the owner was hunting bear out of season, or popping wheelies to dump a load of lumber off a flat-bed truck, or taking a shortcut during flood season, or some such…
Part B – How the stuck vehicle was pushed/pulled, or winched out of trouble.
These are simultaneously cautionary Canadian tales and outright bragging. “Well, ya think that’s bad – you know that old tractor I had at my Dad’s place? Well, this one time when we had to pull these fence posts out in that wet area down by the gully…”
This series of exchanges then moves on to a really wild series of stories involving various domestic pets and their run-ins with grizzly bears, vicious squirrels, raccoons, birds, and packrats. The latter not only mess with domestics, they also steal things, and, apparently, enjoy eating distributor wires, copper caps and all…
At which point I had to force myself to finish up my instant decaf, close my notebook, and head back to my cozy room.
Overheard in a BC Café
Indulged in another road trip favourite, a tasty Reuben sandwich while making some
notes about my day for later typing into the blog. Kept getting distracted, though, by the raucus group of ‘these-could-only-be-Canadians’ chatting away at the next table.
Here are a few snippets from said conversations,
“So there are these six lights floating there by the side of the road…” and he says, “What the hell is that?”
“Three moose!”
"Moose?"
"Yeah - their eyes were shining like flying saucers! They looked like they were floating at the side of the road."
“Man, you don’t want them suckers running out in front of you.”
“Yeah, truck killers, man.”
This is followed by one tale after another of trucks, tractors, four-by-fours, and flatbeds getting stuck in places where such vehicles were never meant to be … buried in mud over the axels, tipped over in huge holes, sunk in rivers, stuck in trees… These tales are told in two parts.
Part A: How the vehicle came to be stuck in the first place – while the owner was hunting bear out of season, or popping wheelies to dump a load of lumber off a flat-bed truck, or taking a shortcut during flood season, or some such…
Part B – How the stuck vehicle was pushed/pulled, or winched out of trouble.
These are simultaneously cautionary Canadian tales and outright bragging. “Well, ya think that’s bad – you know that old tractor I had at my Dad’s place? Well, this one time when we had to pull these fence posts out in that wet area down by the gully…”
This series of exchanges then moves on to a really wild series of stories involving various domestic pets and their run-ins with grizzly bears, vicious squirrels, raccoons, birds, and packrats. The latter not only mess with domestics, they also steal things, and, apparently, enjoy eating distributor wires, copper caps and all…
At which point I had to force myself to finish up my instant decaf, close my notebook, and head back to my cozy room.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Tinytown, BC
I don’t mean to embarrass anyone so I’ve changed some identifying details, but yes, this really did happen during a recent book tour…
After arriving in Tinytown, BC in the dark, pulled off the highway and into the gas station to ask for directions to 4th Avenue. Understand that Tinytown is a town with a grand total of perhaps a dozen roads. The town is so small it isn’t included in any of the regional guidebooks I’ve picked up. The poor quality of the map printed from the Internet by the librarian is so fuzzy that I can’t read a single street name.
I don’t figure this is too much of a problem because surely, in a town so small, everyone must know everyone and directions should be easy to come by, especially at the local gas station. The young woman behind the counter sells me two AAA batteries (for the IPOD transmitter) and some masking tape (display materials repair) and we have this conversation.
“I was wondering if you could give me some directions.”
She looks shocked, like I have slapped her or asked a rude question she wasn’t expecting.
Undeterred, I press on. “Could you please tell me where 4th Avenue is?”
She looks at me blankly as if to say, “Our streets are numbered?” This look is followed by a shrug. “No. Sorry. I don’t know any of the street names.”
Thinking I will have to drive around in the dark (there aren’t any streetlights in Tinytown) I decide to narrow my search area.
“Is there more to the town? Or is it just the streets behind the gas station?” I might not be able to read the names of the streets, but the fuzzy map doesn’t indicate anything like an East and a West Tinytown.
Another blank look is followed by, “Yeah. I guess. Except there’s a 9th over there…” She waves her arm toward the pitch darkness on the other side of the highway and looks pleased that she has remembered this. “Yeah – over behind the old church. Well where the church used to be – they pulled it down.”
“I see.” (I’m not quite sure how it will help to know that there was once a landmark and make a mental note to keep an eye out for rubble piles… perhaps with a lopsided cross sticking out of the top.)
“Ok, I’ll drive around on this side of the highway first and then I’ll check over there.”
“Oh, wait!” she says, calling me back as I turn to leave. “There’s a map stuck in the window. You have to go outside and look in. It’s stuck to the glass.”
“Excellent! That should help.”
Oustide I peer at the very basic map, hand drawn in the window. Tinytown's four slightly bigger streets run perpendicular to the highway. These are crossed by the five avenues running the other way. Second is right behind the gas station. Fourth is two blocks beyond that.
Thinking that the gas station was probably on one of the four bigger roads but not certain which, I guess it might be Main. To confirm, I go back inside.
“Is this road right here Main?”
Blank look.
“The road right here –“ I point outside and wave my hand from side to side so she knows which one I mean – “Do you know what it’s called?”
“Ah – no, sorry.”
“That’s ok – don’t worry about it. And, thanks for the batteries.”
I wonder if maybe there are no street signs (since there are no street lights, they would be hard to see… ), but then I hop into the car, turn out of the gas station, look up at a sign which clearly says, “Main.” Now knowing for sure where I am, I drive the two blocks to the B&B with no trouble despite the fact that houses do not seem to have visible numbers here.
The oddest part about all of this is that a bit later while I am perusing the historical notes in the front of the menu at “The Local Café,” I read that the old church was demolished in the early 1990s. Which means that if the helpful gas station attendant remembered the church, she could not have been a newcomer… Wow. Just wow. How could this be possible?
I don’t mean to embarrass anyone so I’ve changed some identifying details, but yes, this really did happen during a recent book tour…
After arriving in Tinytown, BC in the dark, pulled off the highway and into the gas station to ask for directions to 4th Avenue. Understand that Tinytown is a town with a grand total of perhaps a dozen roads. The town is so small it isn’t included in any of the regional guidebooks I’ve picked up. The poor quality of the map printed from the Internet by the librarian is so fuzzy that I can’t read a single street name.
I don’t figure this is too much of a problem because surely, in a town so small, everyone must know everyone and directions should be easy to come by, especially at the local gas station. The young woman behind the counter sells me two AAA batteries (for the IPOD transmitter) and some masking tape (display materials repair) and we have this conversation.
“I was wondering if you could give me some directions.”
She looks shocked, like I have slapped her or asked a rude question she wasn’t expecting.
Undeterred, I press on. “Could you please tell me where 4th Avenue is?”
She looks at me blankly as if to say, “Our streets are numbered?” This look is followed by a shrug. “No. Sorry. I don’t know any of the street names.”
Thinking I will have to drive around in the dark (there aren’t any streetlights in Tinytown) I decide to narrow my search area.
“Is there more to the town? Or is it just the streets behind the gas station?” I might not be able to read the names of the streets, but the fuzzy map doesn’t indicate anything like an East and a West Tinytown.
Another blank look is followed by, “Yeah. I guess. Except there’s a 9th over there…” She waves her arm toward the pitch darkness on the other side of the highway and looks pleased that she has remembered this. “Yeah – over behind the old church. Well where the church used to be – they pulled it down.”
“I see.” (I’m not quite sure how it will help to know that there was once a landmark and make a mental note to keep an eye out for rubble piles… perhaps with a lopsided cross sticking out of the top.)
“Ok, I’ll drive around on this side of the highway first and then I’ll check over there.”
“Oh, wait!” she says, calling me back as I turn to leave. “There’s a map stuck in the window. You have to go outside and look in. It’s stuck to the glass.”
“Excellent! That should help.”
Oustide I peer at the very basic map, hand drawn in the window. Tinytown's four slightly bigger streets run perpendicular to the highway. These are crossed by the five avenues running the other way. Second is right behind the gas station. Fourth is two blocks beyond that.
Thinking that the gas station was probably on one of the four bigger roads but not certain which, I guess it might be Main. To confirm, I go back inside.
“Is this road right here Main?”
Blank look.
“The road right here –“ I point outside and wave my hand from side to side so she knows which one I mean – “Do you know what it’s called?”
“Ah – no, sorry.”
“That’s ok – don’t worry about it. And, thanks for the batteries.”
I wonder if maybe there are no street signs (since there are no street lights, they would be hard to see… ), but then I hop into the car, turn out of the gas station, look up at a sign which clearly says, “Main.” Now knowing for sure where I am, I drive the two blocks to the B&B with no trouble despite the fact that houses do not seem to have visible numbers here.
The oddest part about all of this is that a bit later while I am perusing the historical notes in the front of the menu at “The Local Café,” I read that the old church was demolished in the early 1990s. Which means that if the helpful gas station attendant remembered the church, she could not have been a newcomer… Wow. Just wow. How could this be possible?
Friday, November 03, 2006
It's not every day that I am invited into a gorgeous reference room in a restored heritage building, to sit at a grand dining table decked out with fine linens, to share a catered private lunch with four young authors. These writers won a contest with the prize, "Lunch and conversation with Nikki Tate" (in the special secret room upstairs in the libarary...). And boy, did we chat! We shared our thoughts about writing, getting ideas, keeping journals, writing fantasy and science fiction, non-fiction, and more... I came away so inspired by all the great ideas that the prize-winners shared with me! It was pretty cool. In this photo, we were perusing a scrapbook about the library renovation project... taking a break from all the fine food and heady conversation.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
"My only regret is, I didn't pee in Skookumchuk."
This, clearly, is going to be the quote that I remember from this trip!
So, here's what happened. After driving a couple of hours north of Cranbrook, gave two talks - the first one in Edgewater at the Elementary school and the second at a school in Invermere. Both talks went smoothly (they sure do raise nice children up here in the Kootenays...) and it looked like I was going to make the return trip to Cranbrook well before dark.
All was going fine until it started to snow about ten minutes south of Invermere. And not just a little snow, but major, whipping around, dense clouds of blowing snow. Blizzard-like, in fact. I wasn't too worried - the road was blowing fairly clear, the snow was dry, and it wasn't really accumulating in the driving lanes. I figured I was better off to try to make good time and get back to town than be too wimpy and West-coastish and slow down to a crawl... it hardly seemed necessary, anyway.
Doing long distances in tight time frames means I'm pretty good at monitoring both my time and my gas tank - fitting in a fill-up time isn't always easy, and when I left Invermere I figured I had enough gas left to make it to Cranbrook just fine. But then it started snowing harder and I thought, “Hmmmm… what if there’s an accident or something and I wind up having to sit in my car… it would really suck if I couldn’t let the engine run and keep warm… I guess maybe I should stop at the next station and fill up, just in case.”
Not too long after that I saw a sign, “Skookumchuk Gas. 2KM” Alas, the Skookumchuk gas bar is at the bottom of a very long hill, which, apparently, gets very, very slippery when it has been snowing. Though I began to brake way up the hill, there was no way I could get stopped in time to cross the highway – there was fish-tailing, juddering anti-lock brakes, me pumping the brakes gently, more fish-tailing… ooops – there goes the gas station… Managed to turn off to the right and get out of traffic, turned around, crossed the highway, and filled the tank feeling very proud of myself for having the foresight to do so since I could see it might take a little longer than planned to get back.
I was back on the road after only a few minutes, made the long, slow turn on the far side of Skookumchuk and headed up the hill on the other side of town only to see a pair of tire tracks veering out of my lane, across the road, over the other edge of the road… leading to an upside-down truck of some sort, literally standing on its roof. I put on my emergency flashers, grabbed my cell phone, pulled over as far as I could while dialing 911, and then sprinted across the road. I got to the vehicle just about as I got through to emergency services and then there was this strange, three-way conversation… I’ll put the emergency dispatcher in square brackets…
“A truck has just flipped off the road – we probably need an ambulance.”
“I’m in here!” (This was a shakey woman’s voice.)
“How many people are in the car with you?”
[Do you need fire, ambulance, or police?]
“Ambulance, I’m pretty sure. The truck is upside-down.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need an ambulance.”
[Can you tell what kind of injuries?]
“No idea. I can’t see anyone yet.” (I’m squatting in the ditch, trying to see into the window. Is there anyone else in the car with you?”
[How many people are in the vehicle.]
“No, I’m on my own. Oh my God, my husband is going to kill me.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m trying to find my cell phone.” (there’s lots of rustling and I can hear someone moving around in the truck)
“Are you hurt at all? I’ve got the emergency people on the line…”
“I’m just fine. I’m trying to call-“
“It’s ok – I’ve got the 911 people on the phone.”
“I need to call my husband – Oh my God, my husband is going to kill me! The new truck… “
[So, do you need an ambulance?]
“I’m not sure. I still can’t see her. I’ll go around to the other side of the truck.”
Crouching down at the other window, I can see a woman groveling around on the dome light that is now below the front seat (which is impossibly upside-down, seatbelt dangling), looking for something.”
“It’s ok, you can use my phone.”
[How old is the victim?]
I’m thinking, but don’t say – ‘good, grief. Who cares?’ But relay this question.
From the tone of the reply I sense the woman in the truck is also under-impressed. “I am 52.”
By this time a couple of other people have stopped and two men are standing by, ready to help.
“Do you think you can crawl out?”
[No! She should not leave the vehicle.]
“She actually seems to be ok – her truck is upside down and it’s freezing. It’s snowing pretty hard…. She seems to be coming out….”
Which she did, struggling out through the window the woman said, “I don’t think I can stand up. I’ve got very bad arthritis in my knees.”
One of the men put a car mat (that had fallen out into the snow) down and then the other man stepped forward and they helped the woman to her feet.
[I need to talk to her. Can you give her the phone?]
The woman takes the phone and reassures the 911 dispatcher that she seems fine, except that her husband is going to kill her because she has destroyed the new truck and that, no, she most certainly does not need an ambulance. At which point she hung up the cell phone and looked around at her rescuers, a little dazed.
“Do you need anything out of the truck?”
“My cell phone. My car charger. Purse. That plastic bag.”
One of the men helped her pull all that out of the truck and then I said, “Why don’t you come and sit with me in my car where it’s warm and we’ll wait here for the police.”
The other men left and I took the woman to the car, still running (no worries, I had a full tank of gas) on the other side of the road.
Once inside, my poor passenger turned to me and said, “You know what the worst part of this is?”
I was guessing her husband, but no.
“I have to pee so badly I can hardly stand it. You know, I was thinking, I should stop and pee at Skookumchuk, but then when I saw it, I thought, nah – I can make it Wasa. Boy, do I ever regret not stopping to pee at Skookumchuk.”
She then proceeded to call various relatives. Each conversation went something like this:
“Now don’t worry – I’m fine – but I’ve flipped the truck and it’s in the ditch just past Skookumchuk and oh, my God I wish I’d stopped to pee there! You know how I was saying that earlier when I was telling you on the cell phone that I was driving back to Cranbrook and I said, I was probably going to have to stop and pee? Well, I should have stopped to pee because you would not believe how bad I have to pee. I should have peed at Skookumchuk.”
While all this is going on, I’m scanning the road for possible police assistance, trucks that might run into us, bushes that might be useful…
Between phonecalls, I asked if the 911 woman had actually mentioned that the police had been dispatched. My passenger looked blank. “I don’t know. I know they aren’t sending an ambulance.”
I called 911 again. “Hi,” I said, thinking, What is the code for bursting bladder emergency??? but then added, “I’m just calling to confirm that the police are on the way…” Indeed, an officer had been dispatched from Kimberley, nearly an hour away! I had my doubts this poor cross-legged woman beside me was going to make it.
A couple of sanding trucks came by. Several more vehicles, all of which I had to wave on… Several people suggested we move up to the top of the hill to a nearby cross road which, after a while, we did. Alas, the cross road led to a sawmill so now the vehicles that were trying to get around us were laden logging trucks!!!
All the while, the cell phone was buzzing as my passenger called her relatives back, updating them on her status, her concerns that her husband really was going to kill her, and the state of her bladder.
A while later, one of the sanding trucks returned to tell us the police were at the crash site and we should head on back down the hill. How the police sneaked past us, I have no idea… I must have been distracted by some looming truck grill in my rear view mirror… Anyway, I drove her back down the hill, she was helped into the police truck by a very lovely RCMP officer, and about an hour after I’d first pulled in, I found myself turning around in the Skookumchuk gas bar.
The next hour or so to Cranbrook was some of the worst driving I have endured for many, many years. Icy, slushy, blasting snow whirling around, two tracks through the slushy mess on the road… Yuck! Saw two more vehicles in ditches (did not stop… there are limits… they were covered with snow and I trust they had all been dealt with)… various abandoned vehicles at the sides of the road... Even these nutty Kootenay drivers were moving along very slowly.
FINALLY made it back to the hotel…. Now, off to hit the HOT shower and then downstairs to get a bite to eat. Oh, I can hardly wait to cross the pass over to Fernie tomorrow morning. Methinks there’s a good chance the road will be closed and though I feel truly terrible for the people who might be coming to see me there, I really hope you all understand and forgive me. Call me up in the spring and I’ll come back…
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Before I head down to the hotel restaurant for a bite to eat, I'll post this photo of this cute little guy. He was hanging out in the memorial gardens in New Denver. I popped in briefly and nearly froze to death as a wicked storm was brewing... The squirrel, who should have been curled up in a nest somewhere, sucking on stored nuts, was clinging to this swaying branch, moving very slowly like the blood was thickening in his veins as he watched me. His sluggish, pre-hibernation stupor was great for taking photos, though...
My hotel desk in Castlegar last night... trying to answer the questions, 'Where am I going next? Where have I already been?" Feels like I've been everywhere, man and this is only Wednesday! I arrived this evening in Cranbrook after talks earlier today in Fruitvale and Castlegar. Tuesday was Midway and Trail... and Monday was Kaslo and Nelson (grab a map... have a look at the various mountain passes I've traversed....) Tomorrow morning, my first talk is actually way up in Radium, but the librarian who has kindly organized this trip for me was sensitive enough to realize that if I survived the trip from Fruitvale to Cranbrook in one piece it might be nice to stop, eat, and sleep before travelling on. As it was, after the road from Salmo to here had been closed for several hours to clear away a nasty accident, the trip over the pass was not too bad - some icy patches but basically clear. Only saw one moose at the side of the road and he was a young one at that, so I probably could have won the argument had he foolishly darted out in front of the car.
I had planned to blog daily (Dani has inspired me!) but troubles with Internet connections have plagued me all week. I have kept a notebook (oh how quaint is that???), but now need to type those entries in and upload them, a task that will have to wait until after I have had something to eat and, perhaps, sleep for a week.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Strangely enough, my capacity to retro-post has disappeared! Could this be a mac thing? Will try to log in on a pc and see if I can modify this... K - seems to be a mac thing... I was able to retropost just fine from my laptop. Strange.
Anyway, this post is actually from October 30th... written in Midway during the recent Kootenay tour...
Midway, BC
This morning started out in a re-powered Kaslo. Had a hearty breakfast at the Treehouse Café – my standard road trip fare of two eggs, over easy, hash browns, toast, and coffee. Then, over to the big, old wooden building, up the stairs, and inside – to find myself in the town hall with some very confused clerks staring at my gigantic portfolio.
“Library?”
“Downstairs.”
A teeny, weeny library was, indeed, tucked into the basement – the double wooden doors under the big stairs I’d just schlepped up and then down. A small group (25 students in a Grade ¾ split and a handful of parents) joined us for a really friendly, fun session. When I held up the big photo of the tower at Aigues Mortes, ready to launch into my spiel about how the tower got transformed into the Tower of Carnillo one of the moms squeaked in the back row and said, “I was just there last week – that’s Aigues Mortes!” What a shock. Turns out her parents-in-law live there! There were a few other out-of-the-usual responses to my questions in this group.
“What does a farrier do to your horse?”
One boy suggested, “Takes it away for meat?”
Hmmm…. And in answer to my question about design flaws in my badly drawn spaceship copied from a notebook circa 1970 one girl suggested it didn’t have any chocolate bar storage. Indeed. A critical design flaw.
Wrapped up shortly after 10:30, hopped in the car and headed down the highway for Nelson. The sun had come out (thank goodness) so though there were occasional stray snowflakes, it was nothing like what I had to endure yesterday.
In Nelson, parked, ran to the bank to deposit the SNP cheque for Dani and run in to pick up a couple of sandwiches, a chocolate bar, and two pepperoni sticks at the deli. Ate the roast beef sandwich in the car as I dashed from the deli to the school and set up for the next talk, this time two split classes – grades 3-4 and 5-6, about 60 kids in total. This was another excellent, attentive, fun group despite the fact we went nearly the full 90 minutes at the end of the afternoon on the day before Halloween. Tomorrow the whole school seems to be participating in a talent show – too bad I couldn’t have seen some of that.
Diane had driven up from Winlaw and was parked outside the school with a care package – a fresh box of Kleenex (I’m still getting over my cold) and a bag full of tasty food – croissants, cookies, a couple of delish creamy smooth fruity drinks that double as meals and contain eighty-seven servings of veggies each, and a mocha! Oh, and chocolate!!!!! What a treat!
Then, a loooong drive to the west, listening to Gilead on my broadcasting ipod, racing the dying light to make it to Midway just as darkness was completing its arrival. Gilead is probably a little too contemplative for my ideal driving listen – I think I might switch to something else tomorrow for the drive to Trail and finish Gilead after I get home.
Anyway, this post is actually from October 30th... written in Midway during the recent Kootenay tour...
Midway, BC
This morning started out in a re-powered Kaslo. Had a hearty breakfast at the Treehouse Café – my standard road trip fare of two eggs, over easy, hash browns, toast, and coffee. Then, over to the big, old wooden building, up the stairs, and inside – to find myself in the town hall with some very confused clerks staring at my gigantic portfolio.
“Library?”
“Downstairs.”
A teeny, weeny library was, indeed, tucked into the basement – the double wooden doors under the big stairs I’d just schlepped up and then down. A small group (25 students in a Grade ¾ split and a handful of parents) joined us for a really friendly, fun session. When I held up the big photo of the tower at Aigues Mortes, ready to launch into my spiel about how the tower got transformed into the Tower of Carnillo one of the moms squeaked in the back row and said, “I was just there last week – that’s Aigues Mortes!” What a shock. Turns out her parents-in-law live there! There were a few other out-of-the-usual responses to my questions in this group.
“What does a farrier do to your horse?”
One boy suggested, “Takes it away for meat?”
Hmmm…. And in answer to my question about design flaws in my badly drawn spaceship copied from a notebook circa 1970 one girl suggested it didn’t have any chocolate bar storage. Indeed. A critical design flaw.
Wrapped up shortly after 10:30, hopped in the car and headed down the highway for Nelson. The sun had come out (thank goodness) so though there were occasional stray snowflakes, it was nothing like what I had to endure yesterday.
In Nelson, parked, ran to the bank to deposit the SNP cheque for Dani and run in to pick up a couple of sandwiches, a chocolate bar, and two pepperoni sticks at the deli. Ate the roast beef sandwich in the car as I dashed from the deli to the school and set up for the next talk, this time two split classes – grades 3-4 and 5-6, about 60 kids in total. This was another excellent, attentive, fun group despite the fact we went nearly the full 90 minutes at the end of the afternoon on the day before Halloween. Tomorrow the whole school seems to be participating in a talent show – too bad I couldn’t have seen some of that.
Diane had driven up from Winlaw and was parked outside the school with a care package – a fresh box of Kleenex (I’m still getting over my cold) and a bag full of tasty food – croissants, cookies, a couple of delish creamy smooth fruity drinks that double as meals and contain eighty-seven servings of veggies each, and a mocha! Oh, and chocolate!!!!! What a treat!
Then, a loooong drive to the west, listening to Gilead on my broadcasting ipod, racing the dying light to make it to Midway just as darkness was completing its arrival. Gilead is probably a little too contemplative for my ideal driving listen – I think I might switch to something else tomorrow for the drive to Trail and finish Gilead after I get home.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Kaslo
(written by hand in a notebook, transcribed later, and eventually retro-posted...)
It has been a long time since I sat and wrote by candlelight... My entire day, except for the time spent in the car, has been without power.
Winlaw had no electricity during a planned power outage between 8 am and 2pm. Diane was up early to make coffee and toast, Jim piled wood into the stove and cooked brie omlettes.So, it was hardly slumming it when I made my way from the guest suite over to the house for a leisurely (delicious!) breakfast. Spent much of the morning reading Susan Williams, "Wind Rider", a prehistoric horse whispering tale set somewhere in Kazakhstan about 6000 years ago. Well-written speculative fiction, it does a brilliant job of asking the question, "What must it have been like the first time someone climbed aroard a horse?"
A short stroll down the hill for fresh air and a trip to the shop to pick up some SNP stock and return a phonecall from Dad (seems his Internet was down, Mikey the pig bit him, Zina had to sleep - quiveringly - in his bed because of all the fireworks, and some guilty boasting about climbing up a ladder to make a tarp roof over Mikey the biter)... and then off to Kaslo.
The drive up the Slocan Valley was easy enough - I foolishly thought wind and a few showers wuld be the worst of the weather. Stopped in Silverton to find my I-pod cable so I could plug into the power outlet (formerly known as a cigarette lighter, though I don't think it has that function any more) - and to take a couple of photos of the outside of the local museum (closed).
Stopped again in New Denver, hoping the Nikkei Internment Memorial Centre might be open. Found the Kohan Reflection Garden
and, bundled up against the wind, wandered through the short loop, breath taken away not just by the chilly gusts blowing off Slocan Lake, but also by the stunning colours of fall. The garden planners did a fabulous job of planting numberous varieties of decorative grasses and bamboos, the former fully mature wtih seed heads heavy and ripe. The blaze of Japanese Maples and deep red berries was all the more stunning against the dark grey sky.
The Memorial Centre, when I found it, was closed not only for the day, but for the season (though a sign outside indicates that it may be opened by appointment after September).
The road (the 31A) up out of New Denver is windy and it wasn't long before the spitting rain and cloud turned into a blizzard. Luckily, the barricade arms indicating a closed road were still up and I wasn't worried about the avalanche signs warning drivers not to stop as this was the first real snow of the season and there hasn't been a chance for any accumulation. At the highest elevations through the pass and where the road was particularly steep and/or windy, I geared down to low gear and travelled slowly, leery about having to hit the brakes if some deer or bear ambled onto the road. Saw a dead coyote on the shoulder and snapped some random snow shots while driving, by blindly pointing the camera out the window. The quality doesn't look great, but one gets the general (nasty) idea. During the whole trip (about an hour), saw only five or six vehicles, all coming from the other direction.
Reached Kaslo at about 4:15 to find the town apparently deserted and wind howling off Kootenay Lake. Drove slowly around town - up one main street two blocks long and down the 'highway', scouting for restaurant possibilities and/or a grocery store. Couldn't see anything at all open, so found the B&B on Front Street, half a block from the SS Moyie, to discover my host, Cathy lighting oil lamps and placing candles on various stairs leading up to the guest rooms.
Turns out the storm has knocked out the power and nobody knows when it might come back. I asked about a restaurant and Cathy suggested somewhere a block up the street - a place with a generator. My walk there proved fruitless - truly, the entire town had shut down.
A loud generator-like noise seemed promising. Following it to the source, came to the Mohawk Gas Station. They had power to run the pumps and cash register but not for lights inside. The two available flashlights were in use by other customers, so I felt my way along the shelves and into the cooolers and found what felt like some kind of chips (turned out to be of the tortilla variety), some kind of fruit juice (Snapple), a sausage roll (that was right), and a bun (turns out to contain Black Forest Ham and mustard).
Took these goodies back to the Victorian Room in "The Quaintest Hotel in Kaslo" and have been snacking in the gathering darkness while making these notes.
It was pretty well dark by 4:50pm, a fact to keep in mind while planning my driving for the week ahead. Tomorrow and Tuesday in particular require lots of time on the road.
So, blizzards and gas station food eaten in a cold, dark (though certainly quaint!) room can not compete with Dani's ubermodern life of lusury in the big city, but I suppose are memorable experiences in their own right.
5:30 pm. The wind is dying down a bit out there. I suppose I can pull up a candle and finish reading my book. How early is it polite to go to bed? Who would notice?
(written by hand in a notebook, transcribed later, and eventually retro-posted...)
It has been a long time since I sat and wrote by candlelight... My entire day, except for the time spent in the car, has been without power.
Winlaw had no electricity during a planned power outage between 8 am and 2pm. Diane was up early to make coffee and toast, Jim piled wood into the stove and cooked brie omlettes.So, it was hardly slumming it when I made my way from the guest suite over to the house for a leisurely (delicious!) breakfast. Spent much of the morning reading Susan Williams, "Wind Rider", a prehistoric horse whispering tale set somewhere in Kazakhstan about 6000 years ago. Well-written speculative fiction, it does a brilliant job of asking the question, "What must it have been like the first time someone climbed aroard a horse?"
A short stroll down the hill for fresh air and a trip to the shop to pick up some SNP stock and return a phonecall from Dad (seems his Internet was down, Mikey the pig bit him, Zina had to sleep - quiveringly - in his bed because of all the fireworks, and some guilty boasting about climbing up a ladder to make a tarp roof over Mikey the biter)... and then off to Kaslo.
The drive up the Slocan Valley was easy enough - I foolishly thought wind and a few showers wuld be the worst of the weather. Stopped in Silverton to find my I-pod cable so I could plug into the power outlet (formerly known as a cigarette lighter, though I don't think it has that function any more) - and to take a couple of photos of the outside of the local museum (closed).
Stopped again in New Denver, hoping the Nikkei Internment Memorial Centre might be open. Found the Kohan Reflection Garden
and, bundled up against the wind, wandered through the short loop, breath taken away not just by the chilly gusts blowing off Slocan Lake, but also by the stunning colours of fall. The garden planners did a fabulous job of planting numberous varieties of decorative grasses and bamboos, the former fully mature wtih seed heads heavy and ripe. The blaze of Japanese Maples and deep red berries was all the more stunning against the dark grey sky.
The Memorial Centre, when I found it, was closed not only for the day, but for the season (though a sign outside indicates that it may be opened by appointment after September).
The road (the 31A) up out of New Denver is windy and it wasn't long before the spitting rain and cloud turned into a blizzard. Luckily, the barricade arms indicating a closed road were still up and I wasn't worried about the avalanche signs warning drivers not to stop as this was the first real snow of the season and there hasn't been a chance for any accumulation. At the highest elevations through the pass and where the road was particularly steep and/or windy, I geared down to low gear and travelled slowly, leery about having to hit the brakes if some deer or bear ambled onto the road. Saw a dead coyote on the shoulder and snapped some random snow shots while driving, by blindly pointing the camera out the window. The quality doesn't look great, but one gets the general (nasty) idea. During the whole trip (about an hour), saw only five or six vehicles, all coming from the other direction.
Reached Kaslo at about 4:15 to find the town apparently deserted and wind howling off Kootenay Lake. Drove slowly around town - up one main street two blocks long and down the 'highway', scouting for restaurant possibilities and/or a grocery store. Couldn't see anything at all open, so found the B&B on Front Street, half a block from the SS Moyie, to discover my host, Cathy lighting oil lamps and placing candles on various stairs leading up to the guest rooms.
Turns out the storm has knocked out the power and nobody knows when it might come back. I asked about a restaurant and Cathy suggested somewhere a block up the street - a place with a generator. My walk there proved fruitless - truly, the entire town had shut down.
A loud generator-like noise seemed promising. Following it to the source, came to the Mohawk Gas Station. They had power to run the pumps and cash register but not for lights inside. The two available flashlights were in use by other customers, so I felt my way along the shelves and into the cooolers and found what felt like some kind of chips (turned out to be of the tortilla variety), some kind of fruit juice (Snapple), a sausage roll (that was right), and a bun (turns out to contain Black Forest Ham and mustard).
Took these goodies back to the Victorian Room in "The Quaintest Hotel in Kaslo" and have been snacking in the gathering darkness while making these notes.
It was pretty well dark by 4:50pm, a fact to keep in mind while planning my driving for the week ahead. Tomorrow and Tuesday in particular require lots of time on the road.
So, blizzards and gas station food eaten in a cold, dark (though certainly quaint!) room can not compete with Dani's ubermodern life of lusury in the big city, but I suppose are memorable experiences in their own right.
5:30 pm. The wind is dying down a bit out there. I suppose I can pull up a candle and finish reading my book. How early is it polite to go to bed? Who would notice?
Friday, October 27, 2006
Friday – October 27th - (Written in the Vancouver Airport, retro-posted from Cranbrook)
The joys of wireless. Flaky wireless. No luck logging in to the YVR network – connection keeps dropping out completely and it’s too much trouble to lug all my junk elsewhere to see if I can find a better location. As usual, traveling with a lot of stuff, one of the many reasons these book tours are so stressful. Though I will be able to pick up stock from SNP (thank goodness), I still have 50+ books from Orca and Annick stuffed in my main suitcase. Orca bookmarks (not a whole whack, I must confess – there are limits and SNP has plenty – as long as each child gets something, I’ll be happy). Then, there’s the big artist portfolio stuffed full of display materials and samples – books, cover images, notebooks, etc. Elsewhere in the baggage I’ve tucked away my character cards and the Carnillo jewels. And speaking of Carnillo, the intensity of the unhappy emails from readers waiting for book #3 is increasing. I try to be polite, but its hard when the readers are anything but. So, sorry to everyone who is waiting for book three. This is what happens when you start reading the work of an author who writes multiple series. I don’t suppose it helps you to know that readers of the OTHER series are reasonably happy at the moment with new books out in the Jo historical series and the Tarragon Island series.
The StableMates readers are just a bit more patient, perhaps because there are seven books in the series and they quite often make the leap over to the TI and Jo books without a lot of trouble….at which point finding another author to read is not a bad idea. A StableMates reader who sent a lengthy email last week did want to know when Jessa was going to make her way to Japan… With all this pressure, the most sensible thing to do was, obviously, to start another series, or two. Happily, these new projects are humming along just beautifully, though this is not likely to be anything more than aggravating to those waiting so patiently to find out what happens to Dominique in The Curse of the Festerworlds. Stay tuned.
Oh, the reference above to YVR and flaky wireless and book tours was just sort of dropped in there – but, yes, I’m on the road again, this time to the Kootenays courtesy of the Kootenays Library Federation. After popping into Winlaw to visit with Diane and Jim of Sono Nis Press for a couple of days, I’ll be tootling all over the place during a weeklong road trip in the mountains. My fingers are crossed that we don’t have a terrible snowfall (like they seem to be having in Colorado) because bad weather would make it very difficult to get from gig to gig.
The joys of wireless. Flaky wireless. No luck logging in to the YVR network – connection keeps dropping out completely and it’s too much trouble to lug all my junk elsewhere to see if I can find a better location. As usual, traveling with a lot of stuff, one of the many reasons these book tours are so stressful. Though I will be able to pick up stock from SNP (thank goodness), I still have 50+ books from Orca and Annick stuffed in my main suitcase. Orca bookmarks (not a whole whack, I must confess – there are limits and SNP has plenty – as long as each child gets something, I’ll be happy). Then, there’s the big artist portfolio stuffed full of display materials and samples – books, cover images, notebooks, etc. Elsewhere in the baggage I’ve tucked away my character cards and the Carnillo jewels. And speaking of Carnillo, the intensity of the unhappy emails from readers waiting for book #3 is increasing. I try to be polite, but its hard when the readers are anything but. So, sorry to everyone who is waiting for book three. This is what happens when you start reading the work of an author who writes multiple series. I don’t suppose it helps you to know that readers of the OTHER series are reasonably happy at the moment with new books out in the Jo historical series and the Tarragon Island series.
The StableMates readers are just a bit more patient, perhaps because there are seven books in the series and they quite often make the leap over to the TI and Jo books without a lot of trouble….at which point finding another author to read is not a bad idea. A StableMates reader who sent a lengthy email last week did want to know when Jessa was going to make her way to Japan… With all this pressure, the most sensible thing to do was, obviously, to start another series, or two. Happily, these new projects are humming along just beautifully, though this is not likely to be anything more than aggravating to those waiting so patiently to find out what happens to Dominique in The Curse of the Festerworlds. Stay tuned.
Oh, the reference above to YVR and flaky wireless and book tours was just sort of dropped in there – but, yes, I’m on the road again, this time to the Kootenays courtesy of the Kootenays Library Federation. After popping into Winlaw to visit with Diane and Jim of Sono Nis Press for a couple of days, I’ll be tootling all over the place during a weeklong road trip in the mountains. My fingers are crossed that we don’t have a terrible snowfall (like they seem to be having in Colorado) because bad weather would make it very difficult to get from gig to gig.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
It wound up being a very vetty day today. In the morning, had a quick tour of the Shaw pet hospital's equine surgical facilities so I could take a few photos for the vet book. Worked for a bit at home and then, this afternoon, Dr. Gaunt from Elk Lake Veterinary Hospital came by to have a look at Emma's eye. Seems she bumped it or got a hayseed caught in there somewhere... The end result was a pretty yucky looking eye. Since I'm busy collecting vets at work photos, I snapped away as Dr. Gaunt did all kinds of intereseting things to Emma's inflamed eyeball. Fortunately, Dad (who has a phobia about eye things) was positioned on the far side of the pony so he didn't have to see what was going on. I have some pretty juicy shots of the nasty-looking eyeball, but I won't post them here just in case visitors are surfing through while snacking.
The prognosis is good. We don't think there's an ulcer or major damage to the cornea. So, we're treating with anti-inflammatories, steroids, and antibiotics to reduce the swelling and get rid of the infection. With any luck and barring any further injury, she should be ok. Hopefully, she will be well on the mend by Friday, which is when I head out of town for my school and library tour in the Kootenays.
While searching for a photograph of Dr. Dobson and a horse in an MRI scanner at the vet hospital in Guelph (for the vet book), found this photo of me in my Pony Express uniform in Nevada. This is one of my all time favourite photographs, taken by publicist Jan Mansfield. I was riding up to one of the many schools we visited across the state, mochila slung over the saddle, letters from BC students tucked inside the mailbags ready to be delivered to Nevada students. These children were playing outside when I arrived on Breezy, the half-Arab mare we bought in Nevada to ride along sections of the old Pony Express trail. The children spotted us and dropped everything to race across the playground, yelling, "Hey, cowboy!" I still can't quite believe that we made that crazy trip.... it's only when I stumble across photos like this one that I know we really must have been there.
Monday, October 23, 2006
My basic nature is somewhat disorganized (anyone who has ever seen my office will be laughing right about now and saying, "Somewhat?")... This does make it tricky to keep track of all the image files for the three photographically-enhanced books I'm working on at the moment. I have them stored on three different computers (don't ask) and even though I have done a lot of sorting and transferring and filing, there are hundreds and hundreds of images to keep track of. So, I've been going through the photo files, selecting and sorting, as I get closer to finalizing what's going into the current books and what might be useful for future titles (like the ploughing photo posted yesterday).
Anyway, while going through all these work-related photos, I was reminded just how many non-work images are sitting on my hard drives. So, I thought I'd start posting one a day here in a more or less random, disorganized fashion.
This first one is even kind of seasonal, being a bit creepy and Halloweenish. This is one of the scarecrows entered in the annual scarecrow-making contest down at the Historical Artifacts place...
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Posting this photo for no particular reason except that the blog is more interesting with less blathering and more visual effects. So, this was taken at the Historical Artifacts Park during the ploughing demonstration held earlier this summer. I really would like to do a book about the heavy horses and those who continue to love them despite the fact they've become more or less obsolete... Hopefully all these heavy horse photos I've been collecting won't all go to waste!
Friday, October 20, 2006
There aren't that many show-stopping hazards for the average storyteller, but laryngitis would certainly be one of them. Today was the BC Teacher-Librarian Association conference and I had two appearances to survive - the first, a panel with four Vancouver Island authors (Karen Rivers, Sheryl McFarlane, Kit Pearson, et moi...) moderated by former features editor of the Times-Colonist, Carolyn Heiman. This wasn't too bad - was able to suck on cough drops, speak softly, let the others talk a lot. Next was a quick lunch (minimal chatting required) followed by an author signing (again, much cough-dropping, water sipping, nodding... and, I might add... not much signing - lots of authors, lots of teacher-librarians, but not a whole lot of book-buying going on! Of course... they must all already have my books! Yes, that's it.)
Anyway, feeling like my head was encased in one of those old-fashioned diving helmets and my voice threatening to disappear again completely, I had to take the stage in the theatre and deliver a performance of the Marriage of Sir Gawain... Much stress. Huge relief that the microphone worked. With an intervention from the Gods of Story I got through it, though having been unable to do my usual neurotic rehearsing, it wasn't as tight a performance as I would have liked... And the venue (blinding lights shining in my eyes so I couldn't see the audience) was not the best for delivering a top notch performance. Storytelling is a very interactive, malleable, flexible kind of thing and when you can't see if the eyelids in the audience are open or drooping, it's hard to connect with the listeners.
The feeling is a bit like being alone in a shower and holding forth about something or other and then realizing there is actually nobody listening and having this horrible moment of self-consciousness that closes the throat and sets me to humming some inconsequential tune in a feeble attempt to reassure myself that I'm not losing my mind. This doesn't usually happen during a storytelling performance because when things are going well and I can see my audience properly, there's a lot of give and take - a conversation of sorts is going on so I really don't feel like I'm talking to myself.
But today, the strange combination of feeling a bit cut-off from everyone else in the room and having consumed far too much Tylenol and Echinacea and not doing my usual vocal warmups (with no voice, it seemed a bit pointless and I was seriously worried that I would use up whatever voice I might have had left) the whole thing was a bit of a psychadelic experience. As a final aside, it is very strange that this audience dissociative disorder doesn't really happen during a stage play - not just becuase usually one doesn't stand up there on the stage doing a very long monologue, but also because there's a script, whereas the story is a very fluid beast that can turn on the teller when the teller is feeling a little under the weather. I am guessing the feeling is more like hanging yourself out to dry as a stand-up comic - something I've always wanted to try but dread so much I've never bothered.
Good grief - what a ramble. After all that, came home and mucked out the paddocks, fed the horses, and then collapsed on the couch to sort of listen to the hockey game. I say sort of because I kept falling asleep. Did rouse myself to vertical position to hear the last 5 minutes of the game, followed by a heart-stopping 4:59 worth of overtime. And I'm glad I did because my beloved Canucks managed to pull out the win with only .7 of a second left to go!!!!!! Thank you, Sami Salo - you rock my world!
All of this was followed by an absolutely delicious dinner prepared by Dad who, entranced by France, cooked some scrumptious beef/onion/garlic/red pepper-laced rich sauce served up with herb-crisped roasted poatoes. Yum!
Anyway, feeling like my head was encased in one of those old-fashioned diving helmets and my voice threatening to disappear again completely, I had to take the stage in the theatre and deliver a performance of the Marriage of Sir Gawain... Much stress. Huge relief that the microphone worked. With an intervention from the Gods of Story I got through it, though having been unable to do my usual neurotic rehearsing, it wasn't as tight a performance as I would have liked... And the venue (blinding lights shining in my eyes so I couldn't see the audience) was not the best for delivering a top notch performance. Storytelling is a very interactive, malleable, flexible kind of thing and when you can't see if the eyelids in the audience are open or drooping, it's hard to connect with the listeners.
The feeling is a bit like being alone in a shower and holding forth about something or other and then realizing there is actually nobody listening and having this horrible moment of self-consciousness that closes the throat and sets me to humming some inconsequential tune in a feeble attempt to reassure myself that I'm not losing my mind. This doesn't usually happen during a storytelling performance because when things are going well and I can see my audience properly, there's a lot of give and take - a conversation of sorts is going on so I really don't feel like I'm talking to myself.
But today, the strange combination of feeling a bit cut-off from everyone else in the room and having consumed far too much Tylenol and Echinacea and not doing my usual vocal warmups (with no voice, it seemed a bit pointless and I was seriously worried that I would use up whatever voice I might have had left) the whole thing was a bit of a psychadelic experience. As a final aside, it is very strange that this audience dissociative disorder doesn't really happen during a stage play - not just becuase usually one doesn't stand up there on the stage doing a very long monologue, but also because there's a script, whereas the story is a very fluid beast that can turn on the teller when the teller is feeling a little under the weather. I am guessing the feeling is more like hanging yourself out to dry as a stand-up comic - something I've always wanted to try but dread so much I've never bothered.
Good grief - what a ramble. After all that, came home and mucked out the paddocks, fed the horses, and then collapsed on the couch to sort of listen to the hockey game. I say sort of because I kept falling asleep. Did rouse myself to vertical position to hear the last 5 minutes of the game, followed by a heart-stopping 4:59 worth of overtime. And I'm glad I did because my beloved Canucks managed to pull out the win with only .7 of a second left to go!!!!!! Thank you, Sami Salo - you rock my world!
All of this was followed by an absolutely delicious dinner prepared by Dad who, entranced by France, cooked some scrumptious beef/onion/garlic/red pepper-laced rich sauce served up with herb-crisped roasted poatoes. Yum!
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