My Broken Writing Muscle

My friend Mark asked me on facebook tonight why I hadn't posted a big follow-up yet on the Muskoka Novel Marathon.
He said something like, "whadja do, break your writing muscle?" (It was something like that. I'm too lazy to go back to fb to copy the exact quote.)
You know what, Mark?
You are absolutely right.
My writer's muscle is strained, sprained, busted, stomped, flattened and wheezed out. Not to mention popped like a big fat zit.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe...
(Oh, that reminds me of The Littlest Hobo!)

This guy's a real noodle, but anyway ....

Tut-Tut, It's Smut!

All hail the Baby Blue Queen of the Blogging World.
Kat's Crooked Tales is to the #fridayflash set what late night cable is to network television. She's racy. She knows no borders. And she writes like a house on fire. I don't understand why more people don't read her stories. Maybe it's the sexy subject matter. Maybe it offends.
To me it's like any genre - if the writing is good, I don't care what it's about.
Kat's stories are like that.
Hey, I wouldn't send my kids over to read most of her stories, but since I reached the age of majority a day or two ago I go there regularly with a skip in my step.
This blog isn't just about Kat, though, it's about Kat's Contest. She is hosting a no holds barred adult fiction contest. A Smutfest, I believe she's calling it. And while she's hoping to see some racy content, she's also hoping for adult-oriented tales of all stripes. She can describe this best, but I see it as a forum for stories you would like to write, but don't want your kids or your mother to see. When you write them for your own purposes, you don't swear, or you cut back on the violence. What Kat wants you to do is write the story you always wanted to, the one where your mother isn't looking.
And just in case she is, Kat wants the stories to be anonymous. She'll post them that way, without anyone knowing who you are. I guess she needs to know who you are - but nobody else will.
Sounds kinda fun, eh?
I have one that's been tickling away at me for a while... something I definitely don't want my mother to see. Yes, I know she reads my blog regularly, but that's beside the point...
Need more details? Put on your best lipstick and your breathiest voice and pay Kat a call.
You can see what she's up to here.

Cousin Wendy

This is my cousin Wendy.
That is her hair.
Up until this week, Wendy had the most stunning hair of anyone I knew. In her mid-50s, there wasn't a gray hair on her head. Virgin hair, they call it. No dye had ever touched her tresses.
This is the second time Wendy has cut her hair to provide wigs for cancer patients. And, as a celebration of her retirement, Wendy raised more than $8,000 for cancer research.
Just looking at this photo brings tears to my eyes.
Is there a more beautiful woman than someone like Wendy? So selfless, so brave, so dedicated to her cause.
I am proud to be related to you, cousin. Congratulations on your fundraising, your retirement and for looking gorgeous even after your head is shaved.
You do us Hooper dames proud.

P.S. That's Wendy before the "haircut." Told you she had great hair! Not to worry, though, she says it grows fast and will be back in no time.
In the meantime, see more about her story at her blog. And make sure you click on the link at right, where you can be a part of Wendy's fundraising adventure.

The Reading

Cathy Olliffe (Third Place), Robert M. Murdoch (Second Place), Paul Feist (Honourable Mention) 

and Karen Wehrstein (First Place) happily clutch their certificates and cheques following 

award presentations for the Muskoka Short Story Contest, hosted by 

Gravenhurst's Blank Page Writers Group and Metroland North Media. 

The reading night was held in the Gravenhurst Public Library 

last Thursday evening.

Photo by Dave Webster

Maybe it was just coffee and cookies in the children's room at the local library but, to me, it was a really, really big shew.
Winning third place in the Muskoka Short Story Contest was an affirmation that maybe I can write. That maybe I don't completely suck. That maybe writing is a worthwhile pursuit. That maybe I can seriously consider doing more of this.
I'm just full of confidence, aren't I? Hey, you're no different - show me a writer and I'll show you a bundle of insecurity, pronouns and emotional wreckage. I was reading what Jon Strother had to say about writers needing to develop a thick skin and I can no sooner do that than wake up 50 pounds lighter and 25 years younger with blonde hair.
I think all of the writers who placed in the contest were equally amazed to be there. And yet all of them display an extraordinary amount of talent.

Take Paul Feist, for example. He wrote one of my favourite stories of the evening. It was funny, it was sad, it was human. His sentimental tale The Button introduced us to an elderly couple and their adopted son. It was character-rich and beautifully written. Paul, a local actor and an affable retired advertising salesman, told it with passion. I had tears in my eyes when he was done.
I know Paul a little bit - he just stepped away from his long-time career at the Bracebridge Examiner, where I work designing ads and he worked selling them. He was a joy around the office, with his booming voice and his self-deprecating humour. He is definitely missed and it was a pleasure to see him and his lovely wife on Thursday.
Robert Murdoch, the second prize winner, was probably the most surprised about his award. He doesn't profess to be a writer but boy, does he know how to put pen to paper. Robert's funny story Lessons Hard Learned about setting his outdoor woodstove (and the neighbourhood) on fire kept everybody giggling.

Karen Wehrstein was the real star of the show. An novelist, blogger and co-organizer of this weekend's Muskoka Novel Marathon, Karen wrote Her Husband's Killer as a futuristic sci fi loaded with real human emotion. If you love science fiction, you'll want to check out Karen's website Chevenga Lives.
As for me, I couldn't have been any more tickled, standing up at the front of the room, reading For Bella, the story about a man who drowned his children in a rain barrel; a horrible story, but something I felt compelled to write.

I'd like to thank the judges of the contest for their hard work, especially novelist Jacqueline Stirrup (the woman in the green dress pictured with Karen) who made me feel so welcome. I had coffee with Jackie one day and I came away very impressed. I'd also like to thank Tracy Nita Pender for talking me into entering; my fiance Dave Webster who puts up with me at the computer for hours at a time; and all my online blogging buddies who are so supportive.
My prize was $25. That's a lot of money. Not sure what I'm going to do with it. I am thinking of framing it and hanging it on a wall. The first money I ever made writing fiction.
Look out, Stephen King, here I come.
***
By the way I'm nervous and pumped about the Muskoka Novel Marathon. Thirty writers (a full house) will be devoting the entire weekend to being in one room in Huntsville, glued to their computers, trying to write the bones of a novel in that short amount of time.
Are they crazy?
Am I crazy?
Um, yeah!
More than just a way to get some writing done, the marathon is also a fundraiser for literacy. I've been collecting pledges from everyone I know, and now am compelled to show up and try to write something.
I've never, ever seriously considered writing a novel. It sounds BIG. Almost TOO BIG. Ostentatious, even.
Eegads, what am I getting myself into?
More on this later... by the way, if you feel you have to send me big lumps of cash, I will not turn you down. It's a good cause.
Good yes,
Scary, oh yeah.

Sunday Night. Already?

How did it get to be Sunday night?
Friday arrived with such promise - and now, after a hectic weekend, I'm staring down both barrels of another busy week.
Friday night was dinner and quick euchre with The Girls. The caramel tiramisu was to die for.
Saturday was a full round of laundry, shopping and cooking, with bits of blogging thrown in for good measure.
Saturday night was an all-out Euchre Pot Luck Fest with Lynda and Roger as our gracious hosts. Paula and Nico brought couscous that was fantastic, Roger grilled chicken thighs, Lynda cooked rice and beans, Leah and Vic brought spinach salad with strawberries and I toted the world's best potato salad. For dessert we noshed on wild blueberry cobbler and rhubarb streusel. We ate and played cards in their beautiful, beautiful garden, all decked out in white Christmas lights and moonrays, soft music playing in the background, the scent of flowers and laughter ringing out into the moonlit summer sky.
Today was interesting. Dave and I went to a wedding shower for Dave's ex-wife's nephew. Now, I'm a pretty well-adjusted chick and Dave's ex-inlaws are good people; great people, really. I like them a whole lot. Still, hanging with Dave's ex and her relatives is a little high on my weird detector.
When I get there I'm always quiet (me, quiet - amazing, I know), battling the flight or fight adrenaline that's coursing through my butter-encrusted veins. After a few hours of fine conservation and amazing food it's time to go and I'm hugging everybody like they're long-lost friends. Mary slow-roased barbecued pulled pork and, halleluiah jesus, it was better than se....ntence structure.
Tonight we met up with my ex and picked up the boys. We met them in the parking area where Dave will be taking them on a wilderness camping adventure next weekend. They're in the house right now planning how many pepperettes and fish worms they'll need to pack.
I'm outside in the gazebo, blogging and watching the traffic go by.
We live on a very quiet country road. We're lucky to see a dozen cars go by on a regular day. But apparently there's been a grass fire on the main highway so traffic is being rerouted down our lane. It's crazy seeing all these cars racing along our road, that meanders so curvaceously along the banks of the Muskoka River.
That's me, by the way, sleeping in the hammock on the Saturday of Canada Day weekend at Algonquin Park. I was so out of it I had no idea Dave took my photo. I was beyond tired. Life is so hectic. Sometimes you just need a hammock, a blankie and some shut-eye to recharge.
Oh, I've never seen a photo of me sleeping before.
I look grumpy, don't you think?