A post with Pat!

Patricia Flewwelling, sans hat.

Honestly, I feel like I just got interviewed by Oprah. Except author Patricia Flewwelling is neither African-American, nor is she American, nor does she have her own TV show  ... come to think of it, Patricia is nothing at all like Oprah, other than she asks some insightful questions and sparks honest long-winded answers during her interviews.

I know Patricia from the Muskoka Novel Marathon, the annual July write-fest in Huntsville, Ontario, that thrusts writers in a room for three days and tells them to write novels. It's also a fundraiser for adult literacy programs. People come from all over Canada and elsewhere for this event. Patricia comes from Montreal, and it's a wonderful thing that she does.

Patricia is one of the fastest writers at the marathon, she has the best hat collection, and she's one of the most popular and generous. Not only does she regularly raise a ton of money for the event, but last year she also mentored a graduate from the local literacy program and helped her participate in the novel marathon for the first time. Isn't that fabulous?

Patricia is always generous with people around her, including me. She spent hours on the phone with me one night helping me through a rough writerly spot and for that I am eternally grateful. 

Lately she has been using her blog, Nine Day Wonder, to actively promote struggling authors like myself. If you would like to be interviewed, you should get in touch with her. Knowing Pat, she'll be more than happy to give you a hand.

In the meantime, drop by and say hello! I'd love to show Pat a little bloggerly love and support!

Click here for the interview.

Click here to buy Pat's new book, The Obliteration Machine (The Fog of Dockside City).

P.S. Sorry, I haven't been around all that much lately. As you know I was pretty sick in November but I did get my Remicade treatment a few days ago and am starting to feel better. Thank you all for your good wishes and kind words. You all mean the world to me, you really do. oxoxo

Laughter, the best medicine

What writer doesn't have angst? It's a mandatory condition of the person who feels compelled to spend hours alone with nothing but a keyboard and an imagination, and then puts his/her pulsing heart onto a gingerly thrust sleeve and begs, "Please like me."

Even when readers do say they like our work, we don't really believe them. "They're just being nice." Deep down we know we're not really worthy of the word writers; we're pretenders. Waiting for the day that will surely come when someone outs us as the frauds we are.

The good news is we all feel this way. On Saturday I was at the wrap-up party for the Muskoka Novel Marathon and, for me, this was almost a better learning opportunity than the marathon itself, where we actually wrote. At the party, we talked about writing and that's when it struck me that even the most successful, published authors suffer from crippling angst. That's such a relief, knowing everybody else is just as wonky as I am.

I'd been feeling extra angsty about my novel lately. I'm waiting for revisions to come back from my good friend and fellow writer Laurita Miller, who I completely trust and adore. On one hand I've got my sleeves rolled up, waiting to get to work. On the other, I'm tormented she'll say "this is a total piece of shite." I understand this is how all writers feel so I'm trying not to freak out about it.

Still, I wanted to test my writing. I wanted to read it to the group at the marathon, who knew nothing about my novel or, for that matter, very little about me. I wanted to hear their honest reaction – and that's easy to judge when you're writing humour. If they laugh, you're gold. If the room is quiet, you're sunk.

Well, they laughed. Heartily. The room rang with laughter. I had to pause in several places to wait for the laughter to die down.

Oh. How I relished that sound. It was like the warmest of blankets; it was like getting roses when it's not your birthday; most of all, it gave me hope that maybe people will like the story, maybe someone will publish it, maybe they'll make a movie about it and Meryl Streep will be the star and I'll be rich and famous and, and ....

Yes. I'm being silly now. But not about how that laughter made me feel. That exquisite laughter. I shall carry it in my heart, today and always.

Or at least until the next bout of angst sets in.

I'm done!

I don't even know how to say this so I'll just say it: I finished my novel yesterday.

WOOT!

I had set a word count goal of 8,000 words for yesterday but by lunchtime, with only a couple of thousand words under my belt, I was closing in for the kill.

A bit later I was writing a paragraph and suddenly I realized it was the LAST paragraph. It was a stunning revelation. I had thought that writing the end would require more planning, more, I don't know, fireworks. I didn't even know this was the last paragraph... until those last few words appeared on the page and a flood of recognition washed over me in a feverish chill ... I typed a period at 2:31 p.m.

And then I started to cry.

I must say, if you're going to finish a novel, I would highly recommend you do it at a novel marathon among friends who are also writers. They truly appreciate the momentous nature of the occasion. Within minutes of that fateful finish I was hugged and high-fived, wooted, photographed, cheered and applauded.

I drove home from the marathon in a complete and utter daze. I still feel that way.

What I need to know is how I should celebrate this milestone.

Champagne?

Cake?

Dancing?

Tell me, dear friends, what I should do to celebrate.

A caveat – I'm going camping today and won't be online for about a week, but I will anxiously await your answers on my return.

Thanks to everyone for being so supportive, everyone – I am so fortunate. Hugs and big sloppy kisses to all you all. oxoxo

My novel marathon t-shirt, which I LOVE.
The caption, above, is what it says
on the back. Be careful, ex-husbands ...
you should never mess with a writer!

Forty-one more words

Hey everyone! Greetings from the 2012 Muskoka Novel Marathon in truly beautiful downtown Huntsville!

I am having a glorious time. The food is FANTASTIC, I mean INCREDIBLE (even if you don't write two words, the food is worth the drive).

My fellow writers are smart and talented and working their collective butts off. I mean, some of them are crazy, just pure crazy. I always thought I was a pretty fast writer. HA! So this is how it works: everyone writes double spaced in a common font in 14 pt. Whenever a writer finishes 10 pages, he or she writes their name and their page count thus far on a little slip of paper and posts it on a bookshelf.

I just finished 40 pages. I'm thinking I'm all that and a bag of chips. But noooooooooo - there are writers here who have finished 120 PAGES in the same time that I've done 40. Holy page count, Batman!

I don't know how they do it. I mean, I've asked and they give me reasons like the whole book has been in their heads for months and now it's just spewing out but, come on! I don't even think I can TYPE fast enough to produce 120 pages in so few hours!

I try to tell myself that they're just repeating "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country," but these people are experienced, published, talented writers and they are just CRANKING out the joy juice they call writing.

Well, kudos to them. There's no way in hell I can write that fast so I try not to pay any attention when they're posting 10 new pages every 10 minutes.

Anyway, I am doing absolutely FINE! I am only 41 words away from writing my hoped-for goal of 8,000 words today. And last night I cranked out 2,500. So I'm doing well and I'm absolutely pumped that I will meet my 8,000 word target again tomorrow.

Of course my real target is finishing my novel and I have to say it's within my grasp. The stuff I'm writing now is the very stuff of wrap-up. The beginnings of endings. It's all rather heady and wonderful and I'm happy as a pig in you-know-what.

Well, I have to go. They're about to announce the fundraising winners and after that is dinner. When that's all done with, I'm going to write a while longer, find 41 words or so deep in what's left of my tired heart, and meet my target.

This is a wonderful time to be a writer and I'm so proud to be here.

Let the marathon begin!

Today's the Big Day! WOOOOOOOOOOOOT! It feels like Christmas morning, only without the snowbanks, credit card hangover and egg nog brain freeze. (Egg nog brain freeze. That would be an egg nog noggin' ice cap. And a cap is a hat that sits on the noggin'. So really it would be an egg nog noggin' noggin'...)

Today – tonight, actually – is opening day for the Muskoka Novel Marathon. For the next three or four days (I'm only doing three) writers will be hunkered down in one room (Club 55 in the Algonquin Theatre building in Huntsville, Ontario), staring at their laptops, trying to squeeze out a novel from their fevered, blistered, battered brains. I mean, who DOES that?

Believe it or not, plenty of people have gone on to have these marathon novels published. Some of the best and brightest writers in this part of the world come to the marathon to accomplish just that. Judges will look at the finished manuscripts and the winner will go to a real life agent for critique and possible consideration.

I'm not going to be submitting my manuscript, however. In order to be judged, manuscripts have to be written during the marathon, with no other help other than a single page of notes. Me, I'm going to be using the marathon time to FINISH the book I already have in progress.

This whole novel has been a seat-of-the-pants adventure all along. I have a vague notion of what's going to happen but that's it. Generally I sit down at the computer and stuff pops down onto the page and usually I go, huh, that's cool, or that sucks, and keep typing. The problem is that it seems like I'm never going to finish. I'm more than 70,000 words into it with no clear end in sight. I was starting to feel like this was a triathlon with no finish line and the whole project was becoming a millstone around my tired neck.

So just recently I said, enough! And I sat down with my manuscript and a piece of paper and a pen, and I wrote down everything I wanted to happen. In point form. What appeared on the page was eight different events – eight chapters. That wasn't as daunting as I thought it was. I did some math and figured that if I wrote approximately 2,500 words per chapter, I would need to come up with approximately 18,500 more words to finish the novel.

I figured I could write 2,500 words on Friday night. Then I'd have 8,000 words to write on Saturday and 8,000 on Sunday. That breaks down to 4,000 words before lunch and 4,000 after. Or, approximately 1,000 words an hour.

It sounds kinda crazy, I know, but it's DOABLE. I know I'm perfectly capable of writing 1,000 words in an hour ... when I'm fresh ... the problem, of course, is keeping that up, hour after hour, for two days.

The good news is I'm going to be surrounded by other writers writing their faces off, too. Their fingers will be blistered. Their brains are going to be fried. Their backs will ache and their heads will be nodding as exhaustion sets in.

My, my, doesn't this sound like fun?

We will  cheer each other on, of course. We shall kibbitz. We shall LAUGH. We shall drink enough java juice to make Columbian coffee cartels dance with caffeinated joy.

I'm excited about this. My work in progress has been idle for too long. I want to FINISH. I want to start editing. I want desperately to send it out into the world. It's a fictional story that is based on my personal experiences and it's full of love, pain, sadness and great joy.

So wish my luck. Wish me strength. Wish my eyelids to remain open. And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all your generous donations. Above all else, the marathon is a fundraiser for adult literacy programs. It's writers helping readers. How great is that?

For Clarence, for literacy

Clarence Brazier of Sprucedale, Ontario (just up the road from me) was 93 years old when he decided enough was enough. He would learn how to read.

By age 95, with help from the Muskoka Literacy Council, Mr. Brazier achieved his goal. 

He was 100 when he received the prestigious Canada Post National Literacy Award from the Governor General of Canada.

He died this spring, in his 106th amazing year, but his determination to overcome the seemingly insurmountable remains an inspiration to so many others. After all, if a 93-year-old deaf man can learn to read and write, well then anyone can, right? And if someone can do that, anything is possible.

The good work of the Muskoka Literacy Council continues through the adult literacy programs of the Simcoe-Muskoka YMCA and one of the main fundraising events for this important program is the annual Muskoka Novel Marathon. Once again this year, 30 writers will enclose themselves in one room (Club 55 in downtown Huntsville) for a long weekend of novel writing. To take part in this marathon of words, they must raise money for YMCA Literacy Services. 

It's not just for another program. It's for people like Clarence.

I'm participating this year and I'm trying my utmost to raise money for this important cause. Anything you can contribute is greatly appreciated. $5? Awesome. $10? Even more awesome. $25? Well that's just a big jar of Awesome Sauce! It doesn't have to be a king's ransom. 

Those who donate will be highly regarded by me forever, as well as being mentioned on my blog (ooh boy!). As well, contributors could win one of three Life on the Muskoka River mugs. 

If you could mention my efforts on your own blog, I will also throw your name into the hat for a mug. Just mention in the comments that you have and I'll be sure to include you in the draw. 

Thank you dear friends. And thank you, Clarence, for being such an inspiration.

To donate, click here. 

I could use your help – Musoka Novel Marathon 2012

From our local newspaper when I participated in the
2010 Muskoka Novel Marathon.

OK, I don't think I've ever done this. Asked for money on this blog. I've asked for votes, I've asked for participation in blog contests but I don't believe I've ever asked anyone for actual cold hard cash (except my mother, who I have asked far too many times over my lifetime – sorry Mom). So here goes. Now's your chance to run away ... get going! Get!

Still here?

I could really use your help. I'm participating in the 2012 Muskoka Novel Marathon to help raise money for YMCA adult literacy programs. You wouldn't think, in this country, in this day and age of free, public education, that anyone could manage to go through life without being able to read or write but in the District of Muskoka alone, one-third of the population is illiterate. And according to recent studies, 27 per cent of Canadians aged 45 to 65 have zero to rudimentary literacy skills. Statistics are even higher in other countries.

You don't have that problem. Otherwise you wouldn't be a blogger. But can you imagine going through life not being able to read and write? Here are some examples, taking from one of the co-covenors of the Novel Marathon, writer Karen Wehrstein:

In these times, the written word is ubiquitous, in every aspect of life.
As a news junkie, I take it totally for granted that, any time I like, I can find out what’s happening, from every angle, all over the world. A person who can’t read is limited to what people tell him, or the relatively shallow and parochial views of TV and radio.
I need work: I whip through the want ads, looking in particular for wordy-type jobs.  He must rely on someone else to read the ads to him – and he knows not to bother with jobs that are anything but menial labour.
I tailor my resume on my computer to suit whatever I’m applying for.  He can’t write up one resume.  If he did, he’d have to reveal that he left school after eighth grade because he couldn’t cope (he can learn, but not with the teaching methods used in public schools) ...or his situation at home was too unstable to enable him to handle the pressure ...or else he is from another country and struggling to learn English.
More than three items on my shopping list, and it goes on paper.  He just has to remember everything.
I want to cook some dish I’ve never cooked before, and I can find a score of recipes for it by Googling.  He’s stuck with the few he knows.
My date book is loaded with appointments, consults, dates, special notes.  He schedules his life by memory.
Filling out forms—income tax, mortgage applications, emergency info for school, intake for medical services—I consider an unpleasant necessity of life.  He’d love to be able to.
I want to call a plumber or a lawyer or a dentist or an acquaintance whose number I don’t know: I get out the phonebook.  He has to be satisfied with the numbers he’s memorized or can ask someone for.  When he gets a bill, he has to have someone read it to him.
I have to write an important note to my child’s teacher or doctor.  He has to get someone else to write it (possibly the kid, when old enough) and he can only sign it with an “X.”
I sign a contract: if I don’t read the fine print, it’s my own stupid fault.  It isn’t his.  Being unable to read caveats, he is easy for the unscrupulous to rip off.
I want to know what’s going to be on TV tonight; I read the listings.  He’s limited to pre-announcements on other programs.
I want to know what ingredients are in a packaged food I’m buying, or a bottle of pills: I read the label.  He has to live without that knowledge or—with the indignity it entails—rely on someone else.
My young child gets a gift that says “Some assembly required.”  I carefully follow the enclosed instructions.  All he has is a bag of parts, the picture on the box, and an eager, impatient kid.
I curse that I don’t score perfect on the written part of the driver’s test.  He is hesitant even to try it.  He won’t be able to read street signs, or the vehicle owner’s manual, or license forms, or insurance documents.
I make friends and contacts all over the world, on the Internet.  All such opportunities are closed to him.
I journal; I track my life, my observations, my changes.  Sometimes when I read it back, I realize that my memories of the past are distorted.  He has to live without such a personal record and what it could teach him.
I draw inspiration, comfort and enlightenment from scripture or other spiritual writings.  He can only do so if someone else is willing to take the time to read them to him.
Helping my kids with homework, I can share with them all sorts of little tips and tricks that helped me become a straight-A student.  His kids are on their own.
Over and over I hear that the best way to give youngsters a head start in reading is to read them a story every night.  So I do, and when they start to read along, I correct and teach.  He can’t, and so he worries that if his kids grow up to live the same nightmare he is living... it will be his own fault.
I want to get involved in politics, I study the issues, learn about the parties and candidates, hand out brochures, participate in online forums, write letters to the editor.  Politically, he is invisible, because politics runs on the written word.
All around me is information.  Meaning leaps out at me from every piece of paper, book spine, package, window on my computer screen.  There’s a world of it available with a click of a mouse; I can research any topic under the sun.  He is a stranger in a strange land of incomprehensible symbols.  The doors easily and unthinkingly opened by others around him are locked and barred to him.  Knowledge is power, and without the primary way of receiving it, he is relatively powerless, and feels it keenly.  Competing in a verbal world, he knows he is at a huge disadvantage.
To manage in the information age, he has to work twice as hard.  Knowing the stigma attached to illiteracy, he uses many strategies to conceal his inability -- though he knows people will see through it anyway.  That takes even more work, as well as the shame inherent in the ruse.  Keeping himself convinced he isn’t stupid is a constant effort.
It’s a Catch-22.  He’d love to be able to train for well-paying work -- but without well-paying work, how can he afford reading lessons?
This is where the YMCA comes in.  Using funds raised through the Novel Marathon and other channels, and hours contributed by trained volunteers (many of them retired teachers), the Y offers free instruction in literacy, numeracy, computer and basic life skills to out-of-school teens and adults. 
Local literacy programming has produced some amazing success stories, including the recently deceased and much-loved centenarian Clarence Brazier, who learned to read in his 90s.  Some grads have since opened businesses of their own; others can now read and write well enough to help their children with their homework.
All have seen their self confidence grow in leaps and bounds as a result of the success they have had.
They are overcoming all the above challenges.  The squiggles that are everywhere in life are becoming meaningful to them, opening up the whole world.  They are going on to seize control of life, to participate, to contribute, to enjoy, and to make their mark in the world.  They are enriched, and so is the economy and society itself.  We ALL benefit from this work.

The novel marathon itself is kind of crazy. Well, not kind of. Just plain crazy is more like it. On July 13 at 8 p.m. a bell will sound in one small room in Huntsville, Ontario, and 30 mostly INSANE writers will start writing and keep writing ALL WEEKEND LONG. Some will carry on writing straight through to Monday, eating, not-sleeping and breathing the writing process. Some people actually will write most of a novel, start to finish, in those three days. Me? I'm not starting a novel, I'm going to FINISH a novel, the story I've been bleeding over for longer than I care to admit. I'm in the home stretch and I think another 30,000 words will get me to the finish line. And you know what? I do believe a weekend of intense writing should be enough time to get it done.

I think it's amazing that writers give up one of the prime weekends of their short summers to raise money for adult literacy programs. It's taking a skill they love and take for granted, and giving it to others.

I know money is tight. I KNOW. If you don't have anything to share, just wish me luck. If you can spare a few dollars, just click HERE and you can easily donate as little or as much as you like for the cause. I have set a rather lofty goal for myself – $2,500 – and so far I have raised $180 (which is why I thought it was high time to get busy and get fundraising). I have the following people to thank for their very generous online donations:

Ed Boutilier

Linda McLean

Lori Freshwater

Laurita Miller

THANK YOU SO MUCH! Big hugs to you all!

I'm going to start listing the names underneath the Muskoka chair on the right, of everyone who donates. Perhaps I'll see your name there some day soon!

Thanking you in advance, dear friends, for your donations and/or your good wishes!

For more about the Muskoka Novel Marathon, click HERE.

To donate, click HERE.