Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 178

Ellen Seligman, editor extraordinaire, RIP

Shocking news: Ellen Seligman, the best known Canadian editor whose edited books won countless awards, has died. She was not old, but she was wise. I quote her in So True, my book about memoir, something I heard her say once - that a book is never finished, it is finished ENOUGH.

I knew her a bit through our mutual friend Eleanor Wachtel. She was beautiful, regal, extremely bright - perhaps difficult to please. Many writers will be in mourning. We all need a good editor, and she was the best.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/arts/books-and-media/celebrated-editor-ellen-seligman-dies/article29394829/

Good Friday in Victoria

From Lani's deck, 8 a.m.   Dallas Road, 10.30 a.m.
What a stunning day for a Good Friday holiday.
Art Gallery of Victoria, Emily Carr: "Light Sweeping Through", 1938.

rejecting J. K. Rowling

Never give up, writers - at least, if you've done everything possible to make sure your manuscript is ready. J. K. Rowling, the first female novelist to become a billionaire, has posted some of the rejection letters she received for the novel she wrote under a pseudonym. One suggested she take a writing course. I know a good one, Joanne!
http://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-35899243?ocid=socialflow_facebook&ns_mchannel=social&ns_campaign=bbcnews&ns_source=facebook 

disagreement

Munro's Books, which we visited yesterday, has just been voted the third best bookstore in the world by National Geographic! I believe it - it's gorgeous and packed.

Just had a polite argument with my daughter over FB; after the Ghomeshi verdict, she changed her status to "I BELIEVE SURVIVORS." Should we, I asked her, use the same word for the women in this trial, this particular trial, as we use for people who got through the Holocaust, the residential schools, cancer? She believes that this trial will make it harder for abused women to come forward, and if she's right, that is tragic. But I do not see this verdict as a miscarriage of justice. In this particular trial.

We agreed to disagree on this one.

And Rob Ford is dead. This means absolutely nothing, except that nobody deserves to die young of cancer. And let's leave it at that.

Another gloomy day in Victoria, chilly with a bit of rain. Lan and I got the double-decker bus to the Museum, where John Lennon's Rolls Royce is on display. We saw recreations of the former lives of B.C. - sailing, lumbering, fish, mining, really well done, great for kids. And we saw a huge roomful of the Nature Photography competition winners, stunning, even the ones by children aged 10. What a planet we inhabit. There was a depressing part about extinction and animal cruelty; we avoided that.

 The famous and venerable Empress, on the water.
Blooming in the rain
 Lani and her two men - there's Maurice, in the distance, and there's Bourbon.
The view from their deck. Often there are ducks, kayaks, dragon boats - she says otters but I haven't seen any.

We are doing very little for the rest of the day, which suits me just fine.

Allan Gray just sent me these; I'm having dinner with him and other friends on Saturday night. This is the meal between "Shadow Box" shows in about 1977, Allan looking ghostly on the right, I at the back with mouth open - what a surprise - and in front on the right, a talented young actor called Michael J. Fox.
 -A pic of us in 1979; I just wrote to say, God, Allan, I hope we both still look this good.

The Lady in the Van

 The floatplane from Vancouver to Victoria entered a fog patch and all the windows, including the pilot's at the front, were sheer white, visibility zero. Eventually the clouds parted ...
...and there were islands in the mist.
The gorgeous Munro's Books in downtown Victoria, founded originally by Alice and her husband. Stained glass, murals, space, tons of heavenly books.

A great reunion with Lani and her beloved Maurice, who've rented a house on the water here for the winter. Lani drove from Stratford with Bourbon, the most beautiful and wise dog ever, and will start the drive back on Sunday, just in time for a huge storm back east. It was drizzling all day here. Lan and I walked around Victoria and went to see "The Lady in the Van." I'd thought it would be a celebration of Maggie Smith, which is certainly is, but it's so much more than that, a fabulous film about loyalty, kindness, the power of music, the difficulties of writing, and, once again, the destructive power of the Catholic church. Lan and I adored this film and recommend it highly.

Today - grey, less drizzle. I'm happy. There's a dog.

wet

Wednesday morning, this is more like the Vancouver I know - thick cloud and pouring rain. Especially unfortunate this morning, because I'm taking a float plane to Victoria soon and normally, the flight over the Gulf Islands would be stunning. However.

Off to visit Lani, who hired me for a tour shortly after I arrived in Vancouver in 1975, and who is now the same fierce eccentric she was then. Only now, perhaps slightly fewer drugs and less drink. Oh the Seventies - it's a miracle we're all alive. Viva Lani - the one and only.

People below running, biking, walking dogs on the seawall as if there's no torrential downpour. I'm a big city wuss.

gorgeousland

 English Bay just outside Bruce's apartment
 The view just now from his balcony
His tulips.

This is the most beautiful city in the world, surely. I think I've said that before. There has been a great deal of rain, but today was sunny and stunning. The flight was painless; I watched two movies I'd wanted to see, always a plus: "The Big Short," which was superb and horrifying in equal measure - a must see, a fantastic film with a vital story to tell - and "Remember," an Atom Egoyan film starring Christopher Plummer, a very good film.

Dear Margaret was there to meet me, and what a drive it was into town with those snow-tipped mountains all around and spring exploding, cherry blossoms, magnolias, forsythia - so gorgeous. Bruce's friend Alex was waiting with the key, and here I am, chez Bruce in the most magnificent location imaginable - right on the water. I unpacked and bought groceries and walked and even played a little on Bruce's piano. Supper with a glass of wine sitting in my host's battered chair by the sliding glass door, looking at the ocean, boats, birds, the sunset on its way.

I'm very glad to be here. Brucie, I see by the itinerary he left, is in Venice today. Almost as good.

up and away, minus tiny tiny knife

We're off! I feel better already. On the advice of my savvy friend Richard, I got the new UPS Express to Pearson - wonderful, smooth as air, 25 minutes from Union Station to Terminal 1 on a brand new sparkling train, only $6 for seniors. Now that's a deal. My suitcase and I made it easily to the Air Canada bag drop; the bag weighs 52 pounds but that didn't bother the check-in woman, so it doesn't bother me. Only one glitch - how could I be so stupid? At the last minute before leaving home, I slipped my tiny Swiss Army knife into - not my suitcase, but my backpack. Idiot! Caught by the eagle eye. I could certainly do a lot of damage with a one inch penknife. Maybe it's the nail file they're afraid of. Or the tweezers.

Sigh. I know, better safe than sorry. I'm happy to be safe from wild-eyed women with vicious one inch knives.

Now I'm at the western gates, it's 10.30 a.m. and the travel hungries have started. Though I had a full breakfast at home, I've just had a fat pita full of good stuff and a Starbucks latte macchiato. And thou. My backpack full of snacks, New Yorkers, and ripped-out newspaper articles I haven't had time to read these past weeks. But what I'm going to do right now is a final edit of the essay and send it off from here. Then I'm truly free to explore.

Last night, the last class of the Ryerson term - as usual, they all feel like family. One man, who's in his mid-80's, told me I have joined the list of people who have changed his life. What an honour. He said that all his life, he has resented his cold, judgemental father, but when he started to write about his childhood, he discovered for the first time how lucky he'd been.

And I said, you know, your childhood can be both - lucky, and with a cold, judgemental father. We can encompass all those stories and more. Lucky us.

Lucky me - the big skies of Canada await. Talk to you soon.

Half an hour later: MAILED! And now we go.
To keep you busy and inspired, Event magazine is posting a non-fiction writing prompt every day.
http://www.eventmagazine.ca/2016/01/non-fiction-prompt-1/

And FYI, holds true for memoir too:

the big rip

ALWAYS, at this stage, I announce to all who will listen that I will never travel again. There is an actual sound, the sound of roots being ripped out of the ground, that is the background as I pack. Ripriprip. Which is how I know I have to get out of here at least once a year. Because I really really do not want to leave.

Had a lovely visit with the little family, and now I won't see them for a whole month. How blessed I am to have an armload of children, a small squirmy one, a bigger squirmy one. Eli and I spent 15 minutes  sitting with my computer looking of pictures of him when he was Ben's age. And now he's nearly four. He drew big rectangles - "here's anudder door" - all over my daytimer.
Snack time - for Eli an apple, for poor starving Ben, his own boot. Delicious.

Now to get into my big girl clothes and truck to Ryerson for the last class of term - our party class with food and drink, which is good, because there's nothing to eat or drink left in my kitchen. It's cold - a momentary sprinkle of snow reminding me why I'm heading for spring. My bag is packed and weighs exactly 50 pounds, yes, terrible - but there's a stack of my own books in there for distribution, my own sheets for Bruce's bed, heavy rainboots for the raincoast, and a lot more stuff I won't wear or need.

I miss home already and I'm still here.

Finished a draft yesterday of the essay I might send to a competition, sent it to my friends and constant editors Margaret and Chris, heard back, did a rewrite, sent it out again. Now I'm entering the tunnel of travel, won't be able to think about writing for a while. It won't be long, though, before I'm back to it.

And for you, there will be pictures of cherry blossoms and mountains and the sea. I promise.

my kids: a love story

Tonight, a date with the two adults who matter most, and the two small people as well. The plan was that Anna and the boys and I would meet at Value Village, the biggest in Toronto and full of great deals, to shop for half an hour before meeting Sam at his bar the Gaslight, just a block away. And then Sam would treat us all to dinner at Emerson's, a restaurant nearby.

Anna was held up in traffic, so I combed Value Village by myself, ending up with a big Fisher-Price pirate boat for you know who. At the cash, the groovy young woman standing behind me, wearing heavy eyeliner, a vintage cloth coat and battered Converse sneakers, said, "Is that to keep you company in the bathtub?" Yes indeed!

Sam's bar, his second home, is funky and comfortable. At first glance, I mistook the tall sandy-haired young man in the kitchen for my son, and when I told him so, he said, "I'm honoured." We had a drink and then went to the restaurant, where my son and daughter seemed to know every single person who works there - Sam because this is his profession and his 'hood and Anna because most of the kids she went to school with have ended up in the same business - including her friend Grant Van Gameren, who used to hang out at our house and is now the superstar chef of the city.

One of the owners of Emerson's took Ben and gave him a 15 minute tour around, while the other owner sat with his arm around Anna and talked old times with her and business with Sam. Eli  scribbled with crayons and I schepped naches, as the Jews say - revelled in my pride. Oh oh oh, how I wish my father the gourmet, the man who loved good food and wine, could partake of this, the sophisticated cuisine of Toronto - 'cuisine' and 'Toronto', in the same sentence! - and his grandchildren at the centre of it all.
That's Ben in the mirror behind, getting his tour. These two are 100% siblings, yet physically, they have nothing in common. In other ways, though - hospitality, loyalty, generosity, humour, a certain amount of temper and not suffering fools gladly - a great deal.

I am doing laundry and trying to limit what I bring to Vancouver, stacking things up and taking them away. I'm gone for 5 weeks, and it's cold here today so hard to imagine that it's not somewhere else. I'm finishing an essay to send to a competition, why not, and making lists for Carol, who will look after everything in my absence. I will be glad to get away, but I know I will also be looking forward to coming home.