Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 192
October 26, 2015
recommended books about writing non-fiction
I belong to the Creative Non-Fiction Collective, where there was recently a fascinating discussion on good books about writing and teaching creative non-fiction. Member Julija Sukys compiled the list and posted it on her blog. Of course, there's a list at the back of my book True to Life as well. I'm happy to see that book recommended here. Mind you, I'm the one who recommended it.
Here's the link to Julija's website and the list:
http://julijasukys.com/?p=4301&cpage=1#comment-270212
And here's an article in the Atlantic about the use of the passive voice, about which I harangue students:
http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2014/11/passive-resistance/380787/
One two three read!
Here's the link to Julija's website and the list:
http://julijasukys.com/?p=4301&cpage=1#comment-270212
And here's an article in the Atlantic about the use of the passive voice, about which I harangue students:
http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2014/11/passive-resistance/380787/
One two three read!
Motown, Beckett, Book City, friendship
Busy. Busy busy busy. But I've found a patch of sunshine in my bedroom and have sat down to get caught up, briefly. It's beautiful out there, and my best friend Lynn is here for a few days on a rare visit from France. But today, she has gone to visit an old friend in London, Ontario; I teach tonight and tomorrow, the roof still leaks, my cold is still in my chest tho' fading, and there is just too much to do. But so much pleasure. Incomparable.
Lynn and I have been to two shows: I took her to the musical "Motown," because she has always been a Motown, Marvin Gaye fan. The music is fabulous, the show itself - direction, script - a bit clunky, especially in comparison with "Jersey Boys," Des McAnuff's terrific production. But still, a girl who lives in Montpellier is not going to get to see a musical called "Motown" close to home. Then, from the ridiculous to the sublime or vice versa, we saw the Samuel Beckett trilogy, one hour of a brilliant actress performing 3 dense, extremely challenging and infuriatingly incomprehensible plays. The couple behind us were in the wrong theatre, I'm sure; they had no idea what was going on. Lynn and I, just a bit more. Still - we did it.
Most importantly, Lynn was there yesterday when we held the sixth So True reading event at the Black Swan. This one was the best yet, if I say so myself - a packed house of more than 60 people, eight writers, eight fantastic stories read beautifully, moving, powerful, funny - spectacular. I'm so proud to watch these writers who have the courage to take their stories directly out to the world. Bravo to you all. And then I spoke and told a story; I was more at ease than I've been in the past, and it worked. I'm always completely wrung out by the time the event is over, but it's a wonderful experience. Lots of former students were there, family and friends of the readers, and some complete strangers who've heard about it. As I said at the beginning of my talk, looking out at the crowded room, "This is my idea of heaven - a room full of storytellers and people who want to hear stories - and a bar."
A highlight of my life, all round. After, Lynn and I went for souvlaki nearby on the Danforth with Ken, an old friend who knew Lynn from her earliest days at L'Arche, and Lynn had to tell him about the scandal there. At the very beginning, when Jean Vanier founded this benevolent Christian community to provide a home for the handicapped, he aligned himself with Pere Thomas, a beloved priest who became a guru and spiritual counsellor to many; he is on the L'Arche constitution as the co-founder. You know what's coming, don't you? A few months ago - years after Thomas's death - fourteen women came forward with allegations of sexual abuse from their time through the decades as assistants at L'Arche. All apparently were beautiful, came to him for counsel and ended up in a sexual relationship. All were adults if young; that's the only light in this horrifying story. Ken converted to Catholicism at L'Arche; Pere Thomas was his spiritual guide. It should be hard to imagine a priest being so duplicitous, except, of course, that it isn't.
But for some good news, our handsome young Prime Minister has just invited Elizabeth May and all the premiers and Thomas Mulcair to the climate conference in Paris. Love.
The colours not quite there yet, but soon ...
I was near the terrific Book City on the Danforth so went in because I'd heard they'd ordered my book - and there it is, in the Biography section. It's green and pink and, to its mother at least, very beautiful. Please, my Toronto readers, if you need a gift for a reader - or for a non-reader who might learn to enjoy reading - please consider going to Book City on the Danforth and buying this book. They've ordered two copies of a self-published memoir by an unknown writer; I'm extremely grateful and I want to help them move it out.
Now for my nap.
Lynn and I have been to two shows: I took her to the musical "Motown," because she has always been a Motown, Marvin Gaye fan. The music is fabulous, the show itself - direction, script - a bit clunky, especially in comparison with "Jersey Boys," Des McAnuff's terrific production. But still, a girl who lives in Montpellier is not going to get to see a musical called "Motown" close to home. Then, from the ridiculous to the sublime or vice versa, we saw the Samuel Beckett trilogy, one hour of a brilliant actress performing 3 dense, extremely challenging and infuriatingly incomprehensible plays. The couple behind us were in the wrong theatre, I'm sure; they had no idea what was going on. Lynn and I, just a bit more. Still - we did it.
Most importantly, Lynn was there yesterday when we held the sixth So True reading event at the Black Swan. This one was the best yet, if I say so myself - a packed house of more than 60 people, eight writers, eight fantastic stories read beautifully, moving, powerful, funny - spectacular. I'm so proud to watch these writers who have the courage to take their stories directly out to the world. Bravo to you all. And then I spoke and told a story; I was more at ease than I've been in the past, and it worked. I'm always completely wrung out by the time the event is over, but it's a wonderful experience. Lots of former students were there, family and friends of the readers, and some complete strangers who've heard about it. As I said at the beginning of my talk, looking out at the crowded room, "This is my idea of heaven - a room full of storytellers and people who want to hear stories - and a bar."
A highlight of my life, all round. After, Lynn and I went for souvlaki nearby on the Danforth with Ken, an old friend who knew Lynn from her earliest days at L'Arche, and Lynn had to tell him about the scandal there. At the very beginning, when Jean Vanier founded this benevolent Christian community to provide a home for the handicapped, he aligned himself with Pere Thomas, a beloved priest who became a guru and spiritual counsellor to many; he is on the L'Arche constitution as the co-founder. You know what's coming, don't you? A few months ago - years after Thomas's death - fourteen women came forward with allegations of sexual abuse from their time through the decades as assistants at L'Arche. All apparently were beautiful, came to him for counsel and ended up in a sexual relationship. All were adults if young; that's the only light in this horrifying story. Ken converted to Catholicism at L'Arche; Pere Thomas was his spiritual guide. It should be hard to imagine a priest being so duplicitous, except, of course, that it isn't.
But for some good news, our handsome young Prime Minister has just invited Elizabeth May and all the premiers and Thomas Mulcair to the climate conference in Paris. Love.
The colours not quite there yet, but soon ...
I was near the terrific Book City on the Danforth so went in because I'd heard they'd ordered my book - and there it is, in the Biography section. It's green and pink and, to its mother at least, very beautiful. Please, my Toronto readers, if you need a gift for a reader - or for a non-reader who might learn to enjoy reading - please consider going to Book City on the Danforth and buying this book. They've ordered two copies of a self-published memoir by an unknown writer; I'm extremely grateful and I want to help them move it out.Now for my nap.
October 24, 2015
Reminder: So True
If you want to hear some beautiful true stories, don't miss So True this Sunday:
October 22, 2015
retreat
Sick. Woozy after a sleepless night. This is the universe saying, Okay, you had so much joy with Paul McCartney and Justin Trudeau, now let's get real.
So this is real - stuffed nose, sore throat, coughing. But - the sun is shining hot through my bedroom window. I can cancel today's events except for my class tonight, and I'll be fine for that. Being sick always reminds me of the times when I was an actress and had to do a show even with a raging temperature. This is nothing.
The sun is shining, my bed is waiting. Thank you universe, for forcing me, every once in a while - NOT TOO OFTEN PLEASE - to slow down.
So this is real - stuffed nose, sore throat, coughing. But - the sun is shining hot through my bedroom window. I can cancel today's events except for my class tonight, and I'll be fine for that. Being sick always reminds me of the times when I was an actress and had to do a show even with a raging temperature. This is nothing.
The sun is shining, my bed is waiting. Thank you universe, for forcing me, every once in a while - NOT TOO OFTEN PLEASE - to slow down.
October 21, 2015
my three seconds of non-fame
Sick with a cold - my time with Macca wore me out. My time with Ringo, last night, did NOT wear me out. Ringo is a tiny little man, like a leprechaun; he has put together a great band of six rock and roll notables, which is good because he himself is not doing much on stage. He sings the same songs as always, and let's face it, Boys or I wanna be your man were not great songs when the Beatles did them, let alone decades later. His voice isn't great, and there's a fabulous drummer to supplement what he does on drums. At one point, he left the stage entirely for a song and returned wearing a sparkly top.
I enjoyed and am glad I went - he is part of the legend, after all, and one moment was worth it all. At the end of the brief show - exactly two hours, which by Macca standards is nothing at all - he of course sang With a little help from my friends. In the back and forth of the song, he sang the answers and the crowd sang the questions. Every single person in Massey Hall was singing at the top of their lungs. WOULD YOU BELIEVE IN A LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? WHAT DO YOU SEE WHEN YOU TURN OUT THE LIGHT? It was a beautiful moment. I do have to point out that song is mostly by Paul, with that last line answer - I can't tell you, but it feels like mine - by John.
Speaking of Macca, my new friend, the Macca-mad Anne - much more dedicated than I - sent me a clip of him reading aloud her sign about cookies. As I watched, I could not help but notice my very own self a bit later, standing in front of a sign about being 58 and marrying Paul. It's at about 1:17.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjQBjMfB6Ag&feature=youtu.be
There she is, the tall woman in blue. The big button on her vest was sent by a friend from Liverpool; it says "I love Paul." There's a very small anti-Harper button there too. Today I threw the Harper buttons away. Anna and I exchanged a long list of all the things Trudeau said he'd do right away. If he even tackles a few of them, he'll be moving non-stop for the next few months, and the heavens will sing.
In my usual excess, I have four books to read right now, not to mention the books about writing I need to get through, articles on the net, the ever-present New Yorkers and the newspaper. Three library books: "Older, Faster, Stronger," by my colleague Margaret Webb, about how women can and should improve their fitness level as they age; the new Etgar Keret book of memoir stories, "Seven Good Years," and a book recommended by my blog friend Kerry Clare, "The Folded Clock," by Heidi Julavits. And a special treat - I was just thinking I must read "Girl Runner" by my other blog friend Carrie Snyder, when someone left it in the shared books pile at the Y. I'm partway through. That woman can run, and that woman can write. My God, can she write.
So, a perfect day to lie in bed croaking and snuffling and reading. And praising be, once more, for this brave new land.
I enjoyed and am glad I went - he is part of the legend, after all, and one moment was worth it all. At the end of the brief show - exactly two hours, which by Macca standards is nothing at all - he of course sang With a little help from my friends. In the back and forth of the song, he sang the answers and the crowd sang the questions. Every single person in Massey Hall was singing at the top of their lungs. WOULD YOU BELIEVE IN A LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? WHAT DO YOU SEE WHEN YOU TURN OUT THE LIGHT? It was a beautiful moment. I do have to point out that song is mostly by Paul, with that last line answer - I can't tell you, but it feels like mine - by John.
Speaking of Macca, my new friend, the Macca-mad Anne - much more dedicated than I - sent me a clip of him reading aloud her sign about cookies. As I watched, I could not help but notice my very own self a bit later, standing in front of a sign about being 58 and marrying Paul. It's at about 1:17.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjQBjMfB6Ag&feature=youtu.be
There she is, the tall woman in blue. The big button on her vest was sent by a friend from Liverpool; it says "I love Paul." There's a very small anti-Harper button there too. Today I threw the Harper buttons away. Anna and I exchanged a long list of all the things Trudeau said he'd do right away. If he even tackles a few of them, he'll be moving non-stop for the next few months, and the heavens will sing.
In my usual excess, I have four books to read right now, not to mention the books about writing I need to get through, articles on the net, the ever-present New Yorkers and the newspaper. Three library books: "Older, Faster, Stronger," by my colleague Margaret Webb, about how women can and should improve their fitness level as they age; the new Etgar Keret book of memoir stories, "Seven Good Years," and a book recommended by my blog friend Kerry Clare, "The Folded Clock," by Heidi Julavits. And a special treat - I was just thinking I must read "Girl Runner" by my other blog friend Carrie Snyder, when someone left it in the shared books pile at the Y. I'm partway through. That woman can run, and that woman can write. My God, can she write.
So, a perfect day to lie in bed croaking and snuffling and reading. And praising be, once more, for this brave new land.
October 20, 2015
Try to see it my way
Tonight, incredible as it seems, I'm off to see Ringo. He's playing at Massey Hall, and I have the cheapest seat I could get, with obstructed view. But still - two Beatles, 3 days apart.
These are the songs we heard on Saturday night:
The full set list as reported by the Paul McCartney press office: “Eight Days A Week,” “Save Us,” “Got To Get You Into My Life,” “One After 909,” “Temporary Secretary,” “Let Me Roll It,” “Paperback Writer,” “My Valentine,” “Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five,” “Maybe I’m Amazed,” “I’ve Just Seen A Face,” “FourFiveSeconds,” “We Can Work It Out,” “Another Day,” “And I Love Her,” “Blackbird,” “Here Today,” “NEW,” “Queenie Eye,” “Lady Madonna,” “All Together Now,” “Lovely Rita,” “Eleanor Rigby,” “Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite,” “Something,” “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da,” “Band On The Run,” “Back In The U.S.S.R.,” “Let It Be,” “Live & Let Die,” “Hey Jude.”
The first encore: “Another Girl,” “Hi Hi Hi,” “I Saw Her Standing There". Second encore: “Mull of Kintyre,” “Helter Skelter,” “Golden Slumbers”/“Carry That Weight” /“The End.”
These are the songs we heard on Saturday night:The full set list as reported by the Paul McCartney press office: “Eight Days A Week,” “Save Us,” “Got To Get You Into My Life,” “One After 909,” “Temporary Secretary,” “Let Me Roll It,” “Paperback Writer,” “My Valentine,” “Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five,” “Maybe I’m Amazed,” “I’ve Just Seen A Face,” “FourFiveSeconds,” “We Can Work It Out,” “Another Day,” “And I Love Her,” “Blackbird,” “Here Today,” “NEW,” “Queenie Eye,” “Lady Madonna,” “All Together Now,” “Lovely Rita,” “Eleanor Rigby,” “Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite,” “Something,” “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da,” “Band On The Run,” “Back In The U.S.S.R.,” “Let It Be,” “Live & Let Die,” “Hey Jude.”
The first encore: “Another Girl,” “Hi Hi Hi,” “I Saw Her Standing There". Second encore: “Mull of Kintyre,” “Helter Skelter,” “Golden Slumbers”/“Carry That Weight” /“The End.”
liking his face
I think of those movies where a subjugated people are freed from tyranny and emerge, dazed and disbelieving - are we actually free? And then - were we actually prisoners that long? That's how Canada feels to me today. I think of Narnia under the spell of the ice queen, and how, when she was finally vanquished, spring returned. I know, Justin Trudeau as Aslan is a stretch ... but you get the idea. We live in a different Canada today.
It was not just any victory - it was a monumental victory by a party that had been completely undone. But more importantly, the victorious leader is someone we have known all his life - at least, those of us old enough to remember his birth on Christmas Day 1971. We remember the love affair of his parents and its painful dissolution; we remember his father's canoe trips and overseas junkets with Justin and his brothers. We remember, with great pain, the tragic death of his brother Michel and the subsequent death of his devastated father. If I ever want to conjure up a portrait of grief, I need only think of Pierre Trudeau's drawn and haunted face the day of Michel's funeral, and I weep.
We Canadians have watched this man grow up, and now I feel a maternal pride at what a fine upstanding man he has turned out to be. And - to tell you the truth - I feel something more than maternal, because he's a treat to look at. But so are his gorgeous wife and their children. It's like the early days of Barack Obama's administration, when we felt liberated from the ugly shroud of the Bush years and rejoiced to look at idealism and beauty, intelligence and accomplishment.
I wrote once here about seeing a photo of Harper with his mother - he was trying to hug her, but he couldn't actually touch her, his arms were sort of hanging nearby uselessly. There's something seriously wrong with that man's heart. But not with this man's.
Justin and his mother last night.
I know there are tough days ahead, and that a certain disillusionment - as with Obama - is inevitable. But right now, we Canadians have our version of Camelot. And as the days grow cold and dark, that sunny face is a most welcome sight.
It was not just any victory - it was a monumental victory by a party that had been completely undone. But more importantly, the victorious leader is someone we have known all his life - at least, those of us old enough to remember his birth on Christmas Day 1971. We remember the love affair of his parents and its painful dissolution; we remember his father's canoe trips and overseas junkets with Justin and his brothers. We remember, with great pain, the tragic death of his brother Michel and the subsequent death of his devastated father. If I ever want to conjure up a portrait of grief, I need only think of Pierre Trudeau's drawn and haunted face the day of Michel's funeral, and I weep.
We Canadians have watched this man grow up, and now I feel a maternal pride at what a fine upstanding man he has turned out to be. And - to tell you the truth - I feel something more than maternal, because he's a treat to look at. But so are his gorgeous wife and their children. It's like the early days of Barack Obama's administration, when we felt liberated from the ugly shroud of the Bush years and rejoiced to look at idealism and beauty, intelligence and accomplishment.
I wrote once here about seeing a photo of Harper with his mother - he was trying to hug her, but he couldn't actually touch her, his arms were sort of hanging nearby uselessly. There's something seriously wrong with that man's heart. But not with this man's.
Justin and his mother last night.I know there are tough days ahead, and that a certain disillusionment - as with Obama - is inevitable. But right now, we Canadians have our version of Camelot. And as the days grow cold and dark, that sunny face is a most welcome sight.
October 19, 2015
He's gone
It's 10.25. Got in 50 minutes ago from Ryerson, and the victory of the Liberals was declared not long after. It's unbelievable!
I am very sorry for the NDP, who had such high hopes at the beginning of this marathon, and now are faced with an undeserved disaster. It's tragic that many great NDP candidates have gone down to defeat. Poor Mulcair. Makes me sad. But that's politics. The overall result is spectacular, amazing.
I wonder if Michael Ignatieff is watching this, he who led the Liberals last time to a spectacular and amazing defeat. Oh well. And I wonder what Harper is thinking. A neighbour and I had a big argument - he said he lived in South America during the time of dictatorships, and he was unhappy at the way Harper was being demonized. "He's not a murderer, not a dictator," he said. "He steered us through bad economic times." Yes yes yes. But he's a horrible man who has damaged this country enormously, and most of us are very very glad he has no power any more.
Reality - a young man with not that much political experience is now Prime Minister, not only of the country, but of a majority government. Quite a shock and a huge change, and - let's be frank - scary. But let's not think of that now. Let's just celebrate that the big bad wolf has been squashed.
As someone wrote on Twitter: When Harper wakes up tomorrow, Nenshi will be his mayor, Notley will be his Premier, and Trudeau will be his Prime Minister.
I am very sorry for the NDP, who had such high hopes at the beginning of this marathon, and now are faced with an undeserved disaster. It's tragic that many great NDP candidates have gone down to defeat. Poor Mulcair. Makes me sad. But that's politics. The overall result is spectacular, amazing.
I wonder if Michael Ignatieff is watching this, he who led the Liberals last time to a spectacular and amazing defeat. Oh well. And I wonder what Harper is thinking. A neighbour and I had a big argument - he said he lived in South America during the time of dictatorships, and he was unhappy at the way Harper was being demonized. "He's not a murderer, not a dictator," he said. "He steered us through bad economic times." Yes yes yes. But he's a horrible man who has damaged this country enormously, and most of us are very very glad he has no power any more.
Reality - a young man with not that much political experience is now Prime Minister, not only of the country, but of a majority government. Quite a shock and a huge change, and - let's be frank - scary. But let's not think of that now. Let's just celebrate that the big bad wolf has been squashed.
As someone wrote on Twitter: When Harper wakes up tomorrow, Nenshi will be his mayor, Notley will be his Premier, and Trudeau will be his Prime Minister.
