Laurie Fraser's Blog, page 7

Book Club Love

 photo credit

Book clubs are enormously popular in Canada- many can be found online, but most seem to be “just the neighbours” or “we used to work together.” They range from 6 friends drinking wine and talking very little about the suggested book (partly because not everyone read it) to committed readers interested in deep discussion. Most clubs allow members to take turns recommending books, and from what I see, the majority of book clubs are women-only.

One club that I visited read Being Earnest the month after reading The Word Not Spoken. They read the play aloud- each member chose a character, and they read with much merriment. In fact, they dressed in period costume, and the meeting lasted well into the night.

Random House of Canada has an annual contest for book clubs. In 2013, “Book Friends ’72” in Ottawa won after 40 years of regular meetings re: 360 books!

I was only a child when I studied the “Book Club Selections” pages of magazines. Do you remember the stamps that could be torn out and pasted on the order card? I imagined a stamp about my book, and all the people who would pick that stamp.

Writers talk about the “the book club circuit”. Finding the clubs are the first challenge and then getting them to read your book is the next. From there, word of mouth travels. It is really grass roots for a book to become known through book clubs. Fifty Shades of Grey owes its success entirely to book clubs- let’s face it, it is poorly written, the last 2 books embarrassingly so, but as a book club selection, it was perfect fodder for interesting conversation. (Of course, there was nothing grass roots about Oprah’s Book Club- being recommended by her equaled overnight success.)

I’ve been to five book clubs now as a guest author. It’s an all-around win to attend such an evening: the immediacy of the discussion, the personal details, the readers’ feedback.

Mainly, book clubs want to know:

-How much is true?

-What happened to Jess in real life?

-How long did it take to write; the writing process/publishing process.

-Am I currently in touch with the family: How are they now? Did Shana marry Memo?

-How do Kurdish and Turkish readers respond to the book?

Mainly, I want to know:

-Did you notice the themes: the animals and water and colours?

-Was the number of deaths too hard on you? How did you feel about the ending?

-How sympathetic did you feel toward Ahmet? The Kurdish situation at the time?

-Did you notice the clues that Ahmet has taken over the story?

-Did you see the “beadwork” in the first and last scenes? The repeated images and words in different contexts?

Some book clubs are into wine and salty hors d’oeuvres; some serve tea in china and homemade cherry tarts. In my experience, they’ve been pleasant groups of women aged 30+ who are travelled, educated and vitally interested in the world around them. I always leave feeling incredibly validated- the “word” is spreading; my promise has been kept.

To release the book, to stop writing and polishing it, was very sad for me. After all, it had been in my pocket for 18 years and I spent many holidays, weekends and nights with this friend. It was the place I most loved to go. When I gave up the writing, I feared I’d lost this place, this escape. It has been a relief to learn that I haven’t lost it. In fact, I have only shared it. When I go to that place now, I find others there who love it too and who want to talk about it. To spend an evening talking to people who know who Abla is, who can talk about Ahmet’s mental state, Leigh’s choices, is enormously comforting to me.

In appreciation, I give free e-books to book club members. I bring photos, more personal than the pics on this website. I talk about the healing and personal aspects of my writing journey. But mostly, for me, it is the joy of sharing this story that makes visiting a book club an absolute high.

photo credit

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rue Mont Royal

Easter Sunday.

Mont Royal metro station

Spring sun opens my eyes-

white curtains, lime walls

church bells chime.

Spring sun hits sidewalk.

Many feet hit rue Mont Royal-

some of them furry.

Some stop at the Metro-

$2.00 maple taffy

from a tray of sweet snow.

Spring sun sings with me,

a fiddle, a guitar and an accordion.

I don’t know how long I will dance here,

who will speak to me,

where the flow of feet will lead me

next.

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Review of “Without You, There Is No Us: My Time with the Sons of North Korea’s Elite”.

Without You, There Is No Us: My Time with the Sons of North Korea’s Elite by Suki Kim is a memoir of her time in North Korea where she posed an English teacher for 2 school terms. Kim is actually an American journalist, born in South Korea.

She joined a group of Christian teachers who volunteered at Pyongyang University of Science and Technology (PUST). Only the sons of the political elite were able to attend this school. In fact, by the time Kim left, it seemed that no other universities were functioning as 99% of students were sent out to work on farms.

The teachers were virtual prisoners in the school, constantly watched by minders who followed them right to the bathroom door. The few times the teachers left the colourless concrete campus, it was as a group, herded to a destination planned by their minders (an apple farm, a mountain hike). One teacher mourns, “I just want to get in a car and drive to a store when I want to. That seems like such a luxury.” The teachers spent their evenings with bible study. Her peers didn’t know that Kim wasn’t Christian or that her true purpose was to write a book, and so she was in disguise even from them, pretending Christian knowledge and faith.

Although this was a university for the richest of sons, they ate no meat, only cabbage soup and rice gruel. Kim saw more evidence of extreme poverty from the bus window on the rare excursions:  stick-thin people in rags on the side of the road, empty markets, a complete lack of animal life.  She heard stories of starving multitudes who striped bark from the trees to make soup.

“The worldwide web was not really worldwide, it turned out. None of us ever breathed a word about it. A few students…said that what they missed most from their old school was how they’d all been connected by an electronic network. I understood they were talking about their intranet, a heavily censored network that allowed them access only to already downloaded information and state-sponsored websites. I was not allowed to tell them their intranet was not the same as the Internet- that the rest of the world was connected while only they were left out.”

She was subject to a whole list of rules like: no photos off-campus, boil your water, always lock your laptop and keep it with you, never criticize North Korea or even hint to a student there may be something wrong with it, don’t discuss politics or anything personal, no foreign magazines or books.  All of her communication was monitored and so became scant and eventually the contact with home became worthless to her.

And that is what fascinated me as a reader. The teachers were under such tight constraints that they quickly deteriorated, even those with great faith. They were unable to teach anything that seemed meaningful or true and their own sense of reality warped. They became paranoid. A student asking a question could be a spy or informant. When they returned to their rooms it seemed they’d been searched. “…the sense of being watched at all times was draining. I felt as though I was being buried alive, like sand was being poured into my face.  I began to feel a nausea from the sameness of each day.”

Similarly, the book goes on with a sameness, chapter after chapter, with no real climax or drama. In a way, I was waiting for something to happen- some conflict or suspense. I reminded myself that it was a truthful memoir, a captured moment in a time and a place, but I yearned for some action.

The writing is simple and unimpressive, often cliche, and in spite of her courageous undertaking, I found Kim to be sentimental and uninspiring. But this is not a book to read for its prose; it’s a book to be read as an exercise in imagining: How would it be to live without the power to choose your vocation, residence or daily activities? How would it be to live on the bark of trees with no ability to change that by leaving or finding work? To live surrounded by falsehoods, to voice belief in those falsehoods, to suspect they are falsehoods but for it to be much too dangerous to say “The Emperor is wearing no clothes”? How would it be to live with such fear and limitations?

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110 cm in 7 days

Nepali prayer flags

110 cm of snow in 7 days.

We are beleaguered,

buried now.

Shovelling is futile.

Through the top third of the window

we see grey sky,

horizontal snow,

blue lightening.

We put wood in the stove

and talk about God.

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Toronto Times Two

Very excited to be off to Toronto for the 3rd Words and Kurds event in a year (Vancouver last May & Ottawa in November.)

The following day, Sunday March 1 at 6 pm, I’ll be part of the celebration at Underground Restaurant, York University.

Tara Saberpor posted in facebook:

The Kurdish Students’ Association will be hosting a social event to celebrate the liberation of Kobane. We believe it’s important to promote our culture and bring awareness to struggles of Kurds faced in all parts of Kurdistan. The Rojava revolution is the symbol of resistance and hope for the future of all Kurds. It is the voice to oppression and repression Kurds have been facing for many years!!

Let us all come together to celebrate and acknowledge the struggles of Kurds in Rojava! Let us all stand in solidarity with all brave man and woman fighting for freedom and dignity of Kurds!

Guest Speakers:

Laurie Fraser

Ava Homa

Dance Performances:

Dilan Dance Company

Musical Performances:

Ali Haydar

Kenan

Adnan Godarzi

Tickets $10 (includes dinner)

Please contact us for tickets as soon as possible.

kurdishstudents.yorku@gmail.com

Don’t forget to wear your Kurdish clothes!

photo credit

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Chinese Medicine

 

Chinese Acupuncture and Herbs Centre, 615 Somerset St., Ottawa

When Western medicine fails me, I turn to the East. More than a few times over the years, I have found myself at the Chinese pharmacy in Ottawa: Chinese Acupuncture and Herb Centre run by Dr. Chou who trained and studied in China. I have received excellent care there- creams and herbal medicines that worked. I lived in Chinatown when I was a student, and I first showed up on their doorstop because it was convenient and cheap.

I have a blood disease that Western medicine holds little hope of curing. I could “try” some heavy-duty and expensive pharmaceuticals; in fact I did fill the first of two prescriptions- a hefty antibiotic. I swallowed one pill and was so sick for 3 hours that I just decided I would not live in that state for 3 months…especially with no guarantee of effectiveness. (It was $160 for a three-week supply…hmmm… times 4 refills… and to be followed by another pharmaceutical.)

I did some research online and headed down to Chinatown armed with the names of a couple of herbs.

Inside the Chinese Acupuncture and Herbs Centre

seed pods, leaves, dried seahorses…

The rows of huge jars fascinate me: seeds, dried seahorses (two kinds), leaves, pods and well, unrecognizable items…perhaps from the sea, perhaps from the earth. TCM uses about 1,000 different plant species and close to 40 animal species, including the tiger, rhinoceros, black bear, musk deer, and sea horse. Some of these animals are endangered and, of course, we are losing valuable plant species every day. See more . The seahorses are used for kidney/circulation ailments and impotence.

The doctor takes her time with each visitor, and her expert attention comes at no cost.

When my turn comes, my herbs are looked up in a fat book. “This one,” the doctor says, “This one kill germs from bug bite.”

“Yes,” I smile. “I want that.”

“And this one,” she points to the Chinese writing, “This one clean red blood.”

I feel warm all over, my gut telling me- yes, yes, yes! “I want that,” I nod, surprised at the tears in my eyes. I really want that!

I’m told one herb is on hand, but the other must be ordered. I expect to receive the one, but it is not offered. I don’t understand why until I return a week later to pick up the herbs. It turns out that I will make a tea of both herbs together. One is light-weight leaves and stems; the other is thick and round like slices of a small tree trunk.

My herbs are carefully weighed with hand-held scales. They are mixed together and packed into paper bags- each one is the correct amount for one brew of a tea that will last 2 days. The doctor asks about my ailment and teaches me how to concoct the teas- bring to boil in a glass dish with 4 cups of water, then simmer 45 minutes. Drink on a half-full stomach, as one herb is poisonous and could cause side effects (cramps, vomiting). The herbs may be brewed a second time with less water.

I conscientiously follow her instructions. I am not concerned about possible side effects- the lists of warnings that come from Shopper’s Drug Mart with my prescriptions scare me more! After all, these are plants, I can see that… and many pharmaceuticals are made from plants, poisonous and toxic ingredients included. I am willing to take my chances here.

My tea is actually delicious. It warms me in a lovely way…again, my gut, my instincts, just love it. I have experienced no side effects, and I have great hope. Dr. Chou has asked me to report back and I will – to her and to you – by updating this post in 6 weeks.

Freeze the herbs after the tea is brewed. You can use them a second time with less water.

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Love answers 6

“In our travels, we’ve seen extraordinary acts of love in the harshest conditions- stories that break your heart and fill them at the same time.”

Excerpts from Chatelaine Feb. 2014, written by Craig and Marc Kielburger.

Pakistani brick-maker  Photo credit

Craig writes, “I discovered the meaning of true love on my first trip to Pakistan. I met a woman making bricks at a kiln. For 12 hours a day, she inhaled coal fumes and wrecked her back to earn two to three dollars. She never saw that money though, because she was paying off a debt – her husband’s. You see, the man she loved had become too sick to work, so she took his place until his debt was paid. It was an extraordinary act of love…”

Indian carpet factory  photo credit

Marc shares, “I was in northern India with an organization that fought child slavery, where I saw a group of fathers on a hunger strike. Their children were held as indentured labourers at a local carpet factory. These dads were clearly enduring incredible physical hardship. They told us, however, that their children were suffering worse conditions inside the factory. Some days later, the dads won. Their children were rescued, and as we watched the emotional family reunions, it was hard to tell who was more emaciated – the kids who had survived months of bonded labour or the fathers who starved themselves to free them.

Dadaab refugee camp. Photo credit

Craig writes, “Three years ago, I visited Dadaab, the world’s largest refugee camp, in northern Kenya. A farmer arrived at the camp with his eight-year-old son, but refused to release the boy from his embrace. The father explained quietly that he had lost two years worth of crops, then set out on foot with his wife and four children to find respite. Along the way, food was scarce, and despite their begging, one child and then the other starved to death. The devastated father was forced to bury three children in shallow graves by the side of the road. Then his wife died, also from hunger, He was so stricken by grief and emaciated that he wanted to lie down in the dirt and die too. But he had one child still remaining, a child he could save if he just made it to Dadaab. So he picked up his son and struggled forward. That boy lived because his father’s love and determination trumped starvation and fatigue.

The Keilburger brothers founded Free The Children and Me to We. Buy your Valentine’s Day card (and other socially conscious gifts) at Me to We and support safe water, food & health projects in third world villages.

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Mid-East chickpea soup recipe

An easy vegetable soup with chickpeas and a fresh taste (garlic, lemon, parsley, mint- typical Mid-East combo) that will brighten your taste-buds and make promises about spring.

chickpea soup with yogurt & mint

Nothing easier than just throwing it all in a pot (medium sized):

26 oz can of chickpeas or use dried- 1 1/2 cups after soaking

1 litre of broth (water and bouillon is fine)

any combo of chopped fresh veggies- cauliflower, zucchini, onion, carrot, celery, kale…

3 chopped tomatoes

4 or 5 large cloves of garlic, sliced thinly (Think of it as a vegetable.)

1/2 teaspoon cumin

1-2 teaspoon turmeric (anti-inflammatory)

salt to taste

chili sauce or powder to taste, optional

Bring to boil for a few minutes and then simmer until veggies are cooked to your preference.

Now the magic- Just before serving add:

1/4 cup lemon juice

1/2 bunch chopped parsley

2 green onions, sliced thinly

Serve with a dollop of yogurt and sprinkle generously with dried mint.

Fancy cooks can prepare the yogurt ahead of time with generous amounts of dried or fresh mint, salt and raw crushed garlic to taste.

This soup will have you holding the bowl with both hands, drawing the scent in deeply and giving thanks.

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Girls who Skip- How to make a crowd funding campaign video for Indigogo or Kickstarter

Girls Who Skip- How to make a crowd funding campaign video

Video practice fun- click to see blooper

A friend who writes scripts for Warner Bros told me right off the bat: A campaign video should be short, engaging, informative, short, a clear call to action…did I mention short? “Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t preach. Make it entertaining.” People like to send a smile to their friends.

One page of script-style writing = one minute of footage. (Script style is centred, double-spaced, speaker’s name gets a full line, and stage directions are included.)

I wrote what I wanted to say and it came out to 4 minutes. I cut it and pared it down to less to than 2. I like writing that way (I’m a poet at heart.) The leaner writing becomes, the more powerful it gets.

Khaled Hosseini (The Kiterunner) said in an interview that he starts writing with an image in his head. He builds the characters and story out of that image-he started an entire novel that way. I started with a thought- that we can’t know the future- and it led to the image of picking apart a daisy.

I hired a young videographer, piled together a bunch of appropriate images, bought a big box of popsicles and invited my friend’s children over. I didn’t overlearn the script. I figured if my guests had fun, my stomach might forget the anxiety swirling within, and I might have fun too.

And I did! The fun translated onto the footage: mission accomplished. (My video)

Pick apart a daisy;

wish upon a star.

Love me, leave me;

tell me who you are!

Read my tealeaves;

search my palm.

Tell me, tell me,

tell me do!

Gaze into a crystal,

pour over tarot cards.

Doctor, lawyer, tribal chief,

bring me joy or bring me grief.

Pick apart a daisy;

wish upon a star.

Love me, leave me;

tell me who you are!

-Laurie Fraser

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Community Kitchen

Community Kitchen

Literacy 3 class made stone soup.

Eman brought onions.

Ling:  lemon.

Anisah:  carrots.

Hamed:  lentils.

Others:  celery, mushrooms,

tofu, tomato, parsley, pasta,

spices I couldn’t translate.

I brought 2 huge pots,

plenty of take-home containers.

I taught food words, cooking words,

“community kitchen”.

It turned out pretty good-

one Asian, one Middle-Eastern.

After lunch, the pots were empty;

the take-home containers were empty.

“Where is the soup?” I asked.

“Will you take soup home for your family tonight?”

“Finished!” They laughed.

“Why finished?”

“Free! Students eat.”

They’d given it away.

“150 students?” I asked.

“Yes. Students happy lunch free school today!”

Pleased proud Literacy 3

taught me “community”.

Again.

-Laurie Fraser

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