Maureen Bush's Blog, page 23

Fighting Hollyhocks

Years ago, I decided to try hollyhocks in my garden. I bought a plant, waited eagerly for it to bloom, and was horrified to discover I’d bought a short version, with none of the grace of tall hollyhocks, and, worse yet, a double pink that looked far too much like the kleenex flowers people used to make to decorate cars at weddings. I pulled it out, immediately.

Then I got some seeds from my neighbour, who has amazing tall, single, wine-red hollyhocks. I scattered the seeds, let the seedlings grow, and two years later had my first bloom ­– a pale yellow that disappeared against the white of the house. I let it grow, until something better bloomed.

I let more seedlings grow, some outside the fence, and got a flesh-pink flower. That came out, too, and was eventually followed by a lovely medium  pink. But still no wine-red.

This year, I have a new colour, not wine-red, but a delight. It’s white and cassis-red, or purple – I’m not sure how to describe it. And it’s stunning, lovely against the white house, especially with a dark clematis blooming nearby.

I suspect there’s a link between gardening and writing, that struggle to get the story the way I want it, to develop the skills I need to do it well, to accept that this is a many-years effort that may never lead where I think I want to go, but may lead to someplace else, new and interesting.

I can hope, at least.

Maureen

 

 

The 1000-Words-A-Day Struggle

I’m struggling to write 1000 new words a day. I fail, almost entirely, on weekends and holidays. And I think I’ll let that be okay – a break is a good thing, right?

Weekdays, writing days, I push myself to write those 1000 words early in the day, before I get drawn into other things.

It’s forcing me into a new rhythm of writing ­– more driving forward, less looking back and editing what I’ve already written. I have less awareness of where I actually am, which is a little disconcerting.

I always find writing the first draft the hardest part of writing a novel, which seems ironic, that a writer would have trouble writing. But ideas come more easily, and editing, too, even when I don’t want to be doing it. New words? They come when they will, some days pouring onto the page, some days not at all. Except now, when I find those words every day.

I don’t worry about quality ­– that comes or doesn’t, and I’ll edit everything later. But to get the words on the page… that’s the thing. And I am doing it.

Maureen

Setting Down Words

There’s something simple about writing, a clarity that comes to me – a peacefulness and comfortableness with myself – that comes in the process of writing itself. There’s also a satisfaction in the product – in creating characters, a story, a world. But separate from that, there’s something in the mechanics of setting down words. I have no idea what it is, or why it happens, but I love it, one of the joys of writing.

Maureen

Musings on A Trip to Banff

We spent three days in Banff National Park, hiking and exploring and getting bled by mosquitoes. They were voracious, having bred in the heavy rains of June. There were other oddities: trail restrictions because of bears, trail closures for wildlife corridor work (Cave and Basin), trail closures because of flooding (Fenlands Trail), and more closures because of a bridge washout (Paint Pots, and everything beyond it). The highway itself was closed two days after we got back, because of a mudslide.

The Vermillion River was surging, high from rain and snow melt, and an odd colour, a milky sage green. The milkiness comes from glacial till, finely ground rock dust, and is the cause of the amazing lake colours. Lake Louise is a pale, milky blue, and Moraine Lake is milky, but a brighter blue.

We walked to the waterfall at the head of Moraine Lake (not far but a first for me, in an almost asthma-free trip), and planned to canoe after, but a storm blew in. It came to nothing, but at the time, it looked nasty, and it’s just foolish to sit in the middle of a lake in a wicked wind or a thunderstorm.

Instead, I found a chapter to my current story, inspired by water winding through a bed of moss and rocks. There was something powerful in that place, in that moment …

I don’t think writers are ever not working, perhaps to the annoyance of their families. My husband understands, and was content to sip coffee and watch the storm blow over while I wrote.

Now I’m home, refreshed, and ready to leap back into my story.

Maureen

Moraine Lake, Banff National Park

 

 

 

 

Lake Louise

We canoed on Lake Louise this morning, the first time for me, on the calmest lake I’ve ever paddled on. It was also the milkiest blue, thick with glacial till, so that we could see nothing in the water beneath us. Then we hiked to the end of the lake, leaving us tired and content.

Maureen

Lake Louise, Banff National Park, Canada

 

 

I’m going to be at Wordfest!

It’s finally up on the website, so I can announce – I’ll be one of the authors at Wordfest in Calgary and Banff this October. I’m thrilled!

They asked if I’d also go to Banff and I said, Of course! I love Banff! The Veil Weavers takes place in Calgary and then up into the mountains near Banff, so that’ll make it even more fun. Maybe I’ll see you there…

Here’s the Wordfest link for BookRapport, the section of the festival for children: http://www.bookrapport.com/

Maureen

Castle Mountain, west of Banff

 

 

Fragrance in the Garden

My garden has hit one of those rare moments of exquisite beauty, with shifting blues and pinks through the garden, backed by lush green.

It’s also full of critters – bees feasting, a small bunny nipping the tips off the peas, squirrels dismembering my peonies, and a chorus of birds waking us at 5 am. This morning crows joined in, the noisiest of all, making us laugh with their absurd noises.

But the best, this morning, is the fragrance. It’s humid today, more like Ottawa than Calgary, and that seems to bring out the fragrance of the boxwood – low notes of musk and citrus. The mock orange is in full bloom, in light, sweet notes. A rose has opened nearby – an oddly deep sweetness – and if I run my hands through the lavender, those notes join in, recreating the scents of a Spanish garden. Moorish gardens, a major influence on Spanish gardens, were a re-creation of paradise. I have my own right here.

Maureen

 

 

 

Library of Parliament

Wroters love books, and libraries. This is the most stunning library I’ve been in – the library of Parliament, in Ottawa. We’re convinced it’s inhabited by dragons.

Maureen

 

Writing on Holiday

I’m on holiday, and not writing much. I have moments of inspiration, taking notes during an organ concert, sneaking photos of a woman for a character description, brief moments in the hotel room. But it’s fragmented, and reminds me of how much time writing needs.

I miss it. I feel better if I write, even a little. Perhaps I should try Julia Cameron’s morning pages – three pages of whatever every day. Just to set pen to paper, and remember how much I love to write.

Maureen

 

 

Writer’s Thumb?

I’ve discovered there’s a direct link between my right hand, just above the thumb, and my brain. At least to my ability to think. I’m wearing a thumb splint (which sounds much smaller than it really is), to calm down the tendonitis in my thumb, and can no longer think. Somehow motion in that part of my hand is critical to my thinking processes, in the same way that my glasses are critical to my ability to hear, and waving my hands is critical to my ability to speak.

And while I didn’t do the damage writing (I suspect it’s from overuse – pruning, and repetitive strain – holding my laptop badly while I play solitaire), I’m still rendered speechless and brainless by the splint.

Maureen