Why Art Matters

My favourite writing spot. On the whole of Earth.

 

It's been more than a year since last I've blogged. In that time, my third book has sold well, I've visited schools across Ontario and Manitoba, celebrated the first I Read Canadian Day, and I'm now writing through a world-wide pandemic. Like so many, my life has been upended. Any publishing interest is currently on pause, waiting for the economic fallout as a result of closed schools, shuttered economies, and sick fellow human beings. 

Like many writers, I'm often overcome with the thoughts of, "What am I doing here? Why does it matter? There is so much at stake far greater than the words I write or don't write. People are dying. People are losing everything. Does my work, really matter?" 

Those are some pretty big thoughts. And I have worked them round and round in my head and heart. I've finally settled on the fact that art in all its form unites, supports, inspires, and encourages. It reminds us that we are connected to others, that living is a shared experience. That life must and will go on, although changed either temporarily or perhaps permanently. So, I will go on and write. I'll take this time to build my portfolio of stories. Fine tune and edit completed manuscripts. Work with my fellow critique partners and assist with their novels. Immerse myself in words and stories and continue to improve my craft. In doing so, I hope in some small way to help soothe the anxious worries of the children and teens who read my novels. Letting them know, that they are not alone in their struggles, even now when everything seems strange and often scary.

I wish you all good health, peace of mind, and hope for better days to come.

The simple joy of a sunrise.

Ode to Summer ALA Justin Timberlake

I am filled with great excitement. 

No, I didn't finish my next novel. (My muse has been on holiday. Or something.) 

No, I didn't shed that 10 pounds of extra baby weight. (Yes, I realize my youngest is now nine-years old.) 

And I certainly didn't win any lotteries. (Apparently you need to play, to win.)

No, the big celebration is...

Summer is Returning! 

Yes, my fellow sun deprived heat seekers, we will be reaching temps of 35 degrees this weekend across Manitoba! (That's 95 for my American pals.)

So, what's the big deal?   

Last Smokin' Hot Day - July 4th

Lemme' fill you in on some fast weather facts. This summer has been a boon-dongle in terms of hot beach days. The last time our temps soared to 30 was July 4th. July 4th, peeps.  

Who knew Independence Day would be such a banner day for a bunch of chilly Canadians? 

Last July we had 15 plus 30 degree days. 15. Simply ridiculous.

To celebrate this outstanding weather, I wrote a song to thank dear Mother Nature. Please sing it loudly and proudly to the tune of Justin Timberlake's, Sexy Back.

Summer's Back 

 

Mother Nature's bringing summer back.

Yeah.

The sun’s been hiding for far too long. 

Yeah.

This cool weather just feels all wrong. 

Yeah.

It’s time for us to have a sun attack.

Yeah.

Take em' to the Beach.

Sandy kids.

Uh-huh.

You see their smiling faces, freckled too.

Uh-huh.

Making castles, underneath a sky of blue.

Uh-huh.

Oh, Mr. Sun we’ve been missing you.

Uh-huh.

Take em’ to the Beach!

Come here sun

Go ahead, enjoy it

Come to the Beach

Go ahead, enjoy it

Summer’s Here

Go ahead, enjoy it

The Water’s Warm

Go ahead, enjoy it

Lake Winnipeg

Go ahead, enjoy it

The Big Whiteshell

Go ahead, enjoy it

Lake of the Woods

Go ahead, enjoy it

Clear Lake, too

Go ahead, enjoy it

Take em’ to the Beach!

I will be dancing across Ponemah Beach singing, off-tune as I do, with carefree abandon this Saturday through Tuesday. 

Please join me if you're in the area. The cottage is always open to friends.

Too hot to handle.

Take em' to the Beach.

'Cuz the sun is high.

Take em' to the Beach.

Yeah!

 

Marvellously Melodious MagicBlox

I can never pass on an awesome alliteration opportunity, even when it results in nearly nauseating results. Sorry, peeps.

This past weekend while relaxing at Stone's Throw Cottage, along the sandy shores of Lake Winnipeg, I set up my very own recording studio in my front porch. Well, sort of.

My marketing guru, Cameron Crane, of Little Pickle Press arranged for me to read the first few chapters of Spaghetti on the fabulous online talk radio show and kids book site called, MagicBlox.


I dialed in and hooked myself up to my cell phone, wearing ear phones that NASA would envy. For the next 20 minutes I read, in my most slow-paced and animated voice, into what sounded like dead air to me.

It was all a bit strange and a few times I wondered, "What if they've lost connection with my cell? What if I've been reading the past chapter only to myself?"

"Can you hear me, Major Tom?"

But it all worked as planned and here is the link to the show:

MagicBlox Rocks!

(Yes, I did make that up. Thanks for noticing.)

I even squeezed in a plug about the FREE LESSON PLANS that can be downloaded from my publisher's site.

What?  You too would like these plans?


Follow this easy-peasy link and you too can use them at home or in your classroom:

 FANTASTICALLY FREE LOVELY LESSON PLANS FOR STUPENDOUSLY SPELLBINDING SPAGHETTI!

Again, my apologies if you are feeling queasy.  

I blame Dr. Seuss.

 

Try saying that three times fast.
(I double dog dare you.)

Family Traditions - the Old and the New

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Family Traditions – built on years of repetition and sentiment. Every family has them. Some of the most memorable ones are wrapped around the big holidays – Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Hannukah, and for Tim Burton fans - Halloween.

Does your family open Christmas presents on Christmas Eve or do you wait until morning? Who hands out the pressies? Is it, “Santa’s Elf” or “Mrs. Claus,” or an exhausted mom who didn’t sleep because she was more excited for Christmas morning than her children? (Just curious.) Does this person, not referring to any specific mom, wear a fluffy red hat with puffy white trim while passing around the gifts?

Much to my husband’s horror, I brought a few traditions with me in my tickle trunk of eccentricity, to our marriage. We Griffiths' delight in Christmas crackers, wearing our paper hats through dinner and into dessert. Every year Drew “accidentally” tears his, blaming his ginormous melon-sized cranium. Harrumph, we’re onto you, my sweets, we’re onto you.

My mom started one of my favourite traditions, for my brother and me, and Drew and I now do the same for our girls. We send them on a treasure hunt for gifts on their birthday morning, providing clues that lead them from one present to the next.

A few days ago, we sent my youngest, Sarah, on her hunt.  We’re always at the lake for her birthday,  so hiding her presents in our 600 sq. foot cottage, is quite a challenge.

And every year, our extended family drives the hour from Winnipeg, joining us for the sun, the lake and the mosquitoes. We like to share everything, here in Ponemah. It's tradition.

This year we were treated to a visit from my two American cousins, Liz and Lorraine. I haven’t seen either since the 1980’s. 30 years is a long time between visits and much has changed, but there was an instant family connection that makes me giddy just thinking about.

Over burgers, bright blue icing laden cupcakes, and wine we reminisced, agreeing that we can’t wait another 30 years to see each other again.

We vowed to keep in touch, updating each other with the goings on in our lives - building the newest Family Tradition - Staying Connected.

What are your oldest and dearest traditions?  Which ones would you prefer to dump?

Are there new traditions you’d like to test out?

Please post your comments below – I’d love to hear from you.

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(And no, this is not my family. We can't jump that high.)

What if Chocolate had Zero Calories?

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Another summer has begun at our wee cottage overlooking, Manitoba’s own inland sea, Lake Winnipeg. It’s a small piece of paradise hidden, in the heart of the Canadian prairies. Another summer, I am fortunate to spend with my family, swimming, kayaking, sandcastle building, and (whenever possible) writing.

The kids are off for a quick swim, so I have a few minutes to sit at my computer, tap away at the keyboard, letting my imagination explore new worlds and all the characters that inhabit them. My mind is flooded with my favourite question.

What if?

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And not just the cliché, wah-wah-wah questions like; What if we could fly? Or What if the moon was made of cheese? Or What if chocolate had zero calories, cured cancer and was the fifth food group, but has too weak a lobby group to compete with the all-powerful dairy, grains and protein lobbyists? Okay, so maybe the last one is my own personal what if, but I think you can see where I’m going.

Currently I’m working on Gemini, a paranormal YA about twins. It’s the first in a trilogy called Triggered. The protagonist is Kate and the story is told from her point of view. Her brother, Chris, is the assistant protagonist.

“But Jodi,” you may ask (or not depending if you talk to your computer screen as much as I do.) “Can you have an assistant lead character?”

And I would have to ask you back, “But what if you can? What if you HAD to?”

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Which of course would lead me deep into a “what if” chain of questions.

What if two characters were so interconnected that you couldn’t have one full character without the other and what if something was changing, deep inside one, but not the other? And what if that something that was changing was dangerous – even deadly? And what if for the sake of one, the other had to be hidden? But what if they hid the wrong twin?

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What if, I ask you, what if?

This is the flow of my “what ifs” at this very moment and I’m amazed where each new “what if” is taking Kate and Chris. I feel more of an observer, along to record their journey, marvelling at their courage and fearing for their survival.

Oh, wait! I feel another “what if” coming on –

“What if I had a Hershey Kiss machine hidden behind a false wall in my attic? And what if I was the only one who knew…”

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Make Mine an Extra-Large Double, Double.

Never make an important decision on a bad night's sleep.

Hmmm. On the surface this is solid advice. But what if you never get a good night's sleep...ever? Okay, so maybe I exaggerate, but it doesn't feel like such a huge stretch this morning.

I remember a day nine years ago, when we just bought our cottage. Emma was 18 months old and Grandma had her for the weekend, so we could paint over the canary yellow and pepto bismol pink bedrooms. It was our first weekend on our own, and the most memorable part of the weekend? Not the dinner out at delicious Casa Bianca, or the long walk on the boardwalk at Winnipeg Beach, or even the…well never mind about that. It all paled to sleeping in Saturday morning…until 9:00 am.

Almost an entire decade has flown by, and we’ve never come close to sleeping that late again.

 

I’m currently in a bad pattern of not sleeping. I refuse to call it insomnia. That sounds too dark, scary, and far too permanent of a problem.

 

Last night, at our writing group meeting, The Anitas, we were given a simple free writing exercise. We were each given a slip of paper with three to seven words. The task; to use each word in a five minute story. This is one of my favourite writing games. No lies, I get goose bumps just thinking about it. Once the time is up, we read out loud our “five minute masterpieces,” which are often lame, but always entertaining. So, after Mel read her seven word assignment and proudly announced she’d used each word in her story, I realized it.

I realized that I hadn’t used any of the three measly words that were typed neatly on my slip of paper. In fact, I totally forgot that was the assignment. Seriously. I remember reading the words and getting a fuzzy feeling of a theme for a story and starting to write.

 

We all laughed at my lack of attention, which was hilarious at the time, in that punch-drunk way things are funny when you’ve been without sleep for 10 years. Yup, all pretty hilarious. (I just can’t remember driving home.)

So, in the light of dawn, I’ve come to realize something else.

I suffer, like millions around the world, from self diagnosed OTPD.

Over-Tired Parents Disorder.

It’s fairly new, so you can be forgiven for not being familiar with it. It doesn’t yet have the same hype as the other acronyms that get splashed around the cafeteria.

 

Drew, recently came down with a lingering case of OTPD and he talks with reverence of that July Saturday so long ago, and that 9 am sleep-in. It’s become a sort of Carmichael Holy Day; a High Holiday for sleep deprived parents.

So...what was I supposed to be doing this morning? Right. Work. Guess I need to put the pen down, pull out of the Tim Horton’s parking lot, and get going. But wait; is that McPhillips or Pembina Hwy? 

Wait a minute...how did I get here?

I wonder if Tim Horton’s sells coffee by the carafe.  Mmmmm, coffee…

Turkey Hangover a la Beach House

As I write this, it’s the morning after Thanksgiving and the sun peaks over the far side of Lake Winnipeg. Streaming shades of pinks and oranges swirl across the pale sky. Its simple beauty fills me with peace and reminds me of how lucky I am to be a 'flatlander.' Like the wheat fields, the lake seems to go on forever; our own inland sea. The vastness makes me feel free…I’m a prairie girl to the core.

As my gaze leaves the calming vista, I glance around our tiny beach house and my inner peace wobbles. Thanksgiving debris covers every surface. A few stray forks lay on the table, entwined with the fall-leaf garland. Scraps of orange and silver foil wraps, from the mini-pumpkin chocolates my daughters insisted were tradition, litter the carpet. I know that the kitchen holds more turkey feast casualties. The gravy pan, casserole dishes and cutlery have sat all night and will have food cemented on them harder than Plaster of Paris.

14 for dinner last night meant an “all hands on deck” all day prep for Cottage Carmichael, with the most crucial question hanging in the air.

How do we squeeze 14 into a 600 square foot cottage, for a sit down dinner?

Like the list-making, over-analyzing planner I am, I sketched out a 5 step plan.

It went a little like this:

Step 1

Welcome them with a steaming cup of mulled wine

Step 2

Calm them around the campfire

Step 3

More mulled wine

Step 4

Play in mounds of leaves, shoving handfuls down Grandpa’s back

Step 5

A splash more of mulled wine

The result, of my carefully crafted plan?

Happy and relaxed guests not bothered by the table leg wedged tight against their right foot. Guests oblivious to how dangerously close their elbows come to knocking over their glass of Cabernet, when they reach for seconds and thirds of the sweet potato pie.

And was the effort worth it? Is the still disastrous kitchen, food now petrifying, an acceptable consequence of a night surrounded by in-laws?  Yes, in-laws. But not just ordinary in-laws…The World’s Best In-Laws were at my cottage this weekend.

Another reason to be thankful; for family who never complain about the hour drive to the cottage every Thanksgiving to sit around a table, like sardines in a can, and eat a turkey often over done and hours late, and tell me every year, “This is the best turkey, yet!” (I refuse to believe it’s the mulled wine talking.)

So, it’s a resounding “yes.” The effort was worth it, the clean up a small price to pay for another weekend at our little slice of heaven just an hour north of Winnipeg, surrounded by family and overflowing with love, dry turkey and gravy.

But maybe next year we’ll consider paper plates. Easy clean up. Another reason to be thankful.