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!

 

My Heart Belongs in Manitoba

I live in a Canadian province that is undervalued by the rest of Canada. It’s virtually unknown in the US, never mind the world at large.

We Manitobans are actually okay with that. In fact, one might say we encourage our anonymity. Why would we choose to be so cloistered?

Because, we’re a little bit selfish.

We have access to lakes, beaches and forests that rival those found in all the better known tourist locals. Camping and cottaging is a provincial pastime that we have finessed, leaving the capital city, Winnipeg, nearly people-free every weekend in the summer. We just love our wilderness and there is so much of it to enjoy. So, selfishly, we want to keep our provincial and national parks to ourselves, free of tourists and the gong show that would arrive once we’ve been “discovered.”

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Think of Cancun circa 1980, just with more mosquitoes and freezing winters.

We have the Interlake; home of Lake Winnipeg and Lake Manitoba, both within an hour's drive from the city - each lake the size of Lake Superior. Grand Beach, nestled on the south shores of Lake Winnipeg, has such soft white sand and expansive dunes, it ranks as a world-wide top 10 beach.

(According to Playboy Magazine and when are bunnies ever wrong?)  

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 To the far west we have Riding Mountain and Duck Mountain National Parks, where the pine trees grow thick and the water runs clear. 

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 Driving towards the eastern edge of Manitoba  we pass through The Whiteshell Provincial Park and Brereton Lake, where I spent every summer of my childhood. On the outer western edge of the Canadian Shield, our cottage was perched high on the bedrock, overlooking the lake. My grandfather built the cabin in the early 30’s and if I close my eyes and think of our Brereton Lake log cottage; childhood memories flood back, cascading over each other like waves hitting the rocky shore. 

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There’s also Churchill in the far north, where polar bears walk the streets and guided tours are in hot demand. And Dauphin, Flin Flon, The Pas, and Nopiming Provincial Park – each with their own beauty, enjoyed by the locals.

And where do we Carmichaels spend our summers?

Our wee cottage, "Stone’s Throw," is on the other side of Lake Winnipeg, almost directly across from Grand Beach, in Ponemah. We can rarely see across the vast water as it’s so wide. Lake Winnipeg resembles more of an inland ocean when standing, toes wiggling, on one of the sandy beaches that dot its shores. The lake is wide, shallow, and warm. In the low water years, sand bars arise over night when the wind shifts direction, allowing the kids to walk for miles without getting deeper than their waists. In the high water years, we jump off the pier into the deep waves.

It’s a different beauty than my rugged and wild Brereton, but it is a prairie beauty that I have grown to love. The girls call it their second home, building treasured memories of their own and really, how awesome is that?

Our door’s always open and you’re welcome to visit. You can even buy a beach house and call it your own. Just don’t tell anyone where you’ve been.

It can be our little secret.

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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First Annual Anita Factor Retreat...a Success!

     We wrote, like prisoners on weekend leave from our city lives, shared those freshly written words, learned about each other’s writing journey, and laughed til’ the tears ran and our bellies ached.

     On the discussion table were active versus passive verbs, creating believable, strong character voices and building great stories that tickle our readers’ curiosity and grab their intention the moment they read the first line of our novels. 

    We mulled over Gabe’s overuse of the dash, Mel’s love affair with the semi-colon, and my addiction to the comma.

    Our brain breaks consisted of walks through the cottage community of Ponemah, Manitoba, where we poked around a handful of derelict cabins; our writer's minds buzzing with possible reasons for their abandonment. (It was Candice’s idea. She’s an instigator. There’s always one in every group.)

    This year we were down in numbers and those missing Anitas were toasted by candlelight, as we made a pact. Same time next year Anitas.  So, clear your calendar, dry-clean that musty sleeping bag you've tucked away in your garage, and prep your kids and husbands. There are words to be written, country air to be breathed, and cabins to be trespassed.

     Only 363 sleeps to go.