My Blog

Michelle Ferguson: From Away

Fri, 11 Nov 2011 19:30:00 -0700

I met Michelle two years ago when she approached me, hoping I’d edit her manuscript. From Away was her first novel, and she wanted to see if she was on the right track before she sent it to a publisher. I was hesitant at first. A first novel can be ... well ... a challenge to edit, and I was — as usual — busy. I, somewhat grudgingly, read the first ten pages. It was good — really good. It needed work, yes, but it had something special: engaging dialogue, a sense of place and a cast of quirky characters,. I fell in love with Alice Lupin and Schooner Button, and I wanted to see Michelle’s novel published. Since then her manuscript has seen a number of editors, many edits and now publication. Michelle has achieved her dream, and we’ve become friends.

I regularly write the author profile for On Spec, and I enjoy interviewing those writers. I enjoy learning about their writing experiences, their challenges, their inspirations. I realized that, in some respects, I knew more about these authors who, in most cases, I had only interviewed once, and usually then on the telephone, than I did about Michelle. I decided to ask her some questions.

Roberta: Is writing a long-standing passion?

Michelle: I have loved writing for as long as I can remember being able to write. I can remember summer holiday coming up when I was in elementary school and going to my teacher to gather what I would now call "writing prompts". Back in those days the teachers provided us with pictures and had us write a story about the picture. I used to love those.

I started writing my first "book" in grade five. It didn't get very far, but the class used to like to hear about our adventures with King Tut. I wrote a novella in junior high and my first novel when I was in law school. When I wasn't writing novels I was writing poetry or crazy long letters to friends.

So the short answer is yes. Writing is a long-standing passion. It is something I have always loved to do.

Roberta: What inspired you to write From Away?

Michelle: I was lying in bed one night and the whole first chapter started reciting itself in my head. I remember running down the stairs and grabbing a pen. I scrambled to keep up with the words as I tried to record the start of the story. The next morning I told my husband it was time I bought a computer.

I suppose the inspiration for it comes from the people I have known and lived by in Nova Scotia. People in Nova Scotia have such a strong sense of past and community. It is really like no other place I have been. While people in other provinces pursue the moving on up, there is still a large piece of the population of Nova Scotia who still live in the place they were born or close to it. It is those experiences and those people who lie behind this book.

Oh, and one other thing. When I was twelve I remember getting out of my father's car on a road travelling around St. Margaret's Bay. I got out and I was immediately struck by the feel of the sea air on my face - and the smell and the taste of the salt. That memory is such a vivid recollection of place that I relive every time I think about it. That's what I hope people feel when they picture Lupin's Point - the salt air on their face.

Roberta: Who is your favourite character? And why?

Michelle: Oh, I have a few. I think my favorite character is probably Alice Lupin herself. She is so lovely in an almost crusty sort of way. She has a real sense of how things are and has lived a long enough life that she has this practical way of seeing the world around her. Everything seems so obvious to her. I love the twinkle in her eye and the way she looks like she's ten feet tall with her air of authority. She's just so lovely.

Roberta: Are you working on another novel?

Michelle: I am! It is a novel that takes place on a little island just off the coast, not too far from Lupin's Point. It is full of interesting characters and questions about how communities so firmly rooted in the past deal with the present day problems when they amble into their world.

Roberta: Where do you hope your writing career will be in ten years?

Michelle: Good question! If I was to allow myself to dream - well, I would picture myself walking into a bookstore and walking up to the fiction section. I would trace my finger along the "F" section and stop at my name. There would be a few books there in that dream. But even more than that, there would be people out there who would be looking forward to my next book. People that have fallen in love with the stories I write. I guess in my heart of hearts I just hope that I have touched people with my stories and characters. Maybe made someone's day a bit brighter.

You can learn more about Michelle and her novel, From Away, by visiting her website http://www.michelleferguson.ca.

Finding Inspiration

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 22:29:20 -0600

A while back, I wrote a blog in which I said, I don’t think negative messaging on environmental issues is working. In response, someone on Facebook asked me, “What is working?” I responded with a somewhat gloomy, “I don’t think anything is ‘working.’ ” And then went on to say that there was a lot that needed to change before anything was likely to “work.” Well, I’d like to add a little ray of hope to the discussion. Here are two resources that suggest alternative approaches to how we frame the environmental debate. They are both tried and true marketing strategies, but as applied to Environmental Communication, I think they have merit.

The first is a fascinating TEDTalk by Simon Sinek called How Great Leaders Inspire Action. You don’t need to be communicating about the environment to find this talk interesting. Sinek comes from a business perspective, and he’s a great speaker, so I think anyone would find his talk eye-opening.

The second is a communication strategy suggested by Futerra Sustainability Communications. It’s called Sizzle: The New Climate Message. It isn’t entirely different from Sinek’s strategy. Anyway, if you’re interested in communication, it’s a strategy that could work for just about any application.

Happy listening and reading!

Goodbyes

Fri, 22 Jul 2011 23:08:54 -0600

It’s been another busy week: writing papers, finishing projects, attending events. Holy cow! It’s a blur.

On Monday we met the graduating cohort. They had created displays to represent their thesis project. Many were the sorts of theses you’d expect: papers about sustainability strategies, environmental ed programming, and metaphoric messaging. The projects that appealed to me the most, though, were the ones they called the NTTPs or Non-Traditional Thesis Projects. These were quite amazing. One guy, Dean, had done research about the impact music can have on messaging, but he had also written songs that contained environmental messages. They were great. He got out his guitar and played us a few. His lyrics are marked by a wry sense of humour. Another student had focused on art as an expression of his thoughts on the environment. He had also written a related thesis, but the art was, of course, a very visual demonstration of his ideas. One woman, Laura, had sewn a quilt to tell a narrative. It was her first quilt and an amazing work of art. She had also written a paper as part of the project, but with the NTTPs, I didn’t care much about their writing, it was all about their art. Laura brought her quilt to the final farewell. Here’s a picture. Unfortunately it doesn’t do it justice.

On Tuesday evening I went to hear Elizabeth May speak. Robert and Bridget Bateman sponsor a series of lectures, and this year the speaker is Elizabeth May. (And in case you’re thinking that’s a pretty biases choice, last year it was Stephen Harper.) Anyway, I was glad it wasn’t Harper. I probably wouldn’t have gone, but Elizabeth, she was immensely inspiring. I was one of the annoying keeners who stayed after her talk to ask questions. Here’s what I said to her: “I’m a writer,” I told her. “I’d like my thesis to lead to a book that covers a popular topic. In your opinion, what could I write about that would do the most good?” Sorry. I can’t tell you the answer because I might follow her advice — but I haven’t decided yet. So if you really want to know, I’ll probably be ready to tell you in about 12 to 18 months. You’ll just have to wait.

I think it was the following night the story I’m about to tell you took place: I woke up at four in the morning and couldn’t sleep. (I’ve been doing that a lot since I got here.) I lie in bed and my head swirls with ideas and thoughts. On this particular morning I heard something like a crunching noise. There was also a soft trilling. Remember the tribbles from Star Trek — something like that. I got up and looked out the window. Someone had left food for the resident raccoons (Rocky and his family), and they were gathered in a circle: mom, dad and 5 (?) little ones. (I never did get an official count. There was a branch in my way and the little ones kept moving.)

It was like watching a family around the dinner table: the soft susurrus of quiet back and forth conversation punctuated with the sounds of crunching and munching. There were two little ones (probably boys) who kept wandering off to go on little adventures. They’d circle around and come back, circle around and come back. I watched for at least a half an hour. I felt incredibly privileged to be able to share this experience, even as a voyeur. Then I went back to bed and immediately fell into a deep contented sleep.

On Thursday, we gave our presentations, they were great. It’s hard to believe that the groups were able to accomplish so much in so little time. We gave our group presentation outside on the grassy knoll above the LIC building. It was sunny and a great break from the day. As part of our presentation, we engaged our cohort in outdoor games on the grass. A fun time.

That evening all three cohorts met at Crossroads Bar & Grill where we had our last supper. The food was great, surpassed only by the company. I was tired and left early, so I missed all sorts of shinnanigans, but that’s okay. I heard all about them the next day. I only regret not seeing Jamie dance. (But that’s another story.)

This morning we had our regular circle (‘nuff said about that), and then Liza showed us a sequence of photos she had taken during the residency. It was a wonderful gift. Thank you, Liza. Then we had a final send-off for the 2009 Cohort, and that was the end. I said goodbye to PJ, then Liz, and then Chris. She’s on her way back to Wrangell, Alaska. Maybe she’s already there. Later Susanna packed up and left. I’ll miss her. Then it was Matthew and Jamie and finally Heather’s turn. I’m trying not to feel sad, but it’s hard not to. I’ve make some strong connections that, over the last three weeks, have evolved into friendships. I know three weeks isn’t really long enough to establish a close friendship, but we’ve been through so much together in that time, that I can’t help but feel close to many of my cohort. They feel like my community, my family.

Epiphany

Sun, 17 Jul 2011 13:19:42 -0600

I’ve been sitting in my room all day struggling to write a paper in which I apply theoretical communication principles to practical situations. A lot of my struggle comes from trying to understand the communication theories themselves. Anyway, there I was sitting on my bed and minding my own business when I made a connection that just turned my world upside down. I wanted to share it. I wanted to run into the streets shouting “Eureka.” (At least I wasn’t naked.) Instead I decided to get it down right now by writing my blog.

For the past two weeks, Liza has been pounding into our brains the idea that “negative messaging doesn’t work.” This concept has met with a lot of resistance, as you can imagine. Many of us want to hold on to our existing paradigms. We want be able to communicate the severity of the problem. How else can we evoke change? If only people will listen, they must realize that our environmental predicament is dire. How can they not? It’s so obvious. As a species, we must change how we do things. But Liza keeps repeating the same thing: “Gloom and doom is NOT working.” I have reflected on her ideas, and I thought to myself, You’re right Liza, gloom and doom is not working, but it brought me here, so it must work for some people. If I understand the urgency of our situation and want to make the world a better place, well, everyone is just being stubborn. So there! Pfsst!

Then, while I was writing my paper, and struggling to make sense of Uncertainty Reduction Theory, I finally got it. Bam!

I — personally — felt the urgency of the “doom and gloom” messaging because I already felt a strong connection with nature. I care. What if I didn’t feel a strong connection with nature? Would not my natural reaction be to push back against these notions? We MUST FIRST create the connection with nature; then we can deliver the message that something must change. We cannot evoke change first. We cannot evoke change until the connection is made FIRST. Wow!

This, of course, is probably a simplistic interpretation, but I think it’s part of the puzzle. I must mull ...

The Most Fun I’ve Had Since I Was a Kid

Thu, 14 Jul 2011 18:21:14 -0600

We’re well on our way to accomplishing our Action Learning Project. Each of our group members are offering our personal interpretation of what a nature-based slow pedagogy exercise would look like. I’m up next tomorrow morning, but today Liz shared hers with us. It was the most fun I’ve had since I was a kid.

She takes us into a beautiful part of the forest. There is a deep gully. A creek runs through the gully and giant Western Red Cedar stand all around. The forest floor is dotted with huge ferns. I can almost imagine I’ve stepped into a prehistoric landscape.

There are twelve of us participating. One person is chosen as the seeker. The seeker stands rooted to the spot, covers his eyes and counts to 15 while we scatter. When the count is done we hide. I drop to the ground at the bottom of the gully. I am hidden by the heavy foliage: horsetails, ferns and deadwood. The seeker cannot move. He can only look, but if he can see you, you must come forward. I lie in wait, watching a small spider climb the underside of a blade of grass. When the seeker can no longer find anyone, he yells, “Come forward.” This time he counts to 10. We all leap forward: stumbling and crawling over the hidden moss hillocks and rotting logs. I plunge into a clump of giant ferns, lying flat on the ground. I look down. I’m nose to nose with an enormous black slug. It’s incredible. I’ve never seen a slug this big in my life. It’s stuck to a stray leaf, and I think, “I want to take you home with me.” How can I leave this place behind? I never want to go. I shift my position to get a better look, and as I do, I glance up. Now I am eye to eye with a slug that is like the giant bolder to the grain of sand. This is the sauropod of slugs. It’s enormous. It’s impossible. I didn’t know that a creature like this existed outside of the tropics. It’s 6, or maybe 8, inches long, yellow with thin stripes of black imprinted on its wrinkled skin — a creature of exquisite beauty. I find out later that it’s called a Banana Slug, but I don’t know that now. I just know that I want to stay here forever, a part of the forest floor. Please, don’t make me leave — not ever. But then the seeker calls, “Move forward.” And I do. The moment is lost. I’m having too much fun to think outside of the moment, and it’s okay. It isn’t until reflecting back that I feel a sense of loss.

This is the embodiment of slow pedagogy: a moment of deep understanding, love and connection. I am moved beyond words.

PS This photo is not mine, and it isn’t quite like the Banana Slug I saw today. (It’s courtesy of wikicommons.) But it’s the best I can do for now. I’m going to go back to that area of the forest on the weekend with my camera. I’ll try to find a another slug like the one I saw today, and if I do, I’ll post the photo.

Winners

Thu, 14 Jul 2011 08:07:15 -0600

It’s been a difficult week. It’s hard to imagine that it’s been four days since my last posting. It isn’t that I haven’t had anything to write about, but we’ve been kept busy. I’ve been getting up at 7 or earlier. I start my day by quickly reviewing and prepping for class. Then I rush off. Classes “officially” run until 5, but we often have group meetings and other activities well into the evening. My “free” time is used to read, write, discuss, plan and implement. I don’t have a spare minute, and I usually crawl into bed exhausted between 11:30 and 12 at night.

This is the first chance I’ve had to blog. It’s nice to lie here in bed and compose some of the thoughts that have been flying around in my head — sometimes at 4 o’clock in the morning.

I’ve been thinking about many things, but two have come to the surface: the use of pseudo-satisfiers and embodying the change we want to see in the world. These two ideas have come together in my own personal action plan: I have decided to commit to no longer shopping for clothes at Winners. This may not seem like a big deal to some of you, but it is to me. And that brings me to the first reason for committing to this action: pseudo-satisfiers.

I believe our culture has become dysfunctional. We value the individual above all else. Personal freedom, personal choice, individualism — all good solid North American values. What could possibly be wrong with that? In many respects these are good values, but what happens when they are taken to the extreme? What happens if anything is taken to the extreme? In this case the extreme becomes a disregard for the needs of others, a focus on the “self,” an ego “centric” view of the world, a sense of “I can do whatever I want as long as I’m not hurting someone else.” But what hurts others? Do we really comprehend the ripple-effect of our actions? I don’t think we do. Individualism leads to a disconnect from others, and that leads to a reduction in empathy. We begin to lose our connection to our families, our communities, the people and the world around us. And this leads to feelings despair, isolation, fear, disconnection, angst and sadness. What does one do when they feel isolation, sadness and disconnection? Well, in our culture we often reach for pseudo-satisfiers. In my case, I go shopping. Many of us lovingly refer to this behaviour as “retail therapy,” but it is ultimately self-destructive. And I know — because I’m an expert in “retail therapy.”

And that brings me to my second point: embodying the change I want to see (and be) in the world. Winners is my favourite haunt. It’s convenient, inexpensive and it offers lots of selection. So let’s think about that for a moment. Convenient = easy. Inexpensive = It’s been mass produced in a faraway country by people in a sweatshop working for a “wage” any North American would find laughable and shipped thousands of miles using fossil fuels. Lots of selection = excess. Hmm. Is this what I’m about? Are these the values that I believe in? Is this what I want to embody? Is this a system I want to perpetuate? My soul cries, “No. No. No. No.”

So, upon reflection, shopping at Winners is a pseudo-satisfier and ultimately self-destructive. In an attempt to begin to break this cycle of self-harm, I will no longer shop for clothes at Winners. In addition, shopping at Winners embodies a number of values (see above) that are entirely counter to my personal belief system. So, I will no longer shop for clothes at Winners. It’s done.

And now I have to get to class.

Hard at Work

Sun, 10 Jul 2011 21:06:57 -0600

These little guys have taken up residence above the grand entrance to Hatley Castle. You can’t see from this picture, but they’re right above James Dunsmuir’s initials: JD — carved in stone. There are swallows nesting all over the castle. They fly back and forth all day long. They are hardy little souls. (Talking about adaptation...)

Anyway, contrary to what you might think, I haven’t had much time to watch the birds or smell the roses for that matter. I’ve been very busy.

After much swearing, stomping and nashing of teeth (no, not really — just a little swearing maybe), I finally finished marking a batch of papers for the PROW 250 course I’m teaching online. It’s been brutal with this Internet connection. Blackboard (that’s the program we use) kept timing out, and then I’d have to get back in again. It would take about ten minutes every time. Grr! But that’s the last assignment I need to mark while I’m here, so Wheeeee-eew!

For the rest of the day, I worked on the rough draft of the first assignment for EECO 503 (It’s so cooool to be taking a 500-level course.), and just got it off to Liza. I hope I’m on the right track. It feels right, but what do I know about Communication Theory. After all I just teach the stuff. Heh, heh, heh.

Well, I’m out of here. There’s still a bit of light left, so I’m going for a quick walk and then to bed. But — before I go, you might want to give this a look-see. This TED talk is with William McDunough the author of Cradle to Cradle, one of the books I had to read for my Environmental Communications course. He suggests an entirely new approach — at least it seemed new to me. As he says, “Instead of being less bad, what if humans could be 100% good?” This rocked my world, ... and maybe it will rock yours too.

The Peacocks

Sat, 9 Jul 2011 09:03:03 -0600

I had to make a really tough decision. Today my cohort went to Botanical Beach. They’ll be stopping at the Avatar Grove (named for its resemblance to the forests in the movie Avatar) on the way and finishing up with a potluck at Rick’s house afterwards. While they’re at the beach, Rick plans to take them on a walk to an area that very few people go. Sounds like heaven. But I’m not going.

It would be a fantastic experience, I know. But I’ve been stressing over my other responsibilities. Tomorrow will be enough time to write a rough draft of my communications paper, take photos and do some more readings, but I have this “stuff” I brought with me. I still need to mark a set of paper for the PROW 250 online course I’m teaching and I still need to finish the layout for Prairie Dog Publishing’s next publication, In Their Own Words. I had hoped to complete both these tasks before I arrived, but that became impossible.

I’m still a bit angry at myself for not planning things differently. I need to stop taking on more than I can manage, and yes, I even end up taking on responsibilities I don’t want to take on out of a misplaced sense of loyalty or responsibility. It’s not that I wouldn’t have taken on the course and the book — could I replay the last few months. No, there were other decision I made that led me to this place. There being only so many hours in a day, those other tasks took time that should have been more focussed. Well, I can’t do anything about that now, but I need to take responsibility for my own time management. In the future I need to remind myself that I am accountable for my decision to take on this project or that project. Of course other people might want me to do this or that, but I am the one who is ultimately in control. If I don’t assert that control then I’m the one who pays the price for that decision. I need to learn from this experience.

So as I write this, my cohort is on their way to Botanical Beach, and here I am in my dorm room. *sigh* But on with my journaling.

There are dozens of peacocks here on the RRU campus. They were brought here by the Dunsmuirs. Peacocks were probably a sign of wealth, and I expect they also fit somehow into their concept of the ideal Edwardian garden. I don’t know the precise details, but suffice it to say, the peacocks have been here for over a hundred years and now make their home on the campus grounds.

For those of you who don’t know the ways of peacocks, let me enlighten. They are really loud and really noisy. They actually remind me of giant, beautiful magpies — with massive poops. I remember going to bed the first night and wondering how I would ever get to sleep. Of course, I did, and by the next night I was so tired I could have slept through peacocks, a tsunami (BTW, we’re in a prime tsunami zone. If a tsunami comes, we’re toast.), earthquakes (Yup, we’re right next to a fault line too.), you name it. I hardly hear the peacocks now. As loud as they are, they’ve become background noise. And for the record, I find them a lot less obnoxious than the lawnmowers, shouting, gunned engines, racing cars, swearing, and cranked up music I’m serenaded with in the city. Anyway, while none of the students here would dare do harm to the peacocks, I’ve detected a certain animosity toward these lovely, noisy birds that I would not have expected.

Most of the annoyance is kept under wraps, but every once in a while someone will jokingly let slip a comment about wanting to give them a good swift kick, which is natural enough, but other times the hostility is more pronounced. One woman in my cohort is particularly anti-peacock. BTW, I count this woman a friend, but on this one subject we disagree. So I hope I’m not offending too much, but this is important to my journaling because I’ve been thinking about a number of related issues.

In the case of my fellow student, she objects to the peacocks because they are not native to this area, and they have become dependent on humans — two very good points. But I’ve been thinking of it this way, the peacocks didn’t ask to be brought here, but they’re here now, and we can’t very well “send them back.” This is their home. This is their home in the same way that it’s home to the Europeans who were not indigenous to this area at one time, but now are. Sending the peacocks back home would be a bit like sending all the humans of non-Vancouver Island decent back to where they came from. Not very realistic, and it would be even worse for the peacocks. The peacocks have become dependent on the humans. They have adapted to their environment. Their adaptive strategies include waiting outside the dorm for students and staff to come by and feed them. This is how they cope with their surroundings. Sure they’re dependent on us, but we’re all dependent on each other. Aren’t we?

We’ve been learning about a new label, Nature Evolving. At first, I didn’t get it. I didn’t get the point, but it’s just a label, just a way to frame a particular perspective. In the Nature Flat model, we saw nature as something separate from ourselves (and some still do), something to be used, a resource to be extracted, a place to dominate. There are a number of other models, or ways to frame the environment, but Nature Evolving was, at first, too radical for me. I wanted to hold on to the image of pristine wilderness and untouched spaces. I hope I still can, but the reality is that this exists only in isolated areas. My day-to-day reality is one in which humans have had a profound effect on my surrounding landscapes. Nature is evolving and adapting, and we are part of nature, evolving and adapting too. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about some of these ideas and how I can embrace this new world order. And that brings me back to the peacocks.

Something I’ve noticed in the past is our collective tendency to cherish the species that have had difficulty adapting: the right whale, the African elephant, the passenger pigeon, the whooping crane. In a sense we’ve mythologized those species we see as fragile and exotic while we’ve vilified those species we see as common or pests or just plain difficult to get along with. But those same species — the crows, the magpies, the mice, the rats, the cats, the raccoons, and yes, even the peacocks — are the species who have managed to adapt to their environment. They are the most like us. Humans are master adaptors. We manipulate our environments to do and be what we want of them — often to our own ultimate detriment, but that’s a topic or another posting. Yet here are other species capable of adaptation as well and yet there is a tendency to despise and vilify them — instead of embracing them as our neighbours. And as we know, some neighbours are noisy and obnoxious, but we still have to learn to get along and play nice.

So those are my thoughts for the day. In closing, I’ll direct you to this one-minute quickie video. It’s funny, it’s cute, it’s profound. It’s The Wombat.

Getting Down to Business

Thu, 7 Jul 2011 21:10:04 -0600

Today was another busy day. (I might be saying that a lot over the next few weeks.)

Before I go on to today, I’ll explain the above picture. Yesterday, after a long day of exploration: walking through the gardens, engaging in a Counsel of All Beings, learning about Esquimalt Estuary and the Sooke watershed, along with many other miraculous experiences, our cohort came together for our circle under the boughs of this incredible douglas fir. I’ve never seem a tree quite like this one. I don’t know how old it is, 700 years or more maybe, but our class of nearly 30 is literally enclosed within its boughs. The branches dipped all the way to the ground. We could have been double or triple that number and not been crowded. People were walking by on the path not ten feet away and didn’t notice us.

Today, while not as breath-taking, was still wonderful. We worked sooo hard, and I am sooo tired. One of our instructors would explain an activity to us, and I’d be thinking to myself, Well, we’re going to be working on this for the next couple hours. And then she’d say, “But you need to get at it because you’ve only got about 10 minutes.” And then of course we’d get it done because we’d have to. Toward the end of the day though, I was so mentally exhausted that my brain was having trouble keeping up. It was a strange sensation. I don’t remember ever experiencing a feeling quite like it. I would have to keep reminding myself of my current task because mentally I’d be clumping along behind.

The people in the program are really smart, and it can be a bit intimidating. I remember thinking on our first day when we introduced ourselves to our triad — our three-person support groups — just how diverse our experiences are. In my group there is a scientist, an educator and a communicator. Well, I’m sure we’re all much more than those basic labels, but in simplistic terms, that’s what we are. I realized in that moment, the enormous potential we hold as a group: The whole being so much more than the parts. That was one of the first of many revelations I’ve experienced in the past few days.

Today was a day to get some important assignments nailed down. I decided on the topic for my first Environmental Communications paper. I had been trying to make it way more complicated than it had to be, so as soon as I narrowed my focus, I had a topic. (If any of my writing students are reading this, you’re not allowed to laugh.) Then we also decided upon groups for our Action Learning Group Project, and we decided on a purpose for our group too. We haven’t come to a conclusion about what to do for an action plan yet, but we have some great ideas. I’m sure that will be the topic for another blog.

As an aside, we watched this You Tube video today, The Flight of the Hummingbird. It’s a beautiful like story, and if you’ve been wondering, “Why should I bother?” here’s your answer.

I wish I could wax philosophical now, but my eyes are starting to cross, and I still have a couple of hours of reading to do before I can sleep. So, I’ll say Good night.

Royal Roads University

Wed, 6 Jul 2011 20:12:16 -0600

I feel I need to offer some explanation here.

Some of you already know that I was accepted into MA in Environmental Education and Communication at Royal Roads University on Vancouver Island. My summer residency started this week, and I’ve made a decision. As part of the program we are required to keep a daily journal — as if I don’t have enough writing to do already, I know. Because I knew I would be making many personal reflections, I had ruled out blogging. Today I changed my mind.

Today was such a revelatory day that I decided this experience was meant to be shared. I will try to keep up the daily postings throughout my residency — and maybe beyond. As many of you know I’m consistency in my inconsistency, so I’m doing this with the proviso that I may decide upon a different tactic later on. However, as long as I continue on this course I will try to be as openly reflective as possible. I don’t want to do this if it cripples the journaling process, so honesty is of paramount importance.

Since I’m setting the stage, I’ll clarify a few things for those of you who know me but don’t know my reasons for applying to this program. I’ve been teaching in the Professional Writing Program at Grant MacEwan University for the past year. Since the PROW Program is being phased our and replaced with the Bachelor of Communications Studies, a baccalaureate degree, I knew I’d have to upgrade my credentials if I wanted to continue teaching there, and I do. Teaching at GMU has been one of the best decisions I’ve made in many years. Teaching groups of engaged students truly committed to improving their writing skills has been rewarding, enlightening and stimulating. I’m not ready to give it up, not yet. So that was the initial impetus. After the decisi0n to commit to graduate studies was made, I needed to find a program that tied into my ultimate writing and teaching goals — and was doable. Royal Roads came highly recommended.

It was a surprise to learn about the MA in Environmental Education and Communications (MAEEC). I had been looking into Professional Communications programs and here was one with a twist. The more I learned about the program, the more excited I became. Here was a communications degree that would satisfy my interest in the environment. The environment was a direction I had planned to take my writing anyway. This would give me the credentials I needed, and it would help me gain the knowledge base I wanted to pursue that avenue. And there was one other thing.

I’ve felt for some time that I haven’t been honest. Some would call it a midlife crisis, but ... oh ... whatever. It doesn’t matter what you call it, it’s how I feel. Perhaps we all, to one degree or another, take on personas to appease the expectations of the people around us. I certainly have. I haven’t been honest with myself. I’ve become what others wanted me to be — or at least an approximation, a compromise. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to embrace my own potential. I want to be honest with myself. I want to be the person I was meant to be.

The natural environment has always been of vital importance to me. I feel spiritually connected to “the environment” (as I hope we all do). It has made me into the person I am, and the person I want to be. Without my connection to the natural world, I’m not me. I have made far too many compromises in order to feel a part of a culture whose values I often don’t share. I’ve always felt like an outsider, so it has been easier to maintain a certain facade. It’s not as though, deep down, I’m a completely different person than the one I’ve been embodying all these years, but I’d like to be a more honest version of that individual. See, I told you writing about this would open up a whole can of worms — but there it is.

For me, my connection to the environment and my connection to writing are integral to who I am. They are also part of the same thing. Don’t ask me to elaborate here. That’s a story in itself, and one that you can read about in my story, “Full of Winter,” published in How I Shot My Brother & Other Stories. (How very opportunistic of me.)

So anyway, you can imagine that when I saw the description of MAEEC, I thought it was the perfect program for me — and here I am.

Royal Roads University was once a military college and before that the home of the Dunsmuirs. Hatley Castle was constructed at the turn of the century, and it overlooks the ocean. Imagine standing in front of the photo I’ve posted above. Look south. With the castle behind you, you will see rolling lawns (yes, the parking lot, but let’s look beyond that), the Esquimault Estuary, the Straight of Juan de Fuca and, in the distance, the misty, snow-capped Olympic Mountains. With this view in mind, Hatley Castle was plunked down in the midst of coastal old-growth forest. Building the castle must have been the Dunsmuir’s way of bringing the elegance of Victorian Europe to the Canadian wilds. It’s splendid, but more on that later.

Today we spent the day outside. To start the day, we were introduced to a First Nations lady, Pakki. I can’t remember her last name, but that isn’t important for now, what’s important is this: she told us many stories. She’s an Inuit originally of Greenland descent, but she met and married a First Nations man from Beecher Bay. Pakki was telling us about the displacement of her husband’s people. They had come down from one of the northern islands to avoid the residential schools. Well, not entirely avoid, but at least only be subjected to the day schools. And now they are a part of the community inhabiting Beecher Bay. It was at about this time that Pakki began talking about the linguistic nuances of the various dialects and how she had discovered a connection to the Greenland Inuit and one of the coastal dialects here. She off-handedly mentioned something about the areas of study for her undergrad, grad and post-graduate studies, which included linguistics among other things, and I realized something important: I had made an assumption. I had seen Pakki as a kindly, respected and knowledgable older lady, it had not occurred to me that she had a Phd. I was not alone. After speaking to a number of other students, I realized that some, maybe many, of us had assumed that because she was First Nations, she did not have a higher level of formal education. Interesting.

I bring this up because it is these types of assumptions that limit our relationships, affect our ability to shift our paradigms, disable our power to make rational decisions and even compromise our capacity to tell story — among many things. This was further cemented in my mind when I returned to my dorm room, checked my email and found that someone had sent me the link to this TED Talk, Chimamanda Adichie: The Danger of a Single Story Aren’t you excited when you experience an insight and it seems that fate or God or something has been watching because that insight is followed up with corroborating evidence? I am. By the way, Adichie has a fascinating story. I think you’d enjoy the talk.

Well I’ve blathered on long enough. I only got as far as the first 30 minutes of our day, but it can’t be helped. There’s so much to say. I’ll try to fill in some of the blanks in tomorrow’s posting.

Why You Should Vote

Sun, 24 Apr 2011 11:10:44 -0600

Maybe you believe we should scrap the long-gun registry. Maybe you feel strongly that Canada should build more prisons. Maybe you think that the money spent hosting the G8 summit was entirely reasonable. Maybe you believe all of these things, and maybe you have good reasons for your beliefs. I’m not going to argue with you about any of that.

What I hope you’ll consider in these last days before the election is this: Since Stephen Harper became leader of Canada, just five years ago, our country’s democratic checks and balances have deteriorated more than at any other time in this country’s history.

It’s sometimes easy to take these checks and balances for granted. After all we’ve never experienced the fear of personal threat that comes from living in a policed totalitarian regime like Stalin’s Soviet Union nor have most of us experienced the terror that came when the Rwandan government literally turned on its own people in a frenzy of genocidal killings. Here in Canada, we’re safe. We have a government that, while not perfect, more or less represents the needs and wants of its people. One could argue that our politicians don’t always do a good job of this, but it could be a lot worse.

The checks and balances that protect our democracy were developed over time through trial and error. By developing a working parliamentary system, England was able to avoid the wars and revolutions that brought democracy, at great cost, to other nations. Canada inherited its parliamentary system from England, and that system is the backbone of our democracy.

Since Stephen Harper and his conservatives took over the government of Canada, they has prorogued parliament twice: once to avoid a non-confidence vote that could have seen the opposition parties forming a coalition government and again to avoid the release of certain embarrassing details about the treatment of Afghan detainees. So let’s talk about what happened.

Government coalitions have successfully ruled in many democracies. They usually come into power after a period of dissent among political parties, and they often go on to successfully govern countries for many years or even decades. Germany, Ireland, Israel and England currently have coalition governments. And while this type of government has recently been maligned and vilified, coalition governments require cooperation and tolerance among the ruling politicians – usually to the ultimate benefit of the people. In Canada, the Harper Government feared a coalition because that coalition represented the majority of the Canadian people. The Conservatives only represented a minority.

The second time Harper prorogued parliament it was in reaction to the Afghan detainee scandal. When did the Government of Canada learn that the Afghan military was mistreating its prisoners? And more importantly, was our government complicit in that treatment? Was the Government of Canada, in fact, responsible for intentionally handing over prisoners to be tortured? According to University of Ottawa law professor, Amir Attaran, they were. Attaran claimed that the unredacted versions of certain documents would prove the case, and if this were true, Canada could be found guilty of war crimes against humanity. The Conservative Government refused to hand over these documents and in order to avoid being forced to do so, Harper again prorogued parliament.

Now before I continue, it’s important to understand exactly what proroguing parliament does. It temporarily takes away the power of parliament. It puts government on hold. It allows time for public outcry to die down. And it gives people time to go on with their lives and forget about the issues. It gives the governing party the ability to be unaccountable to the people.

I won’t go through every slight to democracy that the Harper Government has imposed, but I will mention one more.

Contempt of parliament is the obstruction of parliament in the carrying out of its duties and functions. As you can imagine, this is a serious offence. Parliament is the governing body that keeps us from living in a dictatorship. Without parliament, we lose our democracy. On Friday afternoon, March 25, 2011, for the first time in this country’s history, in fact, the history of the entire British Commonwealth, the government was held in contempt.

If you haven’t been following this issue, you may not know why the government was held in contempt. They were held in contempt because they refused to release the full cost of their tough-on-crime agenda, including the expansion of large prisons throughout the country. The tough-on-crime agenda is, of course, a cornerstone of the Harper Government platform. We still don’t know the cost of its projected expenditures, but it’s rumoured that they run into the hundreds of billions of dollars.

And here we are. As I’ve said before, I won’t go into every case of democratic erosion. These should be enough. For the first time in my life, I fear the results of the coming election. I’ve disagreed with politician and party platforms in the past, but I’ve never feared them. I thought I lived in a country without political fear. Until now, I did.

Without democracy, it won’t matter what you think about the long-gun registry or childcare or healthcare or any-other-kind-of care. Without democracy you have no voice, we have no voice.

Please carefully consider the consequences of your vote. We are all responsible for the future of our country.

Milo

Mon, 4 Apr 2011 18:01:13 -0600

I’ve been thinking about writing this entry for a long time. Maybe today I’ll find the words.

I met Milo in November of last year. I’d seen him a couple of times in the weeks before. He was a scrawny grey tabby who came to our fish pond to drink. I make it a habit not to encourage the neighbourhood cats. I want our pond to be a year-round refuge for the birds that come to bathe and drink from its water, but with Milo I made an exception. Even at a distance I could see that he was horribly thin. I was sure he hadn’t eaten in a long time, so I left out some food, not too close to the pond, but along the fence line where I was sure he would find it.

Well, someone found the food, but I wasn’t sure who, and over the next few weeks, I would see saw a flick of grey or a hurried backward glance behind the pond. That was all.

I was on my way home one day when my cell phone rang. It was Jeff. He had noticed the grey tabby and gone outside to feed him. Jeff had been surprised when, instead of scarfing down the cat food, Milo had come to him for affection. He was more lonely than hungry. And yet he must have been hungry – Milo was starving.

Jeff lured Milo into the garage – not much luring involved really. And when I got home I took the little guy to see the vet. We thought it was a simple case of starvation. Milo’s eyes were sunken and weeping. He was weak. His flesh hung and sagged. He was what I’ve heard called “a walking skeleton.”

Milo was starving. The vet said, “It takes a long time for a cat to get in this shape.” But he was also old – seventeen or eighteen. We didn’t think the little guy would live long, but we decided to have blood work done anyway. We wanted to know what we were dealing with, and we wanted to make sure we weren’t exposing our other cats to disease. It turned out that Milo was in the advanced stages of kidney failure.

I drove Milo home thinking, Now don’t get attached to this one. We can keep him warm and fed for the next few weeks, but he won’t make it to Christmas. He probably won’t make it to next month. I’ve seen death, and Milo had the look and smell of death – of that there was no doubt.

By the time I got home, Milo had a name: Milo. Jeff’s choice. It seemed only right since he was footing the vet bill.

We put Milo on a special diet. I cut away his mats and brushed out his coat. We gradually introduced him to the other cats. There were challenges, of course. We quickly realized that Milo had other health problems. He has advanced cataracts. He’s has had a number of broken bones that have healed on their own: ribs and tail. And although I can’t say about the ribs, the tail was recent. He has crippling arthritis in his rear legs, but we soon found that he enjoys nothing more than to sleep in a patch of sun, or wiggle his way under the bed covers and sleep there for hours at a time. We had to take him back to the vet to have an enema – not one of Milo’s finer moments – but before long he was fitting into the family surprisingly well.

Milo began putting on weight, and while he remains skinny, he’s lost the gaunt sunken look he had in those early days. His eyes and nose stopped running, and eventually his hair grew back in the places I had cut away the mats. Instead of passing away quietly within a few weeks like we’d all expected, Milo has thrived. I took him back to the vet a couple weeks ago. The vet was surprised at how much weight he had gained: 1.6 kg. Not bad for a geriatric cat. His blood work had also stabilized, and it looks like he’ll make it to summer.

More importantly, Milo loves life. Even in the first days when he was too sick to purr or play, I saw an unmistakable joie de vive in everything he did. He is a cat who enjoys living. Like any little-old-man cat, he loves his comfort. He’ll head butt to get under the covers at night, and he’ll howl like a banshee if he’s hungry and doesn’t think we’re paying attention to his needs. But he also purrs and snuggles. He plays with the catnip ball and occasionally puts the other cats in their place if they give him lip. He’s quite a character.

Since he came to live with us, I’ve had two very different responses when I’ve told friends this story. Of course cat lovers go all weepy-eyed, and that’s to be expected, but the response from other people has often been unanticipated.

I don’t expect – or want – a pat on the back. I’ve always told Milo’s story with a bit of chagrin: The cat who was only supposed to last a few weeks but is now a permanent fixture. I find it a bit funny that while I swore I would never take in another cat, destiny prevailed. Others don’t always see it that way. After telling this story to a group of friends, one woman piped up, “Humpf (yes, she actually said humpf). I can sure think of a lot of things I’d rather spend that money on.”

Now I’m firmly middle class, but most of my friends are in “Oil Country’s” middle and upper middle class income brackets. I’m sure that if I had told a story of finding the most amazing Coach purse on sale for under $200, or if I had told a woeful tale of losing $500 in Las Vegas, my story would have been received with glee or commiseration respectively. And that bothers me.

Suffering is suffering. Is Milo’s suffering somehow less intense than that of an old arthritic man living outside in the cold – probably not, but as a species we seem to think it’s less important. And this makes me think: If we can empathize with some, shouldn’t we be able to empathize with all. Perhaps relating to an anonymous cat is too much of a stretch, but I’ve also been criticized for helping girls in Malawi, “When there are people right here who need our help.” I always find this argument interesting since I’ve never heard anyone who volunteers for a drop-in centre or works for a homeless shelter use it. This is the go-to argument for the apathetic, the disengaged and the lazy. Maybe I should be more diplomatic in my words, but as my grandfather used to say, “Let’s call and ace an ace and a spade a spade.” I’m just plain tired of being criticized for my actions because of other people’s inactions. If a person feels guilty because they are unwilling to make a difference in the world, I challenge them to change.

And that’s about all I have to say about that.

PS Milo says, In your face!

Summer Reading Part 2

Thu, 29 Jul 2010 20:53:35 -0600

So far the summer has been a mix of great reads and spectacular groaners.

As some of you may know, I rather enjoy the zombie genre. Luckily for me, many others seem to enjoy the zombie genre as well, so there actually is a zombie genre. Unfortunately one of my big-time summer flops was a zombie trilogy that I had great hopes for. Monster Island was not a terrible book. For me however it struggled with believability issues – and that’s saying a lot when you’re already talking zombies. Like the undead, I limped through Monster Island, and with barely the sign of a pulse, began Monster Nation. By the time I reached the end of this deadbeat zombie flop, I knew it was time to cut my losses and put some life back into my reading. I will NOT be reading Monster Planet.

For all you zombie fans, I can, however, enthusiastically recommend World War Z by Max Brooks and the graphic novel series, The Walking Dead. Both great choices for summer zombie fun.

I recently finished reading Tom Bedlam by George Hagen. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I found this novel on the discount table at Chapters. I think I was more intrigued by the cover than anything else. The story begins in a similar vein to Oliver Twist, and the similarities don’t end there. Hagen has Dicken’s gift for drawing complex and fascinating characters. Tom Bedlam is broad in scope and whimsical in nature. With a playful nod to the Victorian tradition of unlikely coincidence and serendipitous happenstance, Tom Bedlam traces one man’s life through Victorian London to the South African Boer War to the trenches of the First World War.

I made another find on the clearance tables of Chapters: Unpunished by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. I had only known Gilman for her short story, “The Yellow Wall-Paper” – one of my favourites. Unpunished is a very different story. Written in the 1920‘s, it’s a spoof on the detective novel and finds a spunky husband and wife detective team solving the murder of a black-hearted villain who has been shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, strangled and poisoned. Not laugh-out-loud funny but definitely chuckle-into-your-teacup humourous.

For those of you who are more interested in non-fiction, I’ve been reading Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. Enjoying if so far. Eye-opening and well-written.

Well I hope that gives you all some reading ideas to help you make it through the rest of summer. Happy reading!

Summer Reading

Sun, 6 Jun 2010 21:45:55 -0600

It may seem strange to some, but the more I write, the more I read – and I’ve been reading a lot lately.

For the past three years I’ve been working on A Light in the Warm Heart of Africa, but I’ve only really gotten serious about the writing these last nine or ten months. I’ve also been editing a lot. I’ve worked on a couple of major manuscripts, and I’ve been editing the stories for Prairie Dog Publishing’s upcoming anthology, Christmas Chaos. Most days I spent eight to ten hours at my computer writing, editing and researching. It’s exhausting.

So you might well ask, “Why would any sane person who already spends so much of her time with words choose to spend even more reading?” Well, first of all, I can’t really guarantee the sane portion of that statement, but beyond that, my answer is this: For me, reading is my best escape. So the more I work, the more I read. Reading takes me to a different place, a place where there are no worries and no stressors. A good book takes me to a place far, far away, and I go there alone.

That brings me to the topic of this particular blog: reading. I’ve read so many good books recently that I feel the need to share some of my new found wealth. Here are a few of my pics for summer reading. I hope you enjoy.

City of Thieves by David Benioff
Based on the experiences of his grandfather during the seige of Leningrad, Benioff’s novel is both beautiful and tragic. Throughout this book I felt I was stepping into the past, experiencing those terrifying days through the eyes of Lev and Kolya.

One Bloody Thing After Another by Joey Comedu
This is one bizarre book – in an oddly compelling way. It’s a page turner, and one page is stranger than the last. It’s one bloody thing after another for some truly enchanting characters. Funny (sort of), wacky and imaginative.

44 Scotland Street by Alexander McCall Smith
It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed a series as much as this one. If you like quirky, loveable characters, you will love this series. It begins with 44 Scotland Street and goes on to Espresso Tales, Love Over Scotland, The World According to Bertie and all the rest. So little happens throughout the series that you can’t help but shake your head at the craftmanship McCall Smith shows in his writing. Bertie, the perpetual six-year-old; Angus and his flirtatious dog Cyril; Bruce, the outrageous narcissist and all the rest will likely make their home your head – so beware. Warning: Highly addictive!

Zombie by Joyce Carol Oates
This book is certainly not for everyone, but it is the best portrayal of the psychopathic mind I have read to date – and I have read a few. A brilliant telling, but be aware, living inside a killer’s head for nearly 200 pages is not necessarily a pleasant experience. As Nastassja said to me after she finished reading the book, ìI wanted to go bath in lye.î Fascinating, but not for the squeemish.

The Murder Stone by Louise Penny
I regularly write a writer interview for On Spec magazine. I always ask the writers what their favourite books are. I can’t help myself. My interviews would feel incomplete if I didn’t. The writers’ responses have led to a dramatic expansion of my reading list. This is a mixed blessing. On Spec is kind enough to pay me to conduct these interviews, but alas, after I’ve completed each one, I’m compelled to take my new list to the local book store and ... you know the rest. Suffice to say, my paycheque doesn’t last long.
I recently interviewed Whitehorse writer Marcelle Dube. One of her favourite authors is Louise Penny who writes the Inspector Gamache novels. “I’m in love with Inspector Gamache, and if I ever find him, I’m going to marry him,” she said to me. The idea of having another mystery writer to fall back on, Ruth Rendell and Peter Robinson don’t write fast enough for me, was appealing. I’m picky, and even when I’m reading for escapism, I need to read a book that is well written. I can’t shut off the editor in me, and sloppy writing ... well ... don’t get me started – and oh, it’s difficult to find good mystery writers. So, I thought I’d give Louise Penny a try.
The Murder Stone was all I had hoped for. Formulaic, yes, but what good mystery isn’t? It’s also imaginative, well-written and suspenseful. A real page-turner. So, thank you Marcelle. Louise Penny is now on my reading list.

That’s only a few of the books I’d like to share, so I think that next week, I’ll write “Summer Reading Part 2.” Stay tuned.

Anna’s Story

Sun, 7 Mar 2010 13:16:53 -0700

The truth is, girls in Malawi who receive an education do go on to find employment, get jobs and help out their families. Anna owns and operates her own play school. She has run the school since shortly after graduating with a Diploma in Tailoring. She did tailoring work for several years until getting married. Before getting married, Anna’s fiance took the unusual step and was tested for HIV and AIDS. Anna and her husband have one child, a miniature Anna with all the spunk and gregariousness that helped her mother endure years of hardship. Anna’s story is a blend of tragedy, determination and good fortune.
Anna bubbles and pops with life. Her voice is like carillon bells at Christmas, sweet and beautiful. She often interrupts herself with a burst of giggle that wrinkles her nose and comes from deep within her soul. She’ll drop her head and cover her face, and then, not quite sure of herself, she’ll look up with a smile that dances from her eyes and twinkles throughout her face. Under her ebony skin, she must be blushing. Her laughter is absolutely genuine and hopelessly infectious. It’s impossible not to love her. I loved Anna from the moment we met.
Anna’s family is Jehovah Witness. Because of their faith, Anna’s parents fled Malawi in 1970 after years of persecution by the Banda government.
The persecution began after the Witnesses refused to join Banda’s Malawi Congress Party (MCP). Beginning in 1964, Witnesses were systematically beaten, tortured, and detained. Banda declared the group to be “an unlawful society.” Their homes and Kingdom Halls were burned, and they were routinely driven from their villages. Often meted out by the MCP’s Youth League, the oppression lasted throughout Banda’s reign. Witness’ fled to neighboring countries: east and south to Mozambique and later west to Zambia where they were often unwelcome but sometimes allowed to settle.
Anna’s family settled in Mwanza, Zambia. Anna was born twelve years later. When Anna was just five, shortly after her brother’s birth, Anna’s father died, so Anna’s mother took Anna and her brother to live with her parents.
Several years later Anna’s grandfather became ill. His stomach began expanding. While his condition was never diagnosed, he knew he was dying. Before he died, he wanted to take his family back to Malawi. In 1995, Anna emigrated to Kasungu, Malawi with her mother, brother, grandparents and two uncles. Her grandfather died a few months later.
Now living in Malawi, the family struggled for survival. Banda no longer ruled the country, but Anna’s family owned nothing. They were a family of subsistence farmers no land to farm. Two years later, Anna’s uncle said, “I cannot manage to stay in Malawi.” He left with his wife to move back to Zambia, but a year later he returned saying, “I’ve found another place. I’ve come to get you all and take you back to Zambia.”
By then, Anna had nearly finished standard eight. She would be taking her Primary School Leaving Certificate Exam in just a couple of months, so she asked to stay in Malawi long enough to complete the tests. Anna’s mother, a quiet woman who has always been supportive of her daughter, decided to wait with Anna. The two would follow the rest of the family in a few months.
Anna had just completed her exams when she heard of a small Canadian sponsored girls’ school opening nearby. The school was looking for form one students to start secondary school on full-scholarship the coming January. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so Anna wrote the entrance exam and was accepted into the school. That school was the short-lived ERGO project.
When Anna wasn’t at school, she lived with her mother in Kasungu. Their house had contained two rooms, but after the roof caved in, they were left with only one. Because the rest of the family had gone back to Zambia, there was no one to help repair the house. Anna says, “It was like I was the father of the house. I remember the day I put the grass and the plastic on the roof. The whirlwind took the grass and left holes in the roof. It was at night. I cried.” Anna bubbles with laughter remembering her long ago self. Along with Anna, I picture her crying next to her mother in that tiny, dark, cold room with the wind blowing through the open roof. “My mother said, “It’s okay. It’s not raining.” ” But Anna still cried.
The next morning Anna went back up on the roof with rocks and large tree branches to hold down the grass. “But when I was putting on the trees, I worried that maybe they would be heavy, and this house is going to fall.”
Anna completed form one and form two at ERGO and later form three and form four at Pwesi. After two years of tailoring at the Polytechnic and helped by a microcredit loan, Anna went into business with some friends. It was a bumpy journey that you’ll need to read my book to find out more about.
Anna has never earned a lot by North American standards, but she has come a long way from huddling in the only dry corner of a small room with a leaky roof. Although now married, she is an independent, self-reliant woman with a husband who respects and a little girl who did not come into the world as the result of an “accident.”
Once she began earning her own money, Anna put what she had to aside to pay off her loan, but the rest she used to build her mother a house, a small dirt, thatch-roofed house, but a house with strong walls and a roof that doesn’t leak.
As she finishes telling me her story, Anna becomes serious: “I don’t think I’ll go back to those years. I don’t think I’ll be the same. I struggled enough.”

Books That Changed Me

Sun, 10 Jan 2010 17:49:30 -0700

I’m not much for self-help books. I’m the type of person who would run, not walk, away from anything titled Words of Wisdom for Dummies or What I Learned from My Next-door Neighbor’s Daughter’s Cat. It isn’t that I don’t look for wisdom and knowledge in books, but I don’t like the force feeding approach.

Very often when I’m reading, I find myself connecting the dots. Realizing truths I had only partially imagined. I wonder how my perception of the world would differ without books. I think of books as the path to understanding and knowledge. Obviously books are not the only way for us to learn, but they represent an enormous fund of knowledge that has been gathered, analyzed and crafted into volumes organized by subject, title and author. They are a priceless resource.

I believe I’ve gained a great deal of insight into the world in which I live through my affair with books. I have learned something from most of the volumes I’ve read over the course of my lifetime, but some books stand out more than others. I’d like to share the ten books that have influenced me the most. Here they are:

1. The First Eden by David Attenborough (I read this book when I was quite young. It’s probably no longer in print, but I vividly remember its impact. It helped me see the world and its ecosystems differently. I realized how much we had already lost and how much we have yet to lose.)
2. Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond
3. Collapse by Jared Diamond (Full of epiphanies. I realized that we are not invulnerable and that we have the power to make very poor choices as a species.)
4. The Collapse of Complex Societies by Joseph Tainter
5. Dark Age Ahead by Jane Jacobs
6. A Short History of Progress by Ronald Wright (Thoroughly engaging. Brings together many of the concepts covered by Diamond, Tainter and Jacobs in one easy to read volume.)
7. Rivers of Blood, Rivers of Gold by Mark Cocker (A crash course on man’s inhumanity toward man. If you weren’t cynical before ... )
8. The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein (Helped me articulate a concept I had suspected but didn’t have the words to express.)
9. Hope for Animals and Their World by Jane Goodall (Is this hope? I’m not sure, but it might be.)
10. The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood (Funny thing about this book. I found my spiritual belief system had more in common with a fictional cult than any of the current options available. Yeah, hilarious.)

I’m sure there are many I’ve missed, but I hope you find some inspiration in these titles.

Valentina’s Story

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 15:51:40 -0700

I'd like to tell you about some of the girls I've met on my trips to Malawi. I especially want to tell you about some of the girls at Atsikana Pa Ulendo Girls' School.

All of the girls have amazing stories, but of course some stand out more than others.

When the school opened in January 2007, Silent River Kung Fu began sponsoring one of the girls. That girl was Valentina Phiri.

Valentina is the eldest of five girls. Valentina’s father is polygamous, and Valentina is the daughter of his first wife. It is often difficult for first wives since the husband is usually more sympathetic to the newer wives. This was the case in Valentina’s family. The second and third wife turned their husband against Valentina’s mother. Although she was expected to contribute labour to the family’s tobacco garden, her husband wasn’t supporting her. Eventually she returned to her family’s village with her children.

Life was even more difficult for Valentina’s family after the move, and Valentina’s mother remarried. Valentina’s stepfather refused to support Valentina’s schooling because she is not his daughter. Eventually he left Valentina's mother because he didn't want to help Valentina out. Finally Valentina’s uncle stepped in and offered to look after Valentina. This caused tension between him and his wife. Because of the extreme poverty in Malawi, any extra strain on a family is keenly felt. And Valentina’s aunt was jealous of the extra burden Valentina placed on her family. It was Valentina’s uncle who saw the notice for Atsikana Pa Ulendo and told Valentina she should apply.

Valentina started school at Atsikana Pa Ulendo (Girls on the Move) in January 2008. Like all the girls, she had difficulty with her English, but she has been improving ever since. Valentina feels very guilty for causing her family so much trouble. She is a gentle, innocent girl and didn’t understand the situation. She feels a great deal of shame.

Valentina was sad and withdrawn during the second term, but the situation has improved.When I saw Valentina in May this year, she was in good spirits and positive about school. She speaks English well now, she works hard on her studies and her grades are improving. Her favorite subject is Bible Knowledge, and she loves to play netball. She is still a bit naïve about her future goals, she wants to help orphans, but she is a good kid with a big heart and a great attitude. She has the potential to go far and make a difference in her country.

What a Weekend

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 22:09:09 -0600

I just got back from the Surrey International Writers’ Conference, and what a ride! I had gone with the intention of approaching an agent for my book. Since it’s my first full-length book, I knew it was a long shot.

My logic was sound. I believe there is a national and even international market for my book, so I’d like to see it in the hands of a national publishing house. National publishing houses don’t usually accept unsolicited manuscripts. For that, I need an agent.

As it turned out, the agent I was pumped for just didn’t “get” my project, but two others did - two very prestigious others. Until all the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed, I don’t want to give too much away, but I’ll keep you posted. I know which agency I’m going with, but I’m afraid I’ll jinx myself if I say too much right now.

This changes everything. Now I “really” need to roll up my sleeves and get to work. The possibilities are enormous, and if I don’t succeed now, I’ll only have myself to blame. I’m actually quite terrified. I feel big, big pressure. But don’t worry. I’m not complaining. It’s a wonderful challenge.

If you’re tuning in late and would like to know more about my book, A Light in the Warm Heart of Africa, please visit the Writing Page of my website.

Photo of Diana Gabaldon by Ursula Maxwell-Lewis.

Surrey Writers’ Conference

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 11:15:56 -0600

Well, we’re driving through the Fraser Valley. It’s 11: 15 AM (Alberta time), and I’ve been on the bus since 7:45 PM last night. It hasn’t been too bad. I’ve only had a seat mate since Merritt, and she seems an okay sort. Most of the real lowlifes got off early on: Edson and Hinton. There was the guy going home from Fort McMurray. Looked like his clothes hadn’t been washed in at least a month (maybe he didn’t like doing laundry?). He smelled like he’d been bingeing all week, but maybe I shouldn’t complain. It probably concealed something even less savory. Then there was the young “gentleman” who seemed unable to contain his anticipation of the evening’s delights while on the phone with his girlfriend (and he was using his “cellphone voice”). Can’t say I wanted to hear about how he “likes it rough” and “that’s a hint for later” or his plans to score some meth. But those one went their separate ways, and it wasn’t too bad after that. All except for the couple sitting behind me whose sole purpose for the trip appeared to be to consume as much stinky food as possible in a fifteen hour period and then belch it all back up. Other than that, it hasn’t been too bad. I managed to sleep quite a lot despite the kinks in my back, neck, shoulder, hip ...

On a more pleasant note, the landscape here is beautiful. The trees still have their leaves, and some of them are even still green. They cover every shade from yellow to orange to a deep rich burgundy red. It’s overcast, but it isn’t cold. I know because I just got out to stretch my legs at Chilliwack. And as for the bus thing, yeah it’s pretty gross, but it sure beats driving.

Anyway, I’m on my way to the Surrey International Writers’ Conference: very heady stuff. I’ve been wanting to go for a few years now, but I’m always too busy. Well I’m too busy again this year, but the time was right, so here I am. The Surrey Conference is an absolute cornucopia for us literary sorts. I expect to be absolutely tripping over agents, editors and assorted writers. Guest fiction writers this year include Terry Brooks, Anne Perry, Diana Gabaldon and Michael Slade, and although I was at one time a huge Terry Brooks fan and still enjoy Anne Parry, I probably won’t be taking their workshops. I’m there for the non-fiction workshops and to see an agent(s). I have an appointment with Sally Harding from the Dean Cooke Agency - very prestigious. I don’t really think anything will come from it, and I still have Plan B, C, D, E and F to fall back on, but there’s that little voice that keeps saying, “Yeah, but what if?”

The whole “marketing your book” thing is enormously time consuming and mentally exhausting. It’s almost as much work as writing the book itself (okay, that’s a gross exaggeration, but it’s still a big deal).

I’m pleased with my book proposal. I think it’s strong, but I’m not so happy with my sample chapters. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be, at this point in the process, to pluck three chapters from my manuscript and polish them off. The book is so complex and interwoven that I don’t know how they will appear to an agent. I have to have faith that she can imagine the finished product, and that’s her job, so I should probably stop worrying.

It’s been good to have the weekend as a deadline for my proposal package. I’ve learned a lot from the process, and I think I will learn a lot from this weekend. In any case, when I get home on Monday, I’ll be ready to get back to writing, and that’s a good thing. But for now Plan A, here I come.

Compassion vs. Hard Reality

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 12:44:40 -0600

A broad river bed separates Karonga from the neighboring village. In May a small amount of water sits stagnant in the lower areas while a narrow causeway has dried from the hot African sun, but I can imagine the entire expanse flooding and becoming impassable driving the rainy season probably filled with snakes, crocodiles and other creatures I’d rather not imagine. But for now, goats and cows and pigs graze on the grass that stands thick and lush within the river’s banks.

A hen and her chicks flutter out of the way as our Hi Lux truck bumps along on the narrow dirt track that parallels the river bed. “I don’t like to see that,” Henry’s voice suddenly has an edge.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He points to the thick reeds, and I see a large sow struggling to get her feet under her large, rounded body. She is unsuccessful and instead must drag herself forward using her front hooves in an awkward lurching motion.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She must have gotten into someone’s garden. They’ve beaten her with a stick,” Henry says.

I sit quietly, thinking this over. This sort of cruelty makes me feel physically ill, yet while in Malawi, I’m surrounded by examples of this attitude. Animals are almost never pets. Even Henry looks at me with a puzzled half smile when I talk about the dog and cats I’ve left at home and how much I miss them. In Malawi cats are rare and only ever kept for pest control while dogs are everywhere but feared by everyone.

Until now I have never written about this uglier side of Malawi because I don’t want people to misunderstand. It’s very easy for you or me to sit back in our warm homes while we sip a latte and put our feet up on a leather ottoman and say, “How can they treat animals like that?” It’s entirely another to live in a state of edge-of-your-seat survival and still have compassion left over for livestock.

If you’ve been following my blog, you might be tired of my ongoing mantra: education for women, yet I believe that even in this instance it applies. It’s not that Malawians lack compassion, but when one cannot see past the next meal or the next chore that comes in a long list of never ending daily chores, compassion becomes a luxury.

I hope that one day Malawians will learn compassion for all living things, but I don’t think that day will come soon. I think it will take education and a certain security within a country where, for most people, every day is hard and raw and punishing.