I offer apologies to my grandmother. When grandad said, “We go tonight or we never go,” she agreed to leave Siberia for Moscow on the hope of obtaining exit visas—even though she was seven months pregnant and had already endured two stillbirths. Continue reading
Robins mate now. Male birds are particularly aggressive at this time. They will fly at each other, bouncing off each other’s breasts—a mating ritual that is not hurtful but mainly for show. The true courtship is conducted by song, the female lured by the more attractive singer.
If a male catches his reflection in a window, he will think it a rival and spend days flying into the pane leaving behind feathers and blood. Continue reading
Recently Crystal Stranaghan and Jared Hunt interviewed me for their Feature Friday success story on their Live Your Dream website. They (among others) nurtured me as I set out to establish a freelance career.
The Buddhist maxim is true: When the student is ready the master will appear.
Since the quake, tsunami and Fukushima crisis in Japan I have spent several hours each day scouring the latest updates, pictures and reports from Japan. Though it gets harder to bear, I am compelled to keep watching. I feel it my duty to bear witness to the suffering and distress, not to turn away to some distraction. Continue reading
Friday I had thought to begin the first in a series of blog-posts, sharing vignettes from my November 2010 travels to Japan. Something to ease me into blogging, something I could do with confidence and love for my subject.
However, in the aftermath of Friday’s earthquake, tsunami and the threat of nuclear meltdown in more than one reactor, perky little pieces about bicycles on sidewalks and scouring Tokyo back streets for mom and pop sushi joints seem more than a little out of place. Perhaps even obscene. Continue reading
Thank you all who responded to my web-launch announcement, for your interest and for dropping by again.
Click on the title and read Pure Wool.
An email from Christopher DiRaddo, the CBC Literary Awards Administrator: This morning we announced on our website the names of the writers who have been short-listed for the 2010 CBC Literary Awards competition.
Unfortunately, your name was not among them. However, we still wanted to congratulate you on your accomplishment! Making the long-list is no easy feat. In such a competitive year (we received more than 5,000 submissions) your text rose to the top and was considered one of the best by some of our country’s finest writers. This is an incredible achievement!
Two (!!) exclamation marks. Not what I’d wished for, naturally, but now I can resume normal breathing. At the awards website the opening paragraphs of the 5 short-listed entries are provided for readers to vote on which one prompts them to keep reading.
Below I’ve posted mine and if it prompts you to keep reading, stay tuned. I’ll post the story here next. After that, some reflections prompted by my recent journey through central Japan.
PURE WOOL
By Lynda Grace Philippsen © 2009
The sky howls and grasses strain toward them like hands pushing them back. The tortured complaint of axles. The horizon unfolds ever forward ahead of the wagon bearing its load toward a distant continent. The trunks hold only necessities—tools, clothing, food, blankets.
The CBC announced its list of finalists for the 2010 Literary Awards Competition. My entry has made the list in the Creative Non-fiction category.
“Pure Wool” is a layered story with a wide arc. Four generations, revolution, emigration, resettlement, and inheritance are compressed into a symbol: a wool blanket.
Next? The short list and a bit of holding my breath in the interval.
Retired. The word has a long-standing odour of decrepitude. A musty hint of pasture and uselessness. But there is nothing fusty about the word. Quite the contrary. Retire stems from Latin re [again, back] and French tirer [draw]. Draw back–as an archer would. Which, of course, presumes another shot.
Simply put, I’m about to draw again. Another shot into a wider world. More than a little daunting sometimes, not unlike a blank page. I feel like a kid with a fresh box of crayons.