Do More of What You Love

by Sylvia McNicoll | Sep 6, 2016 | Sylvia McNicoll

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Sciatica–a word I’d heard mentioned along with pain and back–suddenly became the only topic on my mind. Started just before the Canadian Writers’ Summit when I had to walk all over Harbourfront. It felt like my hipbone was poking out through my skin. Somehow that pain sent a numbing tingling down my leg.

I love walking, especially with my Jackapoo Mortie, so I hated life. But I heard swimming was good for your back so even while at the writer’s conference I swam in the morning and at night in the hotel pool. When I returned home, I bought a swim pass and swam at public pools every day with my grandchildren or not. At my friend Lynda’s pool whether she was home or not.

On a walk at Kernscliff Park, I discovered that strolling on softer grounds was easier on my hips and there were tons of turtles at the end of the boardwalk in the wetlands there. I love swimming, and I love turtles.

So I walked there every morning and swam every afternoon. And yes I wrote. And read. I ate more chocolate and drank more wine.

Then I saw my new motto somewhere on the Internet: Do More of What You Love.

Nine long weeks later my Sciatica pain left but some extra weight and my motto remains. Will keep swimming in my life and run with my Jackapoo! Somehow we all need to fit doing more of what we love in our life.

Would you swim in goose poop to save your dog?

by Sylvia McNicoll | Aug 7, 2016 | Sylvia McNicoll

Tiny white dot is Mortie’s head. Other brown dart three metres behind is my head.

A nice walk down the lake, that’s what we were after.  Spencer Smith Park offered no parking and the Beach Road was closed. “Let’s go to Lasalle Park,” my photographer husband said.

“Great idea,” I said, knowing I’d be in charge of Mortie and Bob would take pictures of swans and geese.  As we approached the marina, I noticed all the warning signs “Don’t let your pets near the water!” “Don’t feed the water fowl!” There was also lots of detail on e coli pollution from these geese and ducks. No worries, we’re not idiots. We strolled past the marina through the woods to enjoy all the squirrels and chipmunks skittering this way and that.

Bob hung back along the shore to take photos which always stresses Mortie out.  He wears a shoulder harness and a leash meant for a bulldozer dog but he has shed some weight. Mortie not Bob.  At one point, he pulled his usual bucking bronco routine in the harness because he wanted to head back to our photographer.

This time he slipped out.

“Bob, get the dog!”

Oh no!  Distracted by the ducks, Mortie leaped past Bob into the water and paddled after a flock.  The ducks swam towards midlake, Mortie followed. Another flock swam after Mortie. He turned and followed them for awhile.

I called for him. Dog training 101 which Mortie earned A+ on.  Not today.

Back and forth. A crowd gathered on shore.  “Should I go in for him?” I asked Bob.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Not a great answer.  The water must be up to my bellybutton where the dog was swimming. However it’s five Morties deep. We call some more. More ducks follow Mortie.  He focusses only on these birds. He does not look once to my voice or command. What would happen when he tired?

Augh! I went in. With heavy sandals and a long summer dress on I swam among tall weeds and floating mounds of something. I chased the ducks and Mortie. I grew more tired than Mortie or the ducks.

Finally the ducks fluttered off and we ended up near the dock.  Mortie suddenly heard me and swam to me. I grabbed him and lifted him to a kind lady kneeling on the dock which  was pretty high out of the water. Recently I have been suffering from sciatica pain. I tried to hoist myself out once, twice.

Then I did the humiliating and disgusting swim back to shore.

The aftermath err after bath.  Neither Mortie nor I swallowed any water. We shampooed and rinsed well. Later we’ll go shopping for a new harness and leash.  I’m having a glass of wine to make sure to kill all residual germs. No regrets.

Dog gratitude can get slobbery.

Connecting with the Reader–Imagine in the Park Arts Festival

by Sylvia McNicoll | Jun 6, 2016 | Sylvia McNicoll

Festivals make my hair stand on end.

Fy has manuscript wings. Words of latest book face inwards.

For most authors, festivals are way outside their comfort zone largely because there is a loss of control. Weather foremost–even a tent or building may shelter you from the elements but if it’s too lovely, people may head for the beach and if it’s raining people will stay curled up in front of a screen at home.  You can only wish the screen would hold a copy of your ebook.

Some kids are a little in awe of their own creativity!

You don’t know the size of your audience or if you will have one. For children’s and young adult authors, we love the school setting where numbers of the students can be anticipated and participants will be disciplined by teachers. As a rule no drums will beat in the background nor will there be a gigantic mascot type creature walking around distracting your audience. Students will have access to your books.

Muhammed & sister Bareer. Muhammed actually likes to write! Yay!

Imagine in the Park in Hamilton Gage Park rests even further away from my cushy spot.  My fellow artists often compete for the small audience we draw with toilet bands, t-shirt painting and other crafts, balloon tieing and free books. Just for fun a horse, with a police officer on top canters through and even I want to leave to pat the stallion.

But I want to connect with my future and present (sometimes my past) reading public and I’m comfortable being uncomfortable–(I also love oxymorons).

This year especially I wanted to let parents and kids know about Revenge on the Fly, a piece of Hamilton history that never stood a chance against the sinking of the Titanic.  This year I spent a few hours creating black play doh–10 drops red combined with 20 drops green simmered on the stove and kneaded into the doh recipe of your choice. Picture black pot, black hands, black anything that came in contact.  I visited the reuse centre and bought three beaded necklaces to dismember into fly eyes.  The dollar store provided the thick thread for the feet. I found various sparkly report covers to cut into tear drop shaped wings.

The work was worth it!  The crowds of kids who came in and while engaged in fly-making, also listened about this odd chapter in history. We discussed the food chain and the possible offsetting of the Hamilton catch of over 1,500,000 flies (ten and a half million would have born by the end of the summer) We wrote sensory poems from the point of the view of the fly. I encouraged them all to take Revenge on the Fly out of the library.

I acted as scribe for the poetry. That way everyone could participate. Names were written in corner.

I also met a 30 something year old fan who read the third book I wrote at the beginning of my career More than Money. Also a young boy was able to read the Korean version of the novel.

Yes it was an exhausting day–but also exhilarating! Thanks to Sharon Levy-Cohen for all her hard work over the years to make this connection possible!

Judging a book by its cover when there is none

by Sylvia McNicoll | Feb 26, 2016 | Sylvia McNicoll

  This is what a collector’s box of cereal looks like. The picture doesn’t do it justice, there is spot varnish on the Superman logo and texture on the blue of the uniform. I confess I was seduced into buying, of course, I do love caramel.

  it

In grade three, this is what a homework assignment story looks like.

 Studies show more children are reading, less are liking it.  From a publishing,writing, designing, illustrating point of view, there is no longer a payback for producing educational materials. Due to bill C11, “fair dealing exemption”, the school can use this unattractive copy of a retold illustrated folktale over and over again for free.

Jobs lost, eventually no material produced.

But from an aesthetics point of view, wouldn’t you rather read a cereal box?

How do you judge a book when you don’t even get a cover?

Epic Effort of the Year

by Sylvia McNicoll | Dec 28, 2015 | Sylvia McNicoll

My writing friends know I’m working on a fictional story about a Slam Poetry team, the climax of which could be a transgendered youth performing a love poem to the unsuspecting main character, Liam, aka Shakespeare.  For some of the research I’ve attended many slams particularly of Hamilton Youth Poets. I love their metaphoric rants and am addicted.

Then I thought I would have to write a poem and participate in an all ages open mic. I read a poem about ageism called Relevance. That went very well.

For December 27, IF was slated as the performance poet.  I watched the CBC video on him; he won 2nd place in the Paris, France, World Finals. He’s closer to my age than the average Slam Poet too. Inspirational.

I decided I would write another poem on behalf of my novel’s secondary character Kevin and for this Slam I would perform, not read, my poems.  You need two to compete.

Kevin is transitioning to Kristin with no support from family.  While the Slam Team supports him through this painful period, when he performs a love poem to our unsuspecting main character, it’s too much for him. Shakespeare cannot return Kristin’s romantic love.

When I take on a character, I very much become him or her, even secondary ones. I really feel Kristin’s pain and wrote from his heart.

A December 27th performance is not easy. I did not get the opportunity to walk and talk and live the poems the way you need to in order to perform well.  My big challenge was just to perform them without going blank in the middle. I read the poems, recited them while preparing supper, got “Tessa” my South African computer voice to read it to me.

Could I get through the performance without blanking in the middle?

Amazing with so much public speaking behind my belt, how hard and fast my heart rattled as my time approached. I was slated for last in the first round.

It went okay, I managed not to totally stutter to a stop but I dropped a couple of lines. The judges cards went up–I scored a couple of sevens but mostly eights.  Mediocre but the point is not the points.

Then we were all treated to IF’s performance which unfortunately felt muted to me by the rattling of my own heart and nerves.

Next round I performed first. Kevin/Kristin’s poem went much better for me.  I felt her pain as I recited. No dropped lines.  I was happy with my own recital

The shocker was one of the lowest scores I’ve ever heard.  A four, amongst sevens and low eights.  Hmmm.  I know the four was just one opinion but I didn’t hear any “Listen to the poet!” protests. I have to accept that the audience did not like the poem performance.

Failure is important.  I believe if you don’t fail you don’t try enough new things.

But what to do with this? Should I totally rewrite the poem? I tend to be a flat writer with clear and easy readability not the glorious metaphors others are so proficient at. Poetry is a lovely release and challenge at the same time.  Was it the idea that I was role performing that lost me authenticity? Was it because it was a love poem? They lean toward smarm at the best of times. Was the judge offended?

Problem is I’ll never know. The Slam is not a workshop, there is no feedback, just points or lack there of.  However, I can, in fact, give my character these exact scores and my own feelings as well as his own. He attempts suicide immediately following his performance.

A wonderful outcome was that all the slammers won a prize that night. A donation dinner was made to Micah House, a home dedicated to welcoming and assisting refugees.

And I feel very privileged to have been able to take part in this evening. Thank you and a happy New Year to Nea Reid, who makes all this Slam happen, to the Hamilton Youth Poets, who bare their souls so lyrically. And to all of you!