tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13031410500194940932024-03-14T02:37:44.929-07:00MARmadeLet me tell you something.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1303141050019494093.post-41223669568563716722012-10-11T11:32:00.003-07:002012-10-11T11:32:34.647-07:00Objects in mirror are closer than they appear I have been thinking. A coffee-green tea- knitting sort of thinking and today is so beautiful you would swear there was some sort of God behind it. And there probably is. What I've been thinking about mostly is connections - so many in Halifax everyone a friend of a friend and isn't that delightful to look at your neighbours and know someone you know who knows someone knows and loves them. It is humbling. Especially when your downstairs neighbour writes flowery notes in old-lady handwriting that says I'm too loud when I walk around my apartment at night in my slippers. Someone I know loves her and I guess that's enough for me.<br />
<br />
Writers group is tonight and I'm hosting, happy to fill up my little apartment with such amazing people. I'm not sure what I will workshop tonight, but I thought I'd share a bit of a piece I wrote with you called "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear":<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">You are closer than I even remember,
your lips my lips, your eyes my eyes, your eyebrows twitch and lift
like mine <i>I am confused you are a fool and I know it, I know
everything, everything you can do I can do better. </i></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I am better than you. </span></i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">No you aren't. </span></i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yes. I am. </span></i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We aren't the same,
no, we aren't but still it feels like you start where I start and
there is no distance between – not even breathing room – and
everywhere you go I go you follow I lead I follow.
</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I can't even miss
you cause how can I miss myself. Tell me. How.
</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">There was never a
doubt you would find me despite the woods, despite the heat, despite
the dark, despite the hour. I can never hide from you even with the
camoflague from the Military Surplus store. They assured me I would
be invisible among the shrubs and bushes, long grasses that keep the
pheasants covered until they squeak and flap and the guns shoot and
it's all over. You don't like guns, their cold steel barrels, their
empty sockets full. I don't like the sounds they make, I prefer
fireworks or thunder and lightening storms.
</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I didn't come home
for four days eating berries and drinking from streams using leaves
as blankets and moss as my pillow. It was okay to be here – away
from you – I thought it could be okay as long as I didn't die cause
there would be no leaving you in heaven, we'd share the same wings
wouldn't we. God is like that, right. You said so yourself one night
when I had mistakenly locked myself in the bathroom and you had to
break the door down and explain to our cranky landlord that it was a
life or death situation and you'd help him install the new one and
even mow the lawn for the rest of the summer, no questions asked. Ask
no questions you told him with your eyebrows, he gave in and you
obliterated the dandelions for the season with a sputtery old
lawnmower with a rusty handle. I didn't tell you it was a mistake,
the latch caught all on its own, I felt trapped, wanted to get out,
crawled into the bathtub and put my warm cheek against its cold
porcelain and feel asleep while you splintered and shook. <i>You scared
the shit out of me you silly little muffin</i> dragged me from the tub
and put me to bed and I wouldn't have woken if you would have left me
alone to have dreams of toilets on stilts and old men with plaid
shirts and grey faces. <i>Never leave me, don't you ever even think of
leaving</i> and you held me so tightly my ribs ached.
</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I could smell you
you said when you found me huddled against an old tree trunk, rings
too many to count, older than me and wiser. I didn't sing even though
I wanted to, I had to be quiet. You have to be quiet when you hide
and breathe slow and shallow belly barely moving up and down to give
it all away. When bears come, play dead. You could feel me warm from
a hundred yards away you said and you picked me up and took me home
and I didn't have to explain because you already knew. I can never be
too far away from you. You will always know where I am, there is no
point in hiding even though its fun. You don't like my silly little
games do you. </span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We don't need any
mirrors, they just distort everything and make images too crisp, too
real. You just need to look at me and I just need to look at you. You
will always tell me if I have broccoli in my teeth and I know if my
hair's a mess by just looking at your head windswept. We broke all
the mirrors, didn't we, that night when the snow was heavy and thick
and made us feel like we were in a cave with bears and raccoons and
rabbits. Mirrors are just glass you know, easy as pie to break and no
bad luck either. All the splinters in the garbage bag looked at each
other and got confused, reflection reflected and we laughed. We
taught mirrors a valuable lesson. Stop looking. I'm right here.
</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1303141050019494093.post-1186114185265111312012-09-27T12:24:00.000-07:002012-09-27T12:24:18.028-07:00Share BREAK YOUR TEETH I write a lot about dogs. And blood. And death. And teeth.<br />
<br />
This is part of a story "Break Your Teeth" that I am going to share with my writerlies tonight. Thought I'd get back into the blog thing now that its almost winter again... <br />
<br />
Teaser, just a little taste:<br />
<br />
....<br />
<br />
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But the teeth were the first thing. The teeth were
unmistakeable, long and sharp and white, so white they dazzled. I remember
being dazzled, stopped in my tracks dazzled, the first time I saw them, huge,
not quite fitting into my beautiful husband’s beautiful mouth, distorted by
bones that didn’t belong. It was dark, the lights were out, but still those
teeth gleamed. The moon shone in through the window and my husband’s teeth
gleamed in response, gleamed with pleasure “the better to eat you with my
dear.” He turned to me in the bed, warm, warmer than he had ever been, and his
big shiny white teeth gleamed. His mouth opened wide and he let out a yelp that
I didn’t recognize. He held me down and licked me all over, nipped at my
fingers, nipped at my toes, but licked me all over. My skin was raw in places
from his tongue. He slept like the dead when he was done. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">His teeth make impressions that they shouldn’t, his
body heals from the scratches I give him instantly. In the morning, the morning
after, he is smooth and unblemished. Every morning he awakes anew. But the
marks stay on me, they stay and they stay. The bruises get deeper, more purple,
more yellow, more red, his powerful fingers marking the same place over and
over again. I am a map to his neediness. He can find his way by the pin pricks
all up my arms, the punctures his teeth make. My body is a salty river, taste
me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">... </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1303141050019494093.post-48518739231638966692012-01-30T18:22:00.000-08:002012-01-30T18:22:17.700-08:00Writing Happy & Martha gets a real jobThere is something to be said about being happy and being quiet. For me, a happy mind is a calm, peaceful one; I live in the moment and accept the contentment of the day. I don't have to tell myself stories to make it through the figurative or literal snow and rain. While always optimistic when I am truly happy, I am also quiet. And I probably sigh, you know the good sigh that comes from deep within and has a bit of a high pitched squeak to it, a lot.<br />
<br />
Ahhh.<br />
<br />
I've been happy lately and of course I am not complaining. I have wonderful family and friends and I have met a lovely young man who makes me giggle and feel special. I even got a job! A real one! In publishing! As Production Editor for a small Canadian publishing company located here in Halifax, I get to keep editorial and production projects on track and in doing so get an insider's view to the entire process from idea to book in hand. I even have some of my own editorial projects, more in the upcoming season, and I am delighted to work with authors and see a story come to life. It really is delightful.<br />
<br />
Ahhh. <br />
<br />
And I feel like a bit of a cliche - writer can't make it as a writer so she becomes an editor?<br />
<br />
Please pray for me that this is not my fate - please pray that I may provide guidance to wayward writers and in turn help bring my own stories to Can Lit Magazines and Anthologies - dare I dream big? <br />
<br />
I've been missing my own stories, so caught up in the real life peace and happy and quiet of my world at the moment. I may have to do something dreadfully dramatic if only to write about it. I promise not to start fires. <br />
<br />
Who really wants to read about happy beginnings, middles and endings? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1303141050019494093.post-39785188345114865582011-12-09T15:35:00.001-08:002011-12-09T19:17:37.126-08:00mistletoe harlequin / Mr Darcy: the ultimate centrefoldDecember. Snow. Christmas. Trees. Red. Green. Mistletoe. Harlequin? <br />
<br />
Christmas party season: this afternoon I got to wear my new black sequine-y shirt, drink wine with nuns and archivists and get lost on Mount Saint Vincent's campus. The walk to the Sisters of Charity building is up a hill with sparse trees on one side and cookie cutter Mount residences on the other. As I walked dusk approached and all the neighbourhood crows gathered on a few dead looking trees cawing to me and each other, a true murder of crows, a council of crows, beautiful, ominous, festive?<br />
<br />
Sure why not. <br />
<br />
Tonight I get to work on writing a harlequin novel with new pal Jaime who has actually read romance novels and can follow the strict structure the genre requires. I will leave on party clothes for romance writing brainstorming / wine drinking / cookie eating / egg nog dunking experience. <br />
<br />
Past writing teacher thought I should write for Harlequin. She thought I had the imagination but could use a little structure, she assumed I was a romantic (true) and that I had read romance novels (false). Most girls have I suppose, the romance genre isn't limited to Harlequin. I love Jane Austen and her books deal primarily with love and relationships, sisters, parents, lovers. An old boyfriend actually duped Jane Austen a pornographer of the written word, Mr Darcey the ultimate centrefold; surely her writing was meant to entice fantasy of true love and the effortlessness of virgin sex. <br />
<br />
Our main character is named Finn and he's a construction worker from a broken home. Let's see where this goes...Darcy in a hard hat? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1303141050019494093.post-38067200193525709892011-11-17T12:54:00.001-08:002011-11-17T13:14:33.190-08:00SPEAK! / red plaidHeya tonight is Speak! Word Iz Bond event at the Company House http://wordizbondcollective.org/speak-series/ (this site is never up to date, eek but it gives you a taste of what its all about, their Facebook page is more reliable :)and I am going to be performing during the open mic, time permitting!<br />
<br />
It has been a productive writing day for me. The script TRAILER TRASH *finally* goes out tonight to all my lovely actors, I have been waiting for it to be perfect, but since we know writers can edit forever and still never be satisfied, I have decided to let my (horror) baby out into the world. It is about time. Sigh.<br />
<br />
Babies have been quite a theme of late. <br />
<br />
Tonight I am planning on performing "Baby Mama/ Lit" a piece I shared with my lovely writers' group The Wired Monks a month or so ago. It is silly and fun, here's a taste:<br />
<br />
"I don't wanna be your baby mama / but that don't mean I don't wanna / be pregnant with your stories / forever/ or whenever / I feel like letting them drop / pop pop / pop goes the weasel/ to save the damsel in distress / but her hair's a mess / and she's not his type / would up too tight / anyway / I'm big with them / synonyms / of wild free sex / forbidden texts / to tell your mother / you'd never fuck her / whatever Oedipus says / you bow your head / to the power of it all / my belly to fill up to devour / pretty pictures in rhyme / it's time...<br />
<br />
My piece "I am cigarettes and I hurt babies" may also be on the agenda for tonight. It is new and may need a few tweeks but it feels fitting anyway:<br />
<br />
"I am cigarettes and I hurt babies<br />
and not just the ugly ones<br />
bloated bellies and scabies<br />
but the perfect ones too<br />
with all their fingers and toes<br />
and rosy cheek glow<br />
I hurt them too<br />
because I can thank you<br />
Philip Morris..." <br />
<br />
Today also feels like a red plaid day. I have a long wool skirt and a houndstooth scarf that when worn together make me feel like a hunter or a lumberjack. Not too shabby methinks. <br />
<br />
Poetry is not dead but rather vocal and maybe a bit angry or angsty. Amen.<br />
<br />
Do something nice today. While doing research on cigarettes and of all things gang rape (don't ask, a long story, I need some horrible graphic research for a piece I am working on), I found too many atrocities on the Internet. Surprise, surprise. So hug a stranger, maybe wear pink instead of sombre black and grey and think how lucky you are not to be imprisoned for political and spiritual beliefs, all that Occupy stuff aside, you are alive and I am pretty sure you got to eat today. <br />
<br />
Love each other.<br />
Mar <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1303141050019494093.post-83141716801408290042011-11-15T10:18:00.001-08:002011-11-15T10:42:21.075-08:00Digging through the garbage for returnables/ worth the effortWriting is hard work. This has been said. This will be said again.<br />
<br />
Writing is also terrifying, uplifting, hilarious, insightful, mood-altering, vulnerable, deletable, lasting, and relentless.<br />
<br />
Some of my writer friends lament the existence of their old journals, unpolished stories, teenage poetry and B- papers on the origins of the species as though they were physical sign post failures of mind and spirit.<i> I wrote this, this was true once, what did I know? </i>They have promises from loved ones to burn and destroy upon death, the only words left the publishable ones and the epitaph. The writer is both extrovert and hermit -<i> read my words but only when they are perfect and know I had something *important* to say</i>. It is so easy to paralyze oneself for fear that words and images will be taken out of context, will mark the writer as illegamate, as ignorant, as foolish. <br />
<br />
I have allowed myself to be paralyzed. But just for a little while.<br />
<br />
I quit writing every few years as though that will somehow make things better, as though writing is an addiction to seek therapy for - I've done it, sought therapy, burned poetry, stopped buying pens and pencils, tried to shut off the stories that come and come and come, relentless beasts! Story will not go away no matter how hard I try, no matter how I try to demote her as some sort of mental deficiency - <i>Doctor I have these voices in my head... </i><br />
<br />
My beautiful creative writing teacher at U of T, Elizabeth Ruth, made it clear to me, how dysfunctional the writers internal world can be. It is a gift and a curse and there is nothing more satisfying than getting down on paper what has been puttering inside one's head for minutes, hours, days. <br />
<br />
There has been a piece that has been particularly dominant the past little while and I don't want to write it but I know I must because it will torture me otherwise. It leaves me feeling dark and vulnerable but maybe when it hits the light and the page it will become something else something multi-faceted and not at all as scary as I imagine; this is the truth for most things, fear of the unknown.<br />
<br />
There is a soft spoken man in my neighbourhood who gathers returnable bottles for exchange. My roomie and I leave a bag outside for him. I met him for the first time today while I sparred with a crossword puzzle. He said, "Lady, you've got to know what you are looking for, digging through the garbage, well you know it's worth the effort."<br />
<br />
I couldn't agree more. I want to share something with you...<br />
<br />
Mar <br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1303141050019494093.post-50725826333013791822011-10-25T17:03:00.000-07:002011-10-25T17:43:21.895-07:00Zine-tastic / Mine (found)Hfx Zine Fest ( a part of Hfx Pop Explosion) was this past Saturday and I am totally inspired by all the lovely ladies and gentlemen to rekindle the flame of zine making in my heart. Yes, I used to make zines. And yes they were mostly for me and kinda sucked but still they hold a special place as a part of my teenage angst years that went on for way too long.<br /><br />Coming home after eight years away, I have rediscovered shoe boxes and shopping bags full of bad poetry and lame short stories and drafts of my first novel called <span style="font-style: italic;">Mine</span> in which nothing really happens but the narrator can't sleep and likes to watch ants and hates happy people. \<br /><br />Excerpt: "Mine" / Martha Tuff c2000 This is where the main character has a job interview and I try my hand at dialogue, oh dear.<br /><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >References?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Bachelor degree”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >In what?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Does it really matter?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Do they all cost the same nowadays?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Yes”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >No, I guess not”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Temperament?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Neutral, fairly agreeable”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Sparky?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Sparky? Like a flame?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Sure”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Like the fire dog?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >No... funny. I like that. Why do you wanna work here?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Nice architecture”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Anything else?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >I need to get out of the house”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >And?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >I want to learn more about this town.”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >And why is that?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Because it is my town. I grew up here and I know nothing of it.”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Oh really?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Sure, why not?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >And you think it is important to know about the town where you grew up?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Yeah, how else are you going to know who you are, if you don’t even know where you came from, what geography is in your blood?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Good a reason as any. I’ve heard better but I’ve also heard worse.”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Oh, yeah?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Yeah, can you type?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Yep.”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Well?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >I guess so.”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >What do you mean you guess so?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Is 90 words per minute good?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Ummm yeah sure. With or without mistakes?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Without.”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Look of forced approval.</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Ok, yes I can type.”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >I’ll see you Monday morning. Nineish”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Nineish?”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Punctuality isn’t worth much anymore as long as you get your work done I don’t really care. And if you could do it from home, I’d say good for you. Monday morning.”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >Sure, thanks”</span></span></span></p><p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 100%" align="LEFT"> <span style="color:#000000;">“<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;font-size:85%;" >What the hell are you thanking me for?”</span></span></span></p><br />How delightful. I have also rediscovered handmade button jewellery, my collection of rocks *not* found on a beach and rusted metal anything. I used to wear rusty metal on necklaces that would turn my skin green and I thought it awesome.<br /><br />So zines. Yes. I will make again. And it will be special. And maybe I'll share them this time.<br /><br />You should make one too:<br />http://www.instructables.com/id/how-to-make-a-zine/<br /><br />Hug a stranger! Make a friend!<br />MarUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1303141050019494093.post-68063599219773571252011-10-24T09:19:00.000-07:002011-10-24T09:49:17.100-07:00ConnectedToday the internet came on and the phone works and I can post without resorting to a Starbucks' wifi spot. Just couldn't do it. Why do all Starbucks' smell like burnt milk and diasappointment?<br /><br />Things are coming together. The Halifax Pop Explosion rocked Halifax and I got to rock a bit myself to Montreal band The Suuns (http://secretlycanadian.com/artist.php?name=suuns) at the Olympic Centre on Saturday night. Techno trance-y I fell in love with their sexy beats and roomie Tati was in heaven. I am starting to see familiar faces even if I don't know all the names yet, and there's a definite comfort to Halifax that I have been missing. Where else would I find myself in a new African restaurant on Gottigen where new friends Shelley and Ann would keep me company, drink coffee and eat cookies? I mean these amazing women make food and art, shared their creative voices, gave me directions and made me feel at home. I guess I am, home, that is.<br /><br />Last night was AFCOOP's film screening of their One Minute Film Program ( http://afcoop.ca/) featured at the Bus Stop Theatre (http://www.thebusstoptheatre.org/). It was a great night with an assortment of a dozen films on a variety of topics, love, poverty, environmental issues, war, waiting, cake and fatal spaghetti. I got to meet some great guys waiting in line and the film makers were sweet. I am looking forward to meeting some of the organizers to get some input on renting equipment for my movie<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Trailer Trash</span>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Trailer Trash</span>, how I love you. The script is now complete and with working internet magic I will be sending it out to my beautiful actors. I have really had fun with this project so far, through many re-writes and efforts to make the characters interact just *so* I've decided I really want to get my actors in a room and see what they can do. I believe in the power of improv. And fake blood. I need to make buckets of the stuff.<br /><br />This past week I also got to go hang out at The Hub (http://thehubhalifax.ca/)with lovely friend Gia and hosts Brent and Julia. I think this is a wonderful space to work for all sorts of artists and freelancers. I mean I saw two guys with beards, two laptops and two beer looking completely blissed out at 4pm on a Friday afternoon. Count me in.<br /><br />This upcoming Thursday I will be spending the evening with lovely writers as part of the Wired Monks Writers Group (http://dinawrite.weebly.com/wired-monk-writers.html). Last time I shared some spoken word ("Baby Mama Lit" and "Things") and I think this time I'll share a story or two from my neighbourhood collection, which I have decided to call (despite its potential complications) <span style="font-style: italic;">"Mother of three killed in front of house while trying to rescue dog" and other stories of the neighbourhood</span>. I mean, its a grab, right?<br /><br />Now that the internet is in my very capable hands I will also be posting some items to my Etsy shop MarMade. I have some knit, jewellery and magnets to post. I will let you know when its all ready for visitors - gotta get some models to pose for me.<br /><br />Big hugs. Love each other.<br />MarUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1303141050019494093.post-32824572184866389622011-10-01T08:53:00.001-07:002011-10-01T09:12:17.727-07:00MarMade in HalifaxHeya.<br /><br />I'm here. Finally. And it feels good.<br /><br />Let me tell you why:<br /><br />(a) I have returned to Nova Scotia after 8 long years in Toronto and have re-discovered how beautiful the province and how wonderful my family and friends.<br />(b) I have met delightful people, artists in all senses, who make me feel that I have made the right decision in returning and putting my creative energy into full force.<br />(c) I am so inspired it hurts.<br /><br />The whole blog realm has been lost to me of late. My last blog "No More Toxic Village" was a way for me to express my move from small town to big city and lost its pogniancy early in 2007. I like that it still exists albeit in hibernation and I'm now back where I started from.<br /><br />I start to move my stuff to Halifax into a darling apartment with a darling friend Sunday and will continue the process calmly and gradually for the next week or so. I am so lucky that this move can unfold slowly and simply, a complete change from my chaotic and sporadic life of a few short months ago.<br /><br />My goal is for this to be a place to wax poetic about Halifax and the glorious people I meet and spend time with as well as a link to my creative pursuits. I have some great stuff to share:<br /><br />- My Etsy shop of the same name will be up and running soon with handmade accessories and other cool stuff.<br /><br />- I'll also include insights into current writing projects with excerpts from my latest collection in draft (temporary title: <span style="font-style: italic;">This is where we live - stories from the neighbourhood</span>.)<br /><br />- I am also working on a movie (draft title: <span style="font-style: italic;">Trailer Trash - put it in the bin</span>, an amateur horror flick to be filmed in Masstown, NS and Upper Stewiacke, NS) with some great people, script to be sent out soon!<br /><br />So I'll see ya later. We'll have coffee sometime.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0