How to Eat an Elephant

Posted on January 30, 2012 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from Home!

Is there anything you’ve ever wanted to do but the endeavor just seemed too large, too mind-numbingly, eye-poppingly overwhelming that you couldn’t imagine yourself actually completing it? It would be like trying to eat an elephant.

I remember the day I made up my mind about just such a thing. “I’m going to do this. I’m going to be a writer. I’m going to write novels and try to make a living at it.”

That was about eight years ago. Looking back, I was lucky. I had no idea what a huge undertaking I was about to begin. If I knew then what I know now, would I have gone ahead or run away screaming?

But I didn’t have a clue. And so, with the confidence of someone who is too ignorant to know they can fail, I set out.

Type, type, type…

Hours, weeks, months, years of me and the blinking curser, churning out short stories, novel manuscripts, the occasional horridly bad poem. Stories that never made it past a page, a paragraph, a sentence. Stories that were written, re-written, edited, polished, revised, rewritten again, as I studied and practiced the alchemy of storytelling. Rejection letters. A stack of rejection letters. “This just isn’t for us.” Writing in tents, in hotel rooms, on beaches, in trucks, in basements and closets. Keeping stories alive in my head while I hammered nails, dug holes, cleaned bathrooms, made reservations, recovered from ciguatera poisoning. Small triumphs, mini-celebrations, acceptance letters, my words in print, contests won and winner’s certificates and payment in magazine copies. Those little life rafts keeping me afloat in the sea of self doubt.

Type, type, type…

And now? Here I am, here we are, at the last hurdle before the actual Hunt for Publication. One last set of revisions and edits before the novel manuscript can go out on the market. Another elephant to eat.

But…deep breath. Make a list. What needs changing? Suck it up. It has to be perfect. Has to be.

Type, type, type…

How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.

Type, type, type…

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life…

The Princess

Posted in On Scribbling, Warpworld | Tagged , , | 8 Comments

Lands of ‘as’

Posted on November 26, 2011 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from Home!

Looks like another winter locked in snow and ice for Prez and me. Luckily, we did manage to nip away for some sun time on a little trip I like to call, “Journey to the Land of ‘as’”.

You see, one fine day, after much digging of holes and nailing of wood, Prez said to me, “I’m going to play in the Deep Stack”. For the uninitiated, the Deep Stack is not a tower of pillows or something, it is a poker tournament held during the month of November, at the Venetian Hotel, in Las Vegas.

Now, while I wasn’t particularly interested in stacks of any size, I figured, as co-hole digger, I deserved a vacation of my own. But my destination was a much different ‘as’. I wanted to go meet my writing partner, Josh, in person, for the very first time.

So! First stop Vegas, second stop Texas!

(With many thanks to our various airmiles accounts for making these trips possible.)

Scary Vegas halloween pumpkins…oooooo!

I won’t waste much time on Vegas, since I’ve taken you there before. I will say that Halloween in that city is not to be missed. There were some truly amazing costumes. And then there was the never-ending parade of sexy _______ (fill in blank with occupation of choice) costumes. May I caution you, if you do decide to visit Vegas during Halloween weekend, and if the town is invaded by aliens or hit by a natural disaster, be careful which emergency responders you turn to for help. Hint: if the female police officer’s butt cheeks are showing, it’s likely she won’t be of much help to you.

We did make a point of riding the New York, New York rollercoast, which still scares the pants off me. (Hm, maybe that’s what happened to that female police officer?) Prez always insists that we sit in the front car and then, inevitably, as the car chugs up the first hill, tells me that this was probably a bad choice.

Scary roller coaster is scary! Eek!

I will also take time to mention that Prez won 2nd place in one of his tournaments. YAY! The fellow he ended up battling in the end was also Canadian. (Most polite poker game ever.)

But that’s about all the highlights from Sin City.

Because honesty is the best policy in Vegas

So let me take you now to the oily fields of West Texas, home of BBQ and the Petroleum Museum and my friend Josh!

The first question everyone has asked me since my return is, “Well…? What was he like?” Well, let me tell you…

Josh was, in person, pretty much exactly as he is online.

That kind of lacks drama, I know. But it’s a good thing because it wouldn’t have been too much fun if my clever, funny, kind and insightful writing buddy had turned out to be a serial killer or, worse, a teenage boy who had just been trying to pick me up for two years.

We are an odd combo, though, Josh and me. Two very different people, off the written page. Without all those wires and tubes known as the Internet, even if we lived in the same town, our paths might never have crossed. All Praise Mighty Internet! I’m sure after three days with me and my…ahem…’energetic’ personality, Josh was probably ready for a very long nap.

(Have you recovered yet, Josh?)

Now, Josh lives in West Texas, which is oil country. (And GOD country, judging from the local radio stations I tapped into). And, I’ll be honest; it’s not the prettiest point on the globe. (Unless, of course, you really have a thing for oilrigs). But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t lots to love about my time there.

I met some of Josh’s family (Hi Linda! Hi Don!), his girlfriend (Hi Noemi!), his friends and classmates, (Hi James! Hi Chelsea and various other classmates whose names I don’t recall!). I even got horizontal with Enriquez, (Hi Enriquez!), Josh’s massage therapist (or massage terrorist, more accurately). Everyone was really friendly. In fact, everyone everywhere was friendly. Shop clerks, upon discovering I had come from the far and exotic country of Canada, treated me like visiting royalty. (Hi shop clerks!)

But of everyone I met, perhaps the two who made the biggest impact on me, and who I shall miss dearly, were Paddy and Bandit, Josh’s kitties. (Hi kitties!!!)

Kidding, kidding…mostly.

Along with the petroleum museum (no, I didn’t make that up to be cute), we visited one of West Texas’s premier institutions: Michael’s Charcoal Grill.

Here I must pause. Since so many of my 10 regular readers are from the Northwest, I need to give y’all (see, I’m half native now) a quick education in BBQ. See, here, we call anything that is cooked on a barbeque, well, barbeque. This is incorrect. What we are doing, is called ‘grilling’. That was not BBQ steak you ate this summer, it was grilled steak. BBQ is a very special process. I have no idea what the process entails but I have eaten it so I can state, definitively, that it involves magic fairy powder and ground unicorn horn and 12 years of aging in vats made of trees specially grown by Texan BBQ elves. The end product is beef so tender and mind-numbingly delicious you will fall to your knees and beg forgiveness for daring to call other unworthy food products ‘BBQ’.

It’s true.

(Blurry) Michaels, home of the best BBQ Ive ever eaten!!

Kozy, you must go there.

We also made a day trip across the line to New Mexico, to world famous Carlsbad Caverns. Now THAT was some scenery. I could fill pages with descriptions of this cave system but I am afraid WOW will have to suffice. If you’ve ever played Pong (I’m dating myself) and you recall what happens when the ‘ball’ gets stuck in a corner and goes berserk, that was pretty much me, hopping my way down into the depths of the most massive and stunning cave you can imagine.

(Have you recovered yet, Josh?)

Carlsbad Caverns is also famous for the huge bat population that spends the summer there. Half a million bats fly out of the cave every night, eating up to three quarters of their body weight in insects and climbing to heights up to 10,000 feet! Crazy.

Sadly, it was late in the season for the bats. But Josh and Noemi were super good sports and sat outside in the very cold, stone amphitheatre with me, to watch five straggling bats fly out in the dark. Thanks you guys!

Waiting for bats…

The bats we didn’t see

On my last day, Josh and me actually worked, together, in person, for the first time ever! What was cool, and weird at the same time, is that we worked together in person exactly the same way we do online. Exactly. Well, except instead of writing “LOL” or “HA!”, we actually laughed out loud, together. He even got to hear me snort-laugh for real for the first time. (A life changing event, I’m sure). And, for whatever reason, our very different personalities mesh perfectly when we start telling our story.

Then I was on my way back to Vegas, then back to Spokane, a short drive to Nelson, and here we are. In the snow.

Blerg.

A million thanks to Josh and his crew for their hospitality! The next time we meet, I hope it’s at a book signing!

Noemi and my Best Writing Buddy Ever…Josh!

(Hi kitties!!!)

Until next time, I hope this finds y’all healthy, happy & lovin life!

The Princess

Posted in Friends, On Scribbling, USA, Warpworld | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Girl Power?

Posted on October 16, 2011 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from Home!

Am I a feminist? I don’t know.

To me, the word ‘feminism’ seems dated and yet there are plenty of places in the world where women lack basic human rights, where their voices are silenced, where abuse is not just tolerated but socially acceptable. So if the goal of feminism is to promote gender equality, then it is certainly needed as much now as it was in the 60’s.

Last night I passed a laughter-filled evening with the Nelson Ladeez – a group of female friends in and around the Nelson area. We try to arrange an all-female get together a few times a year, whether for a weekend, a night or just a few hours at dinner. We all look forward to our ‘girl time’, even if the planning process is always a tad…chaotic.

Why is it important to have time without men? Again, I don’t know.

But I have theories.

Girlie is not the word I would use to describe the vast majority of Kootenay women. But just because we are comfortable hefting a chainsaw and each have at least one “Oh my Cod, I almost died!” story from some epic adventure, doesn’t mean that we are men with breasts and good skincare regimes. We’re different, men and women. Equal, sure, but different.

Time with the girls feels like coming home from a formal party: you kick off those tight shoes, slip out of the dress you stuffed yourself into, put on your favourite pair of PJ’s, and flop down on the couch. Aaaaaaaaah!

No matter how much we love our other halves, and males in general, there’s a level of relaxation we feel in each other’s company that doesn’t exist when men are in the picture. Conversation topics range from the sublime to the silly, but there is a palpable sense that here you can speak freely and the others will just ‘get it’. Here there’s no need to apologize if you take forever to get to the point of the story. Here you can rant about co-workers, family, kids, spouses, etc, and no one thinks you’re bitchy. In fact, most times everyone else has a common rant. Some of the best comedy moments are rants, actually.

Talking is how women process ideas, how we make sense of our world and ourselves. Talking is how we connect and learn. It’s natural and it’s healthy. But what woman hasn’t heard a comment, a joke or a snide remark about how much we talk? And at the heart of those sentiments is the idea that female traits are less valuable than male traits…that we are not equal.

We have come a long way, baby, but maybe we still have a long way to go?

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the male way of interacting with the world. I relate well to men and, in general, I like the way they think and operate because it’s the way I usually think and operate. (A friend once called me a “guybrid” because of this). The older I get, however, the more I value the women in my life. The more I realize that the part of my guybrid self that is female needs time and space to let loose.

And, no, I am not talking about Sheba, that tart. (Though I notice she is starting to become more popular than me at every gathering I go to…hmmm).

I’m really lucky to have so many smart, funny, brave, nurturing and kick-ass women in my life. I thank you all for the gift of your friendship.

But am I a feminist? I don’t think so.

I’m an equalist.

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Friends, Women's Issues | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

Forgotten Bears…a love story

Posted on September 5, 2011 by clubfredbaja

Hello from somewhere else!

Tempus fugit. Time flies. It does fly but it also crawls, particularly when you are rewriting chapter ten for the seventeenth time.

The manuscript is finished. It is in the hands of my agent and editor. There is nothing more for me to do, (aside from finish the one page synopsis I have successfully avoided by watching back-to-back episodes of Battlestar Galactica), except wait. And hope.

When people learn that this momentous task is over, that the dream is finally in progress, that any day now Josh and my’s humble scribblings could be read by an Important Book Person in New York, they are always excited. They want me to be excited too. “Aren’t you excited? How exciting!”

I was excited once. Oh yes, I remember that feeling. I remember the thrill of the possibilities, the wistful daydreams of book signings and movie premiers. “Look, it’s the authors!” someone in the crowd would shout and the host of Hollywood Entertainment Talk Gossip Now Today! would rush over to catch a glimpse of me and my partner exiting our stretch limo surrounded by a fleet of bodyguards and my personal cat nanny. (Yes, I will bring my cat to the premier; it will be in my contract). But, after nearly two years of non-stop writing, eight months or more of which were dedicated to revisions and involved reading and rewriting the same 400+ pages over and over and over and over again, the excitement I feel mostly revolves around the fact that I do not have to look at that manuscript anymore. My daydreams now feature me coming home from a ten hour day of digging holes and hammering nails and not plunking myself, in zombie-like fashion, in front of this laptop screen to type until I pass out from exhaustion.

What I’m trying to say is: I’m tired.

Somehow, since the last Coconut Chronicle, I have also managed to do things, with people, in places, sometimes even outside of my house. Many of these things were fun and a not-tired version of myself would regale you with delightful, witty and thought-provoking tales of these things I did and the people I did them with.

People I did things with, (you know who you are), thank you for keeping me from becoming a complete hermit. The kind of hermit that doesn’t cut her toenails and smells vaguely of pee.

To all the rest of my friends who I have thoughtlessly ignored for two years, it will all be worth it when I fly you to the Hollywood premier of the movie version of the novel, in my gold plated jet. (Note: You might want to take some antihistamines if you are allergic to cat fur).

As I write this, I am not on a jet, gold plated or otherwise. I am on a BC Ferry, headed to Vancouver Island for my first and last fishing trip of the year. I am not thinking about the manuscript, (and I’m definitely not thinking about the one page synopsis I’m supposed to write), I am actually wondering if that cheesecake place in Ucluelet is still open and, if it is, do they still make that ambrosia flavour I was mildly addicted to when Prez and me lived there?

And yes, I have forgotten all about the bears I promised in my last Chronicle but sometimes there are things in this life that are bigger than bears. Elephants, for example. Skyscrapers. Buses. Large boulders. When you think about it, there are many things bigger than bears.

I think we’ve all learned something today. I know I have.

(I’m so tired).

Until next time, (which will be sometime between now and 2012), I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Humour and satire, On Scribbling, Warpworld | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Pattern-ity

Posted on June 5, 2011 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from Home!

I had this big camping blog planned, and I still plan to post it with bonus photos of baby bears but lately my head’s been awsirl, (not technically a word, by the way), with thoughts about the nature of patterns.

I’m not talking about the crazy imprint on your face you get when you wake up after a long, deep sleep either.

What I’m talking about is patterns of behaviour. Those things we do over and over, whether we want to or not. Think about someone you know, think about things they do that happen repeatedly.

Maybe it’s the friend that vows to lose weight, spends a ton of money on a gym membership, buys the latest fad diet book, goes gung-ho for a few months until one day you notice they don’t say no to dessert. Next thing you know, the book’s on the shelf, the gym bag’s in the closet, and pizza pockets are back on the menu. A few months later, the whole cycle starts over again.

Maybe it’s the friend who moves from one doomed relationship to the next. You watch the whole sad spectacle unfold like a bad movie, knowing the moment the ‘glow’ wears off and the minute she realizes her chosen partner is not a white knight but actually a guy who pees in the shower and thinks “Everybody Loves Raymond” is funny, it’s the beginning of the end.

Maybe it’s the co-worker who is always late and always has an excuse.

Maybe it’s your Mom who constantly bitches about her neighbour whose dog poops on her lawn but who you know will never actually DO anything about it.

Maybe it’s you.

Yeah, you.

I know it’s me. I’ve got my patterns. Probably my worst is that I genuinely want to believe people are good, despite much evidence to the contrary. What this has meant in the past is that I’ve let people take advantage of me. Combine that with a natural instinct to avoid conflict, and you get a walking doormat. Now, as soon as I clued in to this pattern, I started to take steps to avoid it.

Step one: Be skeptical.

Step one has worked pretty well. I’ve probably filtered out 90% of the run-of-the-mill types who are just looking for some pushover to use by simply saying, in my head, “Really? I don’t believe that.” If you start with ‘I don’t believe that’, it becomes more difficult to get to “Cool, I’ll join your pyramid scheme!”

Step two: Say no/speak up

Step two is more difficult, depending on the person and the situation. Surprisingly, I find it easy to say no to myself, “No, I won’t eat that chocolate, it’s not even noon!” Saying it to others is a bit of a minefield though. Same with speaking up. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. And when it doesn’t, it occasionally blows up in a very ugly way. It helps that I spend all day either banging nails or cloistered in my cave, chained to my laptop.

Step three: Choose wisely

Step three is a learned skill for me, when it comes to people I decide to let enter my ‘inner circle’. I’ve come to rely a lot on Prez’s eerily accurate instincts, as he seems to be able to read people like one of those freaky, sideshow, mind-reader guys: “Your birthday is April 10th, you envy your brother, and you would make a terrible friend.” For many years, my friend selection process went something like this: “Ooo! You’re fun! You make me laugh! Let’s be friends!”

I don’t think I need to tell you how most of those worked out.

So, in a nutshell, here’s my pattern:

1.Someone in my inner circle behaves in a way that hurts me. I don’t say anything because a) that would be conflict and b) I believe they genuinely don’t mean to hurt me, so that’s OK right?

2. The hurtful behaviour gets to a point where I snap and I finally speak up.

3.The hurtful person is shocked, has no idea that I was hurt, (because I never said anything), they either a) apologize and promise not to do the hurtful behaviour anymore or b) get really angry because, hey, I should have said something. Regardless of the response, the next move in the cycle is…

4. We make up and I am filled with the warm fuzzies again…at least until the hurtful behaviour starts again, which it does at least 50% of the time.

And the cycle repeats.

Now, before you start thinking, ‘Was it me? Was I the hurtful person that prompted this blog?!’ No, it wasn’t you. Well, not that I would tell you if it was, but…no. Lately, I’ve just been observing – when I step out of the house and/or off the jobsite, that is – and noticing how many people have predictable patterns.

And I started to wonder, ‘Can we break these patterns or is keeping them to a minimum the best we can hope for?’ Am I doomed to spend the rest of my life using Prez as a kind of human metal detector for less-than-ideal friend qualities? Must I maintain my constant vigilance against my own gullibility and ‘niceness’?

Will I ever finish the revisions to this manuscript so my agent can sell it???!!!

(Sorry, been a little stressed lately, if you haven’t noticed by my extended absence).

Hm, maybe I should have gone with the camping blog. Next time: Bears! Promise.

Next week: BEARS!

Until then, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Life | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

No Kids, No Pets

Posted on March 15, 2011 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from, (yet another new), home!

Good thing Mom keeps our address written in pencil.

Yup. Once again, we have relocated. This time the impetus, as you may have gathered from the last Coconut Chronicle, was the very young and noisy downstairs tenants.

For those Nutters not familiar with the ins and outs of renting in Nelson, let me explain how it works.

1. The Search

The first problem with living in a highly desirable, small town is that the competition for living space is fierce. You must chain yourself to your computer and every five minutes refresh the handful of websites that show rental listings.

He who hesitates is homeless.

The second problem is cost. If you want to live in Mountain Mecca, expect to pay for the privilege. Any place built after 1990 is going to be ridiculously pricey but heat efficient, any place built before 1990 will cost you more than a monthly payment on a small car to heat during the winter. And winter, it seems, lasts about 7 months here.

Examples of common ads for rentals in Nelson:

Luxurious lakefront home! 6 bedrooms, gold-plated appliances, jet boat and dock, best views of everything anyone wants to look at, manservant, satellite TV (private satellite), 2000 sq/ft deck overlooking lake and exotic bird aviary. $7000/mo + utilities. No smoking, no kids, no pets, no touching of anything; 20 year lease, credit check, references and CIA interrogation required.

Rustic living! One room cabin, located a convenient 36-minute drive/ferry ride from downtown Nelson. Utilities included (must provide own axe and buckets to haul water from creek). 4×4 vehicle and/or dogsled team required to access property. Kids, pets, smokers and wanted fugitives welcome! $300/mo (cash only please).

Room in shared environment of peace and enlightenment! Large room for rent in character home. We are a group of six happy souls, three happy dogs, one happy iguana and the spirit of an ancient medicine man, who enjoy gardening, drum circles, aromatherapy, meditation and connecting with Gaia. Prefer 47-year-old, vegan, single female with bio-diesel vehicle.

2. The Strategy

As you quickly discover the rental landscape in Nelson is as bleak as Saskatchewan, it’s time to take your search to the next level.

Enlist the help of friends to help with your search. Beg, plead, show them the bags under your eyes after too many sleepless nights listening to 23-year-olds partying. Bribe them with smoked salmon. Be shameless.

Write an online ad, extolling your virtues. Something along the lines of: “We have NO CHILDREN OR PETS. None. Zero. Zip. In fact, we don’t even have pictures of pets or children. We are terrible gardeners; so no grow ops here, no siree! We can fix anything! We are OLD, never play our music loud, and go to bed at 10pm! One of us is an obsessive compulsive cleaner! Did we mention we have no children or pets?”

3. The Close

When you manage to find a place, seal the deal and get your stuff in as quickly as possible so they can’t kick you out without 3 months notice. If this means moving in before the other tenants are out, so be it.

Then start shopping for pets.

So, we are now installed in our new digs, a block away from the old digs. The new place is…weird. There is a massive spiral staircase that takes up approximately a quarter of the place, which leaves us with all kinds of nooks and crannies that are too big to leave empty but too small to put furniture in. Our living room is kind of mashed in with our bedroom but at least we have a real dining area now, one that doesn’t have to be moved around when we want to have guests over to watch a movie. And there are so many doors that lead outside I’m afraid of getting lost. But otherwise, I love it.

Best of all, no one lives above or below us!

A new kitchen for Fred!

Bedroom, living room, office…and stuff

A lovely waste of space!

Oh, and as a side note, we have started yet another new business. We made an executive decision to not abuse our bodies with construction work this year. Instead, Prez will be making all kinds of garden goodies such as pergolas, arbors, swings, planters, etc.

Check us out! www.nelsongardengoods.com

Fred, who was raised by ninjas, in his shop

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Humour and satire, Nelson - British Columbia | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

You’ve Never Been 23

Posted on February 12, 2011 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from Home!

Ah to be young! To come home on Friday, after a grueling week at a meaningless job and celebrate the fact you now have two whole days to annoy your upstairs neighbours and keep them awake into the wee hours of the morning.

And when your upstairs neighbours come downstairs at 3am, dressed in their pajamas, bags under their middle-aged eyes, you can look at them with pity and say, “You’ve never been 23.”

Yes! You’re 23 and they’re not and never have been!

Obviously.

I mean, hell, if they had ever been 23 then they would know that anyone under the age of 25 has an innate right, (if not a strictly legal one), to play their music as loud as they want, whenever they want. Duh.

How glorious to be 23, you’d think, as you and your friends – all of whom are, have been or will one day be 23 – guzzle hooch, let out mighty cries of “Whoooooo!!!” and crash into stationary objects with abandon.

And when the police knock at your door because half the neighbourhood has complained about the noise from your rental suite, you can say, “Ah, but officer, I am 23 and they are not and never have been.”

The police officer’s eyes will open wide in surprise, “You are 23? Goodness, I had no idea! I’m so sorry, please, carry on. We who are not 23 should respect your need to party. Here take this bottle of tequila and this bag of weed, with my sincere apologies.”

What on earth is better than being 23? Nothing. After all, the laws of physics state that the earth, perhaps even the universe, revolves around people who are 23. Sadly, some people missed this science lesson and they mistakenly believe that everyone, regardless of their age, deserves the same level of respect. These misguided souls actually think that if they live in a suite above the suite of a 23-year-old, and they pay the same rent as the 23-year-old, that the rules – such as being quiet after 11pm – should be exactly the same for the 23-year-old as they are for them.

Naïve fools. Cleary they have never been 23.

But the best part of being 23? Well, that’s easy. Even if a year goes by, and the stupid people upstairs have complained over and over to the landlord, and to you, about being kept awake or woken in the night, and they have never woken you up or violated the rules of their tenancy, you don’t have to care about it. And you certainly don’t have to change your ways or make any effort to be considerate. That’s your right.

Because you are 23 and they are not and never have been.

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy and lovin’ life – especially if you’re 23!
The Princess
I am 23

Posted in Humour and satire | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Your Life…now with 50% less privacy!

Posted on January 26, 2011 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from Home!

I’m playing a bit of hooky this morning. Shh, don’t tell the boss! Oh wait…never mind. Yesterday’s writing session was intense…and long. I finally pulled myself away from the laptop at 10pm, mind still whirling. I really should get back to my final (hopefully) set of revisions for Book One but my cranium refuses to settle. Until it does, let me blabber at you about something that has been on my mind quite a bit recently:

The Internet.

Thirteen years ago I finally bought a computer for my home and went ‘online’. What an exciting day! At last, a tool I could use to communicate with people around the globe, to share knowledge and exchange ideas. My life would be richer, more expansive and easier.

Mind you, those weren’t my exact thoughts in that moment. It was more along the lines of this scene…

Friend: Type in ‘sex’!
Me: (Giddy laughter)
*very long pause with dung-de-le-lung-beep-bloop-chhhhhh noise coming from the modem*
Friend: Wow!
Me: (Giddy laughter)

Fast-forward to 2011 and me with my laptop all but surgically connected to my body. (Hm, not a bad idea). These days, the Internet is, in fact, a tool I use for knowledge and enrichment.

And the occasional funny cat video, yes.

Most of all, however, to me the Internet represents communication. Hop onto Skype, open the webcam, and within moments Prez and I are chatting with the Roneys on Sunday morning, as if we were all in the same room – hair askew, mugs of coffee and tea clutched in our hands, rumpled pajamas, Pat tormenting the cats.

Cruise on over to Facebook and I can catch up with my nephews, read what they’ve been up to, see what color youngest nef’s hair is this week, and try to decipher the secret world of text-speak that strikes fear into the hearts of anyone over the age of 35.

In Google Docs, Josh and me can spend hours writing together. Live. Our words appearing on a shared screen, with thousands of miles between us, while, simultaneously, we add production notes in a chat box. Best of all, he can also use his phone to send me photos of his cats when they are doing something particularly adorable. (Hi Bandit! Hi Paddy!)

When the Ripsters leave the country, (which happens about every other week), I can transmit vital banking and business information directly to the Beckster’s iPhone. I can also bitch about how they time their getaways in such a manner that the biggest snowfalls of the year occur the moment their plane takes off, leaving Prez and I to shovel and plow mountains of the icky white stuff at the chalet. And, upon receiving this news, Beckster can then use her phone to send instant, photographic proof of their profound remorse, as they lounge on a sunny beach drinking fruity cocktails.

More seriously, when the cyclone hit Aitutaki last year, I didn’t have to rely on the smattering of tiny news stories to find out if the people I cared about were alive or dead. Ms Moana, on the neighbouring island, sent a full report, via email, and Youtube had videos so that I could see the extent of the destruction for myself.

We are connected. For better or worse.

But what about the ‘worse’ part? This is what I ponder. I don’t know about the rest of you but I am forever thankful that – aside from highschool annuals and the fading memories of those who were present – there is no permanent, public record of my teen years. It’s not that I was an idiot back then, it’s just that I was an idiot back then. Come on, who wasn’t?

Sorry, you were, even if you don’t want to admit it.

The generations behind us have a vastly different notion of privacy than us “old folks” do. Their teen angst and first awkward steps into adulthood are splattered all over the social network, where it becomes public property.

What does this mean?

For starters, I think it means that ‘living’ will become, to some degree, a performance. Consider how you behave when you know a crowd of people are watching you, compared to how you behave when you are alone.

Prez and me recently watched “We Live in Public”, a documentary about Josh Harris, one of the original dot com kids, who was part visionary, part genius, and part social misfit. In the late 90’s, Harris conducted an art project/experiment wherein a hundred people agreed to live in an underground bunker for a month, their every move (and I do mean ‘every’) captured via webcams. Without spoiling the ending, I will say that what happened down there was both fascinating and disturbing, a microcosm and a prophesy.

Even with these humble Chronicles, I have seen what happens when you pull up your guts and put them on public display. Sometimes the results are heartwarming and leave you feeling deeply connected with the outside world. Other times, you realize that reality can be ugly and honesty can hurt. A lot.

For my part, I’ll try to take the ‘better’ part of this incredible technology and thank my lucky stars that no one will ever know that I had a massive crush on Steve C when I was in the eighth grade and once pressed myself against his empty locker muttering, “Oh Steve, I love you Steve!” when no one else was around.

Because that would sure be embarrassing.

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy and (privately) lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Computers and Internet, Entertainment, Humour and satire | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

The Winter of Our Discontent

Posted on December 21, 2010 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from home!

Today is the shortest day of the year. Or the longest night. You can decide which sounds best, though it’s not really one of those ‘is the glass half empty or half full?’ kind of things because ‘short day’ or ‘long night’ either way it will be pitch black by 4pm here.

Yes, it is that time of year again. The time when Prez forgets all of the bad parts about our time in tropical locales – insects, ciguatera poisoning, locals who hated foreigners, limited food selection, high price of…everything, heat that made you so cranky you wanted to strangle random strangers (and which put a serious damper on ‘romance’ if you know what I mean), lack of entertainment options, lack of running water, lack of privacy, guests with ‘glitches’, etc, etc, etc. With the arrival of these dark, cold, short days, suddenly Prez will blurt out statements like, “Remember how we used to watch the sunsets, on the beach, with the guests?” his expression glazed and wistful.

I don’t blame him. Actually, I curse my pragmatic and near-photographic memory that recalls all too vividly scenes of us eating dinner, (the same meal that we’ve likely eaten for the past three days), in a pool of sweat, as bugs drop from the ceiling, with not even a cold shower to look forward to because the city water is off…again.

As a child, I loved winter. But then, as we all know, children are mentally unstable. Don’t believe me? Ever notice how hard it is to get young children to go to bed at night? Adults, we know how great sleep is. If someone gave us a hot bath, fed us dinner and told us to get our pj’s on and hit the sack at 9pm we’d be doing fist pumps and jumping for joy.

Childhood winters were a thing of beauty. On the west coast of BC, where winters are mild by Canuck standards, snow was sacred. From those first tenuous flakes, most of which melted into a brown slurry upon touching ground, to the first real dumper, (soon followed by a school wide ban on snowball fights after the first rock is hidden inside a harmless projectile), we celebrated snow with a passion that’s tiring even to think about now.

Growing up in flat, ex-farmland territory made sledding difficult. Thankfully Gunderson Park had a wide, steep hill perfectly suited to the task. Gunderson was our Mecca and we’d all bundle up and make the long trek just for a few hours of downhill thrills and spills.

Well, mostly spills.

Unfortunately, Gunderson’s hill ended at the backstop for the baseball field. If you didn’t bail early enough, you would slam into the large, chain link fence at the bottom. As the proud, past owner of a ‘Crazy Carpet’, I can tell you that no stunt I ever performed was quite as pants-peeing scary as rocketing down an icy hill on a piece plastic as that fence threatened to thwack you like an enormous fly swatter.

And then there were snow forts and snowmen and snow angels. We didn’t care that our coastal snow was heavy and wet and that every expedition out our front door carried the threat of pneumonia, we would rush home from school to play outside until dark.

Which gave us about an hour.

It wasn’t until I started to drive that my love affair with snow really ended. And even then, a few runs down the ski hill and I was willing to overlook the fact that my GMC Pacer was basically an automotive version of my old Crazy Carpet and that every trip to the corner store meant a potential ICBC insurance claim.

No, it would be the Prez who, with his siren song of beaches and fishing and long bright days, that would come between Canadian winters and I for good. Let’s face it, once you’ve spent Christmas day fishing, in shorts and a t-shirt, it’s pretty hard to face the prospect of spending the season tressed up like the Michelin Man every time you are foolish enough to step outside.

And here we are. Our second consecutive Canuck winter.

Ahhh, those sunsets we used to watch with the guests? Now that I think about it…

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!
The Princess

Posted in Humour and satire, Nature & Environment, Nelson - British Columbia | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Hiatus schmiatus

Posted on December 1, 2010 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from Home!

A very snowy home, I might add. (Actually, I did add). I’m on hiatus. I like that word ‘hiatus’; it sounds so much more professional and important than ‘doing nothing’.

Book one is out of my hands and into the hands of the editors and my writing group who are hard at work slogging through its 480 pages. On January 16th, they will offer a critique. After that, final revisions will likely be made before it gets sent out to hopefully find a publisher. Until then, there’s really nothing more to do on it.

A few nights ago, Josh and I finished the rough draft for book three. It was a glorious moment. A complicated series of plot lines came together in a satisfying-yet-cliff-hanging finale. High fives all around. And since my writing buddy was facing final exams for the 37 college courses he is taking, (many of which involve numbers and equations…ick), we decided we should take a break from the writing work until his schedule is not so hectic and he thus feels less inclined to torture me by sharing algebraic algorithms, (the horror, the horror).

It is the smart, logical, rational decision and only fair given the demands of his rigorous course load…

And I’m BORED!

My brain feels like a six-year-old boy, on a sugar high, locked in a bare room. It doesn’t help that we are buried beneath ten feet of snow here, either.*

But it’s not so much boredom as petulance. I mean there are plenty of things I could do, just not any that I want to do. I want my obsession. Want, want, want! (Insert mental image of me stamping my feet). I want to lie awake at 3am running scenes in my head, contemplating character histories, figuring out which actors should be cast as which characters in the film and what I will wear to the premier.** I want to flood Josh’s inbox with emails such as:

Tuesday, 12:16pm
Subject: Hey

Hey, I was thinking, that fight scene should really happen before the other scene. What do you think?

Tuesday, 12:20pm
Subject: On Second thought

No, let’s put the other scene first. Thoughts?

Tuesday, 12:27pm
Subject: I’m an idiot

Of course the fight scene has to come first because we have to get our main characters to the cave before the other scene happens. LOL. Thoughts?

Tuesday, 12:30pm
Subject: Lunch

Mmm, I’m having a sandwich for lunch. What are you eating? Are you there?

Tuesday, 12:31pm
Subject: Hey II

Why haven’t you answered my emails yet???

p.s. I’m thinking we should delete the fight scene. Thoughts?

Ah, those were the days. Now I climb onto my ugly old floral couch and stare longingly at a blinking cursor. Oh sure, I’m working on the first draft of the second book, finishing some short stories that have been too long neglected, and watching funny cat videos on YouTube, but it all lacks the manic energy that drives me when I’m working to meet some deadline or writing furiously to reach the ‘end’ of the story.

Imagine James Bond retired, wandering around the nursing home desperately hoping one of the residents will have orthopedic shoes with knives that pop out of the toes, or maybe one of the nurses, with a name such as ‘Lyka Blowalot’, will try to seduce him before she slips a drug into his prune juice. That’s me. Mission-less.

Pfft. Hiatus sucks.

Oh well, at least I have this…***

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy and lovin’ life!
The Princess

* The author is prone to exaggeration

** The author is prone to delusions

*** The author needs a life

Posted in Humour and satire, On Scribbling, Warpworld | Tagged , , | 3 Comments