Happy Spring, everyone!
Huzzah! We made it through the dark days of winter. Happy vernal equinox. News from the studio is that I haven't been in it much lately, but for good reason. I spent the past three weeks in Gibsons, BC, on the Sunshine Coast, dog-sitting and forging ahead on a draft of my next novel (tentatively titled The Domestics) while waiting to get "notes" back for my forthcoming book, Dog Days of Planet Earth, due for a fall 2026 publication.
Working on a new novel while waiting to edit the forthcoming one? Sounds messy, doesn't it?
For those not in the know, getting a book from the signed contract stage to bookstore shelves involves many steps. Included in that process are significant gap-times when the book is with the editor, and there's nothing to be done on it but wait to hear about future edits. Tempting as it is to do nothing while waiting, a working writer writes. If I waited until Dog Days was entirely edited and ready for publication to start something new, not only would I lose valuable writing time, but I would also lose valuable writing muscles. Whatever writing skills I have would slowly atrophy. To use a sports analogy, an athlete trains in-between competitions to ensure peak performance. Similarly a writer writes between publications. So, in the ten-week window between sending the revised manuscript of Dog Days to my editor, I motored along on The Domestics.
I had big plans for my dog-sitting / writing retreat in Gibsons.
Three weeks on my own to write? I was both excited and afraid, motivated and anxious. Often, I set goals that I don't meet and then beat myself up about being undisciplined, but I'm elated to report I wrote 20,000 words on my draft. In fact, I enjoyed the best spell of writing I've had in a long time, and when I'm writing well I feel great.
What made this retreat productive? Was it because I was alone, with only a dog to schedule me? Was it because I was inspired by the incredible beauty of Howe Sound outside my window? Was it the different visual distractions of water and mountains and ducks and herons and eagles and seals? Was it noticing the levels at which the boats in the marina sat at high and low tides, or seeing handsome tugboat man tugboating vehicles and equipment to Keats Island? Or could it be that I've finally figured out how to be a writer?
I wish I could say it was the latter and that I've finally figured out how to live this writing life because that would mean a happily-ever-after book-writing future. In truth, the conditions to write in Gibsons were perfect. The gap-time added urgency. Knowing I'll have to put The Domestics away when my edits for Dog Days hit my inbox motivated me enough that I was able to focus, because the more of a draft I have to return to, with characters I want to spend time with, the more likely it is that I'll finish what I've started.
I also better understand now the superstitions I have around my writing. Break a good run, and it might not return. Change a schedule that works, and the words might disappear. I've learned to accept that the good writing times will end just as the bad writing times will too. It feels like a great gift when the words come easily. It is a great gift. Like the weather, would I appreciate the good writing days if they weren't interspersed with stormy days? So while I already believe I'll never enjoy as good of a writing spell again, I'm open to the possibility that I'm wrong.
What's so special about Gibsons?
The decision to move to Gibsons from Edmonton in 2004, when our kids were 6, 4, and 2, and the 18 months we lived there, has had a lasting impact on our family. That time was chaotic and wonderful and stressful and fun and memorable. When some money we'd expected and been promised didn't arrive (long story), we found ourselves in a difficult financial situation, otherwise known as being broke. Returning to Edmonton seemed the sensible thing to do. We knew we had work there. We had family and friends there too. But it was hard to leave the mountains and the sea.
Gibsons remains the most beautiful place I have ever lived. In the summer of 2005, we swam in the sea every day for SIX straight weeks because the weather was that wonderful.
Twenty years later, I enjoy continued friendships and a strong connection to and love for the physical place. Dinners and walks with friends deepen important relationships, and being introduced to new people there extends my social network. It truly feels like a second home.
This trip, I arrived on February 22nd, the day after the earthquake that measured 4.8 on the Richter scale. I was a bit bummed that I had missed it. Ten days later, however, on March 3rd, I was awakened by a smaller quake that measured 4.1. If the 10 day pattern continued, I mused, then March 14th, with the full moon, would bring another quake. A neighbour across the street attended an earthquake preparedness workshop and told me some of the items she'd place inside her emergency kit: books for her grandchildren; a game or two; a gratitude journal because if you lived though "the big one," you'd want to find something for which to be grateful.
March 14th arrived. The day was mainly sunny with a cool wind. Later, the full moon was obscured by clouds. I wasn't able to see the lunar eclipse or catch sight of the blood moon. No quake interrupted my sleep. |
