Signs of spring!

Today has been pretty special for two reasons:

Sunshine, almost blue skies, above zero temperatures, and I’m back in my garden writing studio.

Our friendly neighbourhood northern flicker was at his drumming best this morning with each rat-a-tat-tat on the steel chimney cap being followed with long hearty laughter. Yep, this guy or gal wants everyone to recognise his/her territory and that a mate could be welcome. This bird is a sure sign of spring to us.

I’m out in the studio to apply myself to The Empty Envelope, my novel in progress.

Motivation to get cracking has been low, so after my comment in the previous blog I’ve had a strong reminder from Theo Tuckmitt that he is the protagonist. This means that Felix Willoughby is off the page for now.

My first day this year in the garden studio has been very fruitful in that I’ve had a big cleanup of various notes relating to structure and idle thoughts as I’ve doodled through wintry days. I haven’t had a lot of drive to build the new story mainly because I look at the pile of previous novels looking for readers (ie buyers).

I love creating the stories and completing a full-length book and sharing my drafts with excellent family mentors (ex-senior high school teachers) before submitting to my capable editor Nancy Mackenzie, maybe a couple of beta readers and then the line-by-line edits of my publisher.

It’s a long process and I’m promising myself that The Empty Envelope will be published in time to celebrate the start of a new decade in my little life.

So here we go, folks. Exactly two weeks to the spring equinox on March 19. That’s right, the earliest it has been in 124 years.

A bookends week

Ya gotta love these bookend weeks especially like the one we’ve just experienced. It’s been a week that we had no idea how it was going to turn out.

The week began last Sunday when we got the call around noon that our eldest granddaughter was on her way to the hospital to deliver her first child. Around 6pm our daughter Rachel called to say that Veronica and Ray were the proud parents of a healthy boy. For us, wee George is great grandson number two, just six months after our first. We got to visit him a few hours after he got home on Tuesday.

Great gramma Lois with George Philip Fukuda, the latest addition to our ever expanding family.

Great gramma Lois with George Philip Fukuda, the latest addition to our ever expanding family.

The next event for me was the delivery by Artist Lois of a reference map for a new novel I’ve created. Brandon’s Bicycle is now in its second draft and I was very fortunate to have Lois work with my squiggles and create a map of the Hamlet of Outside (you’ll have to stay tuned on that story till at least late summer).

The next highlight came Thursday when my editor returned  the manuscript for Uncharted, my second novel now just weeks away from being in the publisher’s hands.

Friday was the climax of the week when Lois and I celebrated our 55th wedding anniversary. We reckon that’s pretty darn cool.

The right hand bookend is Sunday to celebrate the 19th birthday of grand daughter Beth.

 

It’s Fun Being A Dad.

I wrote this in my weekly column in June 1981 while Publisher of Alberta’s Fort McMurray TODAY daily newspaper. It just came to light this week as we were ratting through a box of old papers. It brought a big smile as I recalled these heady days and compared with today, 33 years later. Our daughters are now older than I was when I wrote it! They are true treasures and valued friends.

* * *

 It’s great fun being a dad. But man, can you get yourself into a lot of hot water as the kids put you through their paces. There are hearty laughs, hearty aches and peaceful moments of joy with lots of good memories.
I think that, if in five years time I find myself on the open job market one qualification, on my resume might be: we raised three daughters.
How many potential employers would recognize that as a talent? Very few probably, because they don’t know the individual players of our team in this sparkling prime time life series.
Back in the early days of our marriage I remember my wife and I, as a very young couple, deciding that children would be a good addition to our lives; that we should enter the realm of parenthood young and “grow up with our kids.”
Great idea. Trouble is somewhere along the way there was a switch.
They are now growing up with us.
Now and again the girls in my life get a little ahead of the greying, balding dude who sits at the end of the dinner table providing off-the-cuff lectures at will on just about any subject dealing with tumultuous teenage times.
The Redhead is now far from home but she left her mark on the family nest.
Quaint phrases like: “Oh, Father…” (very disgustedly); “Yes, father…(very tiredly); “We know, Father…” (very condescendingly); “Uh huh, father…” (let’s-avoid-a-lecture tone); “You’re impossible, Father…” (very matter of factly); “Ohhh, Dads…” (very loving I want something tone); “Okey dokey Dads…” (very agreeable, something’s up tone); and just plain “Father…” (bossingly); “Father…” (questioningly) and “Father…” (dumbly).
It was her who passed on to her younger sisters techniques for avoiding what she herself titled “Dad’s Lectures.” These include hair washing, showering, convenient telephone calls, (are these prearranged?) flapping eyelids, a sudden desire to help their mother or clean their room, and just plain stomping off.
The Redhead also passed down the areas in which she considered her father to be famous in. In offbeat moods of teenage authority she would decide that her father possessed qualities that might outfit him for every profession and trade imaginable. Very flattering, possibly but unfortunately the dear child has inherited a touch of cynicism from somewhere that her dad is really just a gentle old windbag.
And so, after helping her through the period of life where child departs and adult emerges you would think this dad would be an “expert” on teenage daughters.
Not on your Nellie.
It compounds.
New ground has to be broken. The playing field is different. The same authoritative gestures no longer apply. This time we have a very strong willed and determined lass who is a master (sorry, mistress) of the faceoff.
She also has a streak not so apparent in the first edition: her father is not the only man in her life.
Rats!
How do you deal with dating daughters? Avoid hassles? Keep the lines of communication open? Avoid the generation gap? No matter how much you understand you just don’t understand.
And when it comes down to the wire very often it is dad who has to change and the child (sorry, daughter) who has to understand. Let go dad, I often remind myself.
A new vocabulary and phrase book is being written. It includes words like curfew and party and phrases like time out and time in. How are you travelling? Who are you going with? Why don’t you stay in tonight? Is it necessary to study together? Is your rnakeup on properly?
I find that it is almost necessary to make appointments to keep in touch (best done when she is wandering around the house in a cowboy hat). A parent has to change here. No longer can a dad assume that his daughter will be ready, willing and able to go wherever the family goes. You have to datebook these events well in advance.
A teenage girl’s calendar can be very full. There is school and its extracurricular activities; a part-time job, socializing with the guys and the gals; time flies for them. It is a whirl and you get exhausted just watching them. Whew! How do they keep up?
The week becomes a hi, bye, nice to see ya time. Dad looks forward to the weekend to have some time with the teenagers, like a gentle bit of cross-country skiing. But for the daughter there is much to do. . . busy, busy, busy.
How often does she chirrup, with a big smile “sorry Dads, have to run, maybe later or tomorrow. . . I have to go now.”
And she is gone. You smile. Inwardly you admire. Eyes glaze to watch a spirited young life on the move. You know the heart inside that child …you know the work that has gone into that young plant and you know it will bloom.
Which brings me to the third girl. First year as a teenager and a bundle of fun who is showing all the signs of a good education from the earlier editions plus, funnily enough, the production of her own copy of “How to Handle Dad”.
This particular book is not to be found in any bookstore. Otherwise I might have been tempted to buy it in the hope that I might be just one step ahead of the third and final edition.
The young miss has a list of telephone callers that would boggle even the tycooniest of business tycoons. She can receive more calls in an evening than all the rest of the family put together, plus the neighbors probably. And some of the perishers just don’t know when to quit calling.
And who had the bright idea of buying her a cassette recorder for Christmas, forgetting in that moment of weakness that teenyboppers like their music at a decibel rating that would freak any audiologist. They also like it on all the time and they cannot fathom why the oldies turn purple every time they turn up their favorite ditty.
And at this age there is the room. Good for a laugh (better not let your mother get into your room), good for a cry (when mother gets into the room), and good for asserting the responsibilities of parenthood (you can go when your room is done).
Teenagers lead us through all sorts of things. I remember the women’s editor of the newspaper I worked for in the Fiji Islands a few years back saying: “The time you spend and what you teach your child in the first seven is the most important part of their lives. You’ll reap rewards for these efforts later in life.
I have to go along with that, as far as girls are concerned anyway. Once a child reaches teenagedom it becomes a matter of guidance, love and friendship.
And I thank God for entrusting three girls to my care. You laugh with them, cry with them, get frustrated with them and love ’em in spite of everything.
It is fun being a dad.

 

Independent slacker

My WordPress log reminds me of how many days it has been since I last posted something to this blog (ouch!). For those who at one time may have followed progress on my book, I apologize for the procrastination. Having joined the ranks of the independent to self publish my book, I became involved in a process that started to consume me. I also found that the warm sunshine of our northern summer was an easy distraction and an escape from the tedium of process and organization in publishing a book.

Self publishing is not simply a case of writing, slapping in a couple of pictures and heading to the local print shop to get a few copies of the greatest manuscript since Somerset Maugham.

My book, Tide Cracks and Sastrugi: An Antarctic summer of 1968-69, is in the final stages before printing. Getting to this point followed a well defined trail laid out so patiently by my publisher Kim of Polished Publishing Group (PPG).When I thought I was near the end of the writing part, I sent it to my editor and she worked it, then worked me over to get it right and to make the script into what it is. Sheila’s builds and suggestions were amazing and she extracted much new material from the hidden places of my brain to complete a story of a very personal journey. She found in me linkages which would build value into the story.

Her valued advice meant I spent many a Spring day on major rewrites. This preceded whittling about a thousand photographs down to the handful that could be incorporated into the book. Because the book deals with just one small life on the frozen Antarctic desert at the end of the first decade of modern exploration, I really considered my old photographs necessary to illustrate the conditions of the time. That winnowing of a memorable collection took some time and while I started out at a limit of 80 pictures, I ended up with 130. PPG’s designer John proved to be a terrific ally in putting visual sense between the covers. I love his cover design and the treatment he has given Tide Cracks.

The back (left) and front cover

From weeks in the design phase, the book passed to another in the PPG team, Tia whom I now regard as Indexer Supremo. I was excited about the results of her work, the depth and cross referencing outclasses the content of the book!  Before this, I hadn’t recognized the art and expertise involved in indexing. To me an index was always something at the end of the book. I didn’t have a clue as to how it got there and was very relieved to know that this was an activity I would not have to sweat through.

With the index added, the book headed to the Print on Demand folk for a hard copy. When that returned to the publisher, it was Jen’s turn. She is a professional proofreader, combing through the text with fresh eyes and a fresh approach to ensure the book meets a totally professional standard.

Her changes are now being incorporated and in about a week I will get to see my first hard copy. I’m excited. I’ll get one last read through before signing off with the Publisher and receiving the files for printing.

I promise I’ll be back in a few days with an update.

Antarctica 100 years ago

My grand daughter announced in public the other day that she had not read a fresh blog for a while. It has been a week or two or more and the ultimate excuse comes down to summertime and chasing the sun across western Canada to the sea. That completed, there’s the post vacation lethargy and a renewed and refreshed urge to the book completed.

Well, the good news is that my manuscript is now winging its way courtesy of Canada Post to my editor/mentor for editorial evaluation. The fees have been paid and now I wait. I wake each day and wonder aloud to my wife “has she got it yet?” The vacuum of wait. I expect to hear back from her sometime early September. So, wait with me.

I have mentioned Adrian Raeside, the Canadian cartoonist (The Other Coast) who last year published his book  Return to Antarctica, the story of his grandfather and great uncles who accompanied Robert Falcon Scott on his final expedition to the south polar region. It is a telling story and a very good read of courage and survival taken from the diaries of the men who were there through unimaginable hardship. It is a wonder any of them came home at all.

Adrian has a related project on the go and you might like to take a boo at his video