Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
"The U of T writing school was a great way to plunge into tangential dialogue, surprising plot twists, and flesh out an eccentric cast of characters... and in addition to all that, I did some half-decent fiction writing while I was there."
Vincent Lam, Author Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures: Stories, Giller Prize Award Winner, and Creative Writing Summer School Student.
July 4 - 8, 2011
Join our five day intensive workshop for emerging writers. Steps from the subway, on U of T’s campus in downtown Toronto , we offer you a chance to learn the craft of writing from some of Canada’s finest authors.
WRITE IN THE GARDEN:
A one-day writing adventure.
Inspiration, structure and support for those with lots of writing experience and for those with none.
Spend a summer day learning to trust your voice and tell your stories. Listen to your creative self. Gain confidence and perspective from friendly contact with other writers. Write in the garden and enjoy positive feedback, bushy perennials, birdsong, and lunch.
Who: Writer and teacher Beth Kaplan has taught writing at Ryerson for 17 years and at U of T for 5.
When: Sunday June 26, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Sunday August 14, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Cost: $150, including food for thought and actual food. $275 for both days. Register early; limited to 10.
Where: Beth’s secret garden in Cabbagetown.
Laughter, camaraderie and insight guaranteed.
For more information - www.bethkaplan.ca/coaching
To register – firstname.lastname@example.org
“I’d like to express my deep appreciation to you, Beth, for making your garden workshop so memorable. You have a special gift for creating a safe learning environment, with a well of positive things to say without passing judgment. It was a joy to be there with you and the others. Your garden is magical, and you created a magical day for me. Ann C.”
Friday, May 27, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Still, it's fantastic that Mum, at 87, and her sister Do, at 91, are still living independently, cooking and doing crossword puzzles daily and coping extremely well, considering. How lucky we all are. As my brother and I say, "We want those longevity genes." The other side - not so much.
We had a wonderful day Saturday - it was stunningly bright and hot, so we went for a drive in Mum's 1982 Volvo - down to the tulip festival, bed after bed of tulips in scarlet, yellow, pink. I parked and we found a bench to sit in the shade and watch the parade of Ottawans go by - "just like the U.N.," Mum observed, as every nationality was out rollerblading, walking kids, cycling, running. This is such a lovely city, just the right size, and the whole canal area is gorgeous. Three young girls went by, and I said to Mum, "I wonder if they know how perfect they are," and then realized that, when I lived by the canal with my friend Lynn at the age of 18, we too must have been perfect. And had no idea.
While Mum napped, I went out for a walk/jogette by the river and discovered something magical - someone had left a wooden kitchen chair facing the river so I went to sit down, and then noticed they'd created a kind of sanctuary, cleared a path and lined it with stones, piled stones around the trees, left small stones on big stones. I stayed a long time, appreciating the work that had gone into making this special place and taking pictures. The next day, when I went back, it had gone. No chair, no path, no stones around the trees. Glad I have the pictures to prove I wasn't hallucinating a chair by the river, with stones.
Yesterday, errands, getting a huge load of groceries and wine, cooking for Sunday dinner; my brother and his rambunctious 3-year old came to dine. And then TV with my two ladies nodding off and waking up, though we watched the life of Victor Hugo with Paul Muni and were all gripped at the heroic tale. And today, sorting, tidying, cleaning out. I hope to get to the fridge, where I've noticed lots of stuff past its due date. I wish I did not live so far away. But luckily my brother is nearby and very attentive.
Friend Chris writes from France that he's afraid of being stranded there by the volcano, shades of two years ago - or was it last year? I forget. Last year, I think. How time flies.
How time flies.
Home late tonight, unless a volcano erupts.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Over a period of six years, the journal became a crucial outlet for the feelings of despair—the "cold sinkings of the heart"—that had agonized him from the time of his youth. "Is it the body brings it on the mind or the mind inflicts it upon the body?" he wondered, concluding that the two are inseparable: "I fancy I might as well enquire whether the fiddle or the fiddlestick makes the tune."
Scott found that the only effective remedy for depression was physical exertion. "Fighting with this fiend is not always the best was to conquer him," he wrote. "I have always found exercize and the open air better than reasoning." His long walks often led to dramatic emotional recovery: "The freshness of the air, the singing of the birds, the beautiful aspect of nature, the size of the venerable trees, gave me all a delightful feeling this morning. It seemd there was pleasure even in living and breathing without anything else."
Sunday, May 1, 2011
alley - and published (at least online, if not in print), in the GnM.