#Rejection100

Rejection is just part of it. You cannot please everyone. Write for yourself first.

Not everyone has to like you.

All very true but slightly brutal platitudes that are a part of life as an artist. It is really hard to brush them aside and just create when you are so worried about assigning a value to your work, accepting money for your work or creating something that someone else will want to pay for. Better yet will it ever be enough to expect it to support you?

In Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert she said she never wanted to put the pressure on her creativity to be the breadwinner and I can completely respect her commitment to that ideal. She viewed her creative life to be a mystical, sacred thing, like the equivalent of a snail requiring protection and love to come out of its shell. However when you need to win some bread your sacred snail can become escargot. 

About a year ago I was preparing to abandon my search for a publisher and change gears to search for a Literary Agent. Changing from writing query letters and submissions for publishers to letters to agents was not so tough. It was trying to inspire the motivation to do something new and restart the whole process.

I can’t remember but I think #rejection100 was suggested to me by an author I had a coaching call with. The purpose behind it was to reframe rejection as a natural and desirable phase of creation. It is akin to not believing in failure because each attempt is a pathway to your goal. So, if this is true then in theory rejections are a good thing.

Not just for the feedback but because if getting more rejections naturally leads you to success then why not celebrate them along the way? What if you had a goal of collecting one hundred of them and being excited as to where it might lead? I subscribed to that theory in spades. After all I got some fantastic feedback from publishers so why not expect the same thing? So I started on my mission to collect rejection and I am so glad I did! 

I think at last count with all of my query letter writing I must have only been at around five! I may not have accomplished much failure but boy I had fun doing it, especially when it led to some amazing feedback and success! I need to get excited about rejection again. To play the game of knowing it is in the cards so I may as well have a good time with it. It means I have to be active, to create towards the purpose of just creating, even if it’s at a snail’s pace. 

 

Follow me here on Instagram at @brave.creative.me to see my creative journey.

All Signs Point Too…

There are days when I just need to fold into the fabric of life and forget myself. To be one of the little cogs in the wheel of this city, getting shit done. However there are days when it is not so clear if I am folding into the fabric of anything, as I throw myself at the mercy of the clock praying it will soon be done. Today on what would have been our 10-year wedding anniversary I am reminded that there are days that are in-between those two extremes and today is one of those.

I very much depend on the inner workings of my spirituality. When I connect with something outside of myself and ask for guidance, I received it. Some mornings when I wake up frazzled even before I have gone out the door that certainty is the mast I to cling to as I set sail into the unknown. When I launched myself into the day it was with confidence, look, see, I said to myself, I’m fine. I’ve done this before and I will do it again. It wasn’t until the challenges started rearing their heads like sea monsters above the waves that I knew it was a different kind of day.

While I may receive guidance in times that I specifically ask for it, there are also times I receive it unlooked for and I guess I think of those more as signs. Like, hey over here, wake up, go left not right,  buy that thing now or even more arresting, would you please just stop! Usually it shows up as a song, picture, or passage in a newspaper or even a literal sign! It’s not essential that I know where it comes from or why I am noticing it, it’s enough to know deep in my bones that I do.

When on the way to daycare my nephew had a poop explosion in the stroller and I had no supplies, but I knew I would be fine. It was a quick thinking scramble but I’ve been in the trenches of mommy-hood so I took it in stride and said,

“Yup, message received.” It will be this kind of day and I had shit to do, pardon the allusion. It was officially the kind of day that presents you with challenges. The ones you can figure out if you get your head on straight and believe in your own ingenuity. You can and will reach success with exhausted pride.

Sunflower

When I went into the post office I looked up to the August calendar that sported a large photograph of a sunflower, the flower Kara first brought me when we dated, the flower we made the symbol of our wedding, the flower my friend McKell stalked the city for in November 2012 to have at my wife’s funeral. This sign was not so much a kick in the gut but a gentle telegram that told me she was with me; this was because the word “Thrive” was scrawled across it accompanying a quote by Maya Angalou,

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humour, and some style.”

If Kara could send me anything today this undoubtedly would be it. It told me, pay attention, you are not just surviving, you are thriving baby and I love you. It sent me out of the post office feeling loved, strong and calm. I continued on my get shit done mission, catching a streetcar to the vet to pick up my elderly cat’s pain medication.  As I waited for another streetcar I envisioned getting onto one bound for the beaches, where I could grab lunch and head to the beautiful and unvisited library, reading the book I was engrossed in all the way.

BooksI am not a rapid reader but I have crashed my way through several series this summer, two by Juliet Marillier a New Zealand born author of historical fantasy novels. The current addiction I was barrelling through was Seer of Sevenwaters the second in two trilogies about a family who usually has a set of twins that are telepathically linked, one healer and one who has the gift of sight. In this book the seer is Sibel who is destined to be a Druid and can read the signs of the ancient gods in many forms.

The beautiful simplicity of the universe is that it works with what it has to reach the people it must. Standing there waiting for a west bound streetcar on Queen St. I was disappointed as many northbound ones passed me by. I had reached the moment in my novel where the mysteries were unravelling, the leap of faith became a sprint and they were not sure if the sea dragon was going to rip them to shreds or let them live, when something happened. The brave scribe that lost his brother in the treacherous sea voyage to Ireland composes a song that was almost like a spell, there it was on page 375…

“Come here, come here, You creature fine, Oh come away with me, I will give you hearth and home, And children one, two three.”

As anyone who attended my wedding could tell you, Come Away With Me by Norah Jones was our wedding song. This was a sign from the universe to stop…and grieve. I retreated to the parking lot behind the vet before my sorrows washed out of me. When you most need it, it comes and I cried until I was empty and boarded a northbound streetcar. I had to go north anyways to pick up my son but it was more than that.

“Come away with me” I said to Kara. “Come sit and have lunch with me.”

“A date?!” I heard her elated reply.

“Yes, let’s go somewhere we’ve never been.”

Turns out that somewhere was closed and I ended up at Factory Girl holding a gin and tonic. Even though Kara thought drinking gin was like “sucking on a pine tree” I figured she would not mind if I used it to toast us. I cried anew as Nat King Coles Unforgettable started playing over the speakers and stammered out my toast.  It was a toast to us, to our anniversary, to our beautiful son and the bravery that all one, two, three of us have summoned in order to thrive, apart.

Flat Potato Fry

I am noticing a theme my friends. I have always known that I have a recurrent subject of cooking and food because in a major way my life revolves around menus and meals. Well of course you might say, anyone who eats may feel the same way what with the planning, shopping, cooking and eating sustaining life thing. Cooking makes me happy creatively as well as gastronomically, especially when I produce something delicious!

However something happens when you become a parent and just like popcorn and movies after 8pm (when you can stay awake) they are not as enjoyable, so cooking that once was a dove feels more like a ball and chain. I laughed long and hard when my friend and housemate gave her 6 month old banana for the first time, but this is precisely when the change occurs. When we go from boob juice to solid food it’s a delicate transition. The same is true every time my son falls in or out of love with something I cook. When he says things like,

img_3592“This is disgusting” or “mom, gross” or “I didn’t like this, I was just pretending” (what the ?!?). It’s hard not to take it personally. Except, so is everything else if you are not careful. It’s just after a splendidly joyful interlude in the kitchen that by all rights is a hit with adults will go down in flames as soon as it hits my child’s plate.

Take last weekend for example I was trying another recipe from Nicolas Hortense, off of Blogtastic Food for Crispy Potato Cakes. It is similar to potato latkes with less ingredients. It was a labour of love to grate the potatoes and squish all the water out of them. When I spread them in the pan with a little olive oil and butter, they gave potato love right back. Inhaling deeply I contemplated the next challenge, to “put a plate over the pan, carefully but confidently turn the hash brown onto the plate.” Confidence, hum, Okay lets do this shit, I though

I grabbed a plate with zero to five percent fear, threw it over the large potato pancake and with one swift movement flipped upside down onto the plate. I slid it back into the pan and again experienced potato bliss as well as deep feeling of satisfaction. After that it went into the oven for additional crisping. I was so proud when I deposited it on the table next to the poached eggs and sausage; and what did I get from the french fry king

“I don’t like this.” Sigh.

img_3599

 

 

“Then you will have this much” I said and looked at my friend for some sort of valid response, thank God for other adults.

So I loved the outside crispness but it was still a bit soggy in the centre, maybe I didn’t squish it enough or used too much potato? Originally I was wishing I had some egg rings to do small versions, what with my inherited love of adorable sized food (see my post  Adorable Vegetables). As brunch only comes once a weekend my conclusion is I shall try them again, fully enjoy potato bliss and my son will have to suck it up.

See you on the flip side :).

Darth Vader Disaster

Let me just open this post by saying The Force was definitely not with me on this! Brunch is a great meal, it is nice to have time to prepare meals on a weekend. It’s even nicer when your guests only have to commute across the driveway. The table was laid, the kid was being somewhat helpful and my place was tidied and ready to go. Now for the menu.

02CEB3B8-7095-4F06-83C7-300C96B20326

Last Christmas I gave my son a Darth Vader shaped waffle maker. The novelty was golden for a little while but then just like many meals he gets “bored” of it, and turns up his nose afterwords. So with mother determination I decreed a Darth Vader waffle party! To my irritation that morning I realized I had no flour. Having done a food sensitivity test I am trying to use alternatives that don’t hurt me. I had a package of experimental coconut flour so I decided, what the heck I’ll try it.

IMG_3192That was the first mistake, or rather it was the mistake, as I had no idea how much moisture coconut flour required! I just kept adding almond milk and water until my waffle batter had grown twice the size it regularly did filling two bowls. When I put it in the waffle maker the batter had the nerve to remain in its gelatinous form, burn and bond with the inside of the waffle maker like cement.

This was not a small disaster so I called in reinforcements after laughing my ass off. I rang my neighbour and she said if I had toast she would make Darth Vader pressed French toast which turned out to be pretty great. However I felt like I needed to sooth my dismayed cooking ego.

Nicolas Hortense, the epicurean genius behind behind Blogtastic Food was very kind about my last post on mushrooms, so I took a look at his website and found an amazing recipe for Cream Cheese, Asparagus and A Poached Egg on Toast. His site has vegetarian and plant based recipes aplenty, there may have been drool. I told him I was going to throw away my non-dairy conventions and give it a try. However after waffle armageddon I figured I would be nice to myself and sub in some ingredients. Cooking adventures can end up well like that, unless they dissolve into Darth Vader shaped disaster. 

IMG_3193So I cooked up some eggs and asparagus, placed one on top of the other and garnished with balsamic vinegar and chives. As I served it to my neighbour and my housemate I coined it the adult breakfast. Eggs and asparagus rock! It would be great to add something creamy but I was certainly not prepared to sub in anything else coconut that day. Check out his blog and find your own awesome brunch recipes to try and may the force be with you! 

P.S. Next weekend is a toss up between apple crumble and strawberry crepes! 

 

Poetry Publication and Florida Blizzards!

I love writing contests. Well, I love them when I win. Otherwise I try to be pretty neutral about them, given that writers everywhere have submitted to countless contests for eons, it’s just part of the landscape. You look down the road and hope for good weather but try not to be too disappointed when it rains, because after all we need that too. However, every once in a while it happens. You get the answer “yes” instead of a “try again” or flat out “no.” I found Her Heart Poetry when I introduced myself to Instagram where they were doing something cool at instagram.com/herheartpoetry I loved the idea of taking  poetry and joining it with an image like this…

image

I followed them at once and was soon oohing and awwing over the lovey words and imagery and then made some of my own. So when they announced their contest to select poems for their Annual Her Heart Poetry Anthology I submitted three poems and what do you know they picked two out of the three. It’s a nice little pick me up for a poet. One to to be picked 🙂 and two, to see your work in print (or digital copy.) Purchase here.

image

There are also two ways that this publication is topical in my life. The first poem picked is titled Let It Go, which I wrote on the occasion of watching Frozen with my son and he asked what felt like a burning question. As the Snow Queen spins singing this song, and constructing her castle of ice he said, “mom, why is she doing that?” To find out what I said you can read the poem. It’s also topical as I am in Disney World for Halloween with him, wearing an Olaf t-shirt, having just ridden the Frozen Everafter ride. Before you ask, yes, it was wicked!

image

And so was the depiction of Pandora from Avatar, but that’s just a bonus. And yes, see those tiny little people on the ground, they are tiny little regular sized people next to this mammoth structure. No wonder it took them five years to build this thing. Anyways…

Poem number two is also topical. Entitled Still With Me, this one is about my late wife who on November 11th will have been gone for five years. Everyone who loves her continues to grieve of course but I am greatful to be among those people she was closest to on this anniversary. Experiencing the magic together, so much joy, wonder and Frozen sing-alongs in a theatre that manufactured a blizzard!

image

And so if you would like to purchase a digital or paper copy to read these poems and support this organization that has made me very happy go to the Her Heart Poetry Bookstore and Bob’s your Uncle.

 

The Brave Space

I am a-glow. I am in awe. I am indebted to the talented, passionate, courageous women who are letting their voices be heard. A year ago I was in the inaugural production of #HERStoryCounts. The six other brave women that I wrote with, laughed with and cried with made me stronger, made my voice feel heard. There is something purifying about telling your own story, to tell it you have to strip it down to its components, understand why a particular thing inspired you, intrigued you, wounded or shamed you. It is you being real.

Authenticity is the key to moving art and last night I was moved by brave women who told their stories, sang their songs and drew their truths. When you tell your story to yourself it is a risk to express and to be witnessed while you are doing so is both a risk and reward. It is about taking up space and taking the opportunity to be brave in it. Whether or not it is received well it is out there, but last night at the Fundraiser Cabaret The Brave Space, the full house was intensely appreciative and responsive.

I love that through my creativity my creative community gets to expand, adding more writers, singers, dancers and artists to inspire me and I will hopefully get the chance to inspire them. Creativity is a recipical gift and to all the women who stood up with me tonight in their truths; keep going because the world need you, our friends, daughters, sisters, mothers, aunts and cousins need brave women like you to lead the way.

Job well done everyone!

From Scratch

Sometimes starting from scratch is the best thing to do. Siri tells me the definition of this phrase is “beginning with the basic ingredients – typically to bake something, to do something or make something.” The basic thrill of genuinely saying I can let something go is the exciting field of possibilities in front of you. The risk always exists i.e. what if it doesn’t work, what if it turns out like shit, what if this changes in ways I don’t anticipate, but so what? Shit can lead to some, if you will forgive me, very fertile strokes of brilliance.

This phrase denotes looking at a new canvas with a pallet full of paint. A counter full of ingredients that are mingling their single aromas under your nose. Or blank page with a pen in hand that writes so smoothly and darkly that you can’t wait to make the first scratch. This is a sense of freedom that renews the spirit and today I am doing that.

This period of time is called the chaos stage, or brainstorming where there are no limitations on ideas, only continual and preferable expansion. New website, new plans to address work life balance, new ways to make being a single mom easier and a renewed commitment to my creative projects namely my first book.

I want to, if I can use another euphemism, make my mark on the world or as Siri pipes out “make an impact on the world” i.e. to inspire and assist people in their everyday lives whether I am speaking directly to them or connecting my words to a wider audience. Being as authentic and visible as possible is scary because you are opening yourself up, but I have learned that if you do this from the heart it will resonate and make that mark or scratch you were hoping to leave that will stay with the people who need it.