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On Love & Quotes

I like quotes. And, really, who doesn’t ? Bound by a cute pair of rabbit ears, a great quote can serve as a life mantra, a conversation starter, an impetus to change your life, a reason to learn more about a subject…the list is endless!

My friend and old ex-curler buddy, Stephen B., just tagged me in a Facebook Memory (didn’t even know they existed before this) and reminded me of a quote from Thornton Wilder’s The Bridge of San Luis Rey, a novel we read in our book club aeons ago. Wilder was in his own league when it came to English prose. I mean, here was a guy who really knew how to string together words in a way that hits you hard, not like a nudge on the shoulder, but more a hammer to the cerebral cortex that induces a shot of heaven-borne adrenalin to your organ of fire.

Check out this doozy from The Bridge of San Luis Rey:

Soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.

(ed. note: If you like Wilder, especially The Bridge of San Luis Rey, I strongly encourage you to read David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas. Aside from The Bridge of San Luis Rey being one of Mitchell’s favourite books, he infused a lot from Wilder’s novel in his own epic, ranging from the character of Luisa Rey to the almost frequent mention of bridges at key moments in the story. )

While reading that Wilder quote again, I find it hauntingly similar to a passage I read years ago that was written by yet another literary giant more than 60 years before Wilder penned his ethereal prose on love. To quote Prince Andrei from War and Peace:

Love hinders death. Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.

Now that I’m on the subject, though, I can’t but recall two of my all-time-forever-like-totally-can’t-forget-about-them quotes on this subject.

First, I present Lawrence Durrell from the first book in the Alexandria Quartet novels, Justine:

The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss, or touch; precede ambition, pride, or envy; precede the first declarations which mark the turning point—for from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness.

And I end with the man himself, Michael Ondaatje, and his swan song from The English Patient:

We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves. I wish for all this to be marked on by body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography – to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience.

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ScreenCraft Comedy Screenplay Contest

“Whether you have a romantic comedy or an action-comedy blockbuster, we want to read your script. Big or small, our jury is looking for smart feature film screenplays with strong command of the craft, lots of heart and unique comedic voices. All entries are eligible for optional feedback from a studio-trained professional reader.”

Deadline is April 11 and the winner takes home $1,500 plus some invaluable contacts. Click here for more details.

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A Writer Considers an Alternate Life as an Undercover Agent

An interesting essay on the Lapham’s Quarterly website by Jennifer duBois entitled “MFA vs. CIA.” Ms. duBois is the author of two novels, one of which, A Partial History of Lost Causes, I read with my fellow curlers as a book club selection of the month. Although Curling Was Full did not go coo-coo-for-cocoa-puffs ecstatic over the book, Ms. duBois certainly shows great promise as a young writer.

If you don’t have the time/desire to read the entire essay, here are some of the more golden-like golden nuggets:

“Intelligence failures, like literary ones, tend to stem from failures of empathetic imagination.”

“Writers and spies share an ability—and a willingness—to hide in plain sight, to deflect attention not only from the nature of their role but from the fact that they have any role at all. A spy obscures his relationship to events in order to affect them, just as a writer hovers anonymously beyond the page in order to exert her tyrannical, obsessive control.”

“[A] condition of knowing the truth is to never, never tell it.”

“Writers and spies also tend to inspire related suspicions, though they differ (as ever, and by an order of magnitude) in degree. Both are thought to exist on some level apart from normal people, even while living in their midst. Both are known to have skewed relationships to consensus reality and predatory attitudes toward other people’s information.”

“[S]uspense comes from the feeling that things might have gone differently. In real life, we call this free will—and just as in fiction, it may be an illusion.”

 

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A Mother’s Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy

Sometimes a title says it all. Remember Columbine? The precursor to names like Virginia Tech and Sandy Hook, Columbine still remains the deadliest high school shooting in U.S. history. Although nearly 17 years have passed since that awful day when Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold walked into their school and killed 12 fellow students and one teacher, injuring 21 others along the way, April 20, 1999 is “a date which will live in infamy” (to quote FDR). For it was on that morning that far too many people had their lives irrevocably changed and the world watched in horror as the unthinkable happened: kids killing kids en masse.

Sue Klebold, the mother of 17-year-old Dylan Klebold, recently published a memoir called A Mother’s Reckoning: Living in the Aftermath of Tragedy. Its focus is not so much about the carnage itself, but about teenage angst, depression, and suicide. Carlos Lozada at The Washington Post summed up the book well when he wrote:

Reading this book as a critic is hard; reading it as a parent is devastating….I imagine snippets of my own young children in Dylan Klebold, shades of my parenting in Sue and Tom.  I suspect that many families will find their own parallels….This book’s insights are painful and necessary and its contradictions inevitable.

While many, including Michael Moore through his documentary Bowling for Columbine, tend to focus on the gruesome nature of the attack itself, the proliferation of guns, and the high homicide rate in the U.S., Sue Klebold addresses what is arguably a more immediate question for societies everywhere: How do we deal with the psychological turmoil teens experience around the world and what can be done to address this vital social  issue which touches us all, almost like cancer does, either directly or indirectly through family members and loved ones?

Unbeknownst to a lot of us, there are more than 38,000 suicides in America every year, making it the second leading cause of death for those 15-34 years of age. Compare that to the roughly 12,000 homicides that take place in the U.S. annually and you get an idea why someone like Sue Klebold, whose son killed himself at the end of the rampage, sees more than just gun control law problems when she looks back on Columbine.

While firearms account for the lion’s share of suicides in the United States, the fact that Korea has the highest suicide rate in the developed world (and No. 2 overall) and Japan has the third highest rate among OECD countries (and No. 17 overall) is further proof that guns are not the source of the problem when it comes to mental illness, by far and away the leading cause of suicides in the U.S.; they’re simply a quick means to an end.

Sadly – and I say this purely from an empathetic point of view because it’s abundantly clear that she is forever damaged emotionally and psychologically – there are still those who blame and hate the parents of Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris. However, Sue Klebold didn’t let that stop her from describing her own living hell and what she hopes to do about it in a positive, beneficial way. Rather than personally benefit financially from the sale of her story, she is donating all profits from the book to research and charitable organizations focusing on mental health issues.

Let’s all pray that initiatives such as this can in some small measure help us as one global society come face to face with something that has been stigmatized and brushed under the carpet for far too long. Mental illness, depression, and suicide are very real and will not get any better until we find a way to help those in need with a more caring and constructive approach.

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Does Alcohol + Writing = Genius x Calamity ÷ The X Factor?

What do Ernest Hemingway, James Joyce, Hunter S. Thompson, Edgar Allan Poe, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner, Jack Kerouac, Tennessee Williams, Raymond Chandler, and O. Henry all share in common?

They were all alcoholics at one time, many of them for life, some of whom actually died as a direct result of their affliction.

Frighteningly enough, the above list only represents some of the greatest names in English literature over the past 150 years. This raises another alarming question: Is a grossly unhealthy dependence on alcohol necessary to become a great and prolific writer? Should writers follow Hemingway’s advice when he once mused, “Write drunk; edit sober”? While a humorous, pithy, and catchy suggestion, was Papa onto something?

Fortunately, the answer is a resounding NO!

Just ask Stephen King, who since quitting drugs and drinking has produced arguably his best work; David Mitchell, who’s an insanely responsible person and health nut; Murakami Haruki, who quit smoking and left his heavy whiskey-drinking days behind long ago at his former Tokyo bar and now takes solace in jogging, not the bottle. I’m pretty sure Margaret Atwood and Michael Ondaatje are on the straight and narrow, too. Then there’s Isaac Asimov, Anne Rice, and Stephenie Meyer, each famous as a writer for different reasons, but all of whom are teetotalers (abstinent from alcohol).

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been binge-watching Intervention Canada, an intense documentary that spends a few days following drug and/or alcohol addicts (and by “addict” I mean so far gone in most cases that it’s actually difficult to watch sometimes) before facilitating an intervention and offering treatment at many of Canada’s top treatment facilities. (Sidebar here: is it just me or are all the best rehab centres in Canada located in British Columbia?)

While watching an episode of IC a few days ago, I was struck by the courage one young woman summoned up when coming to grips with her demons, so I decided to write it down:

“I do not know what it is to be brave. And I do not know what the word bravery means to other people. What I do know is that strength is brought about by confidence. What I do know is that hardship fosters understanding. I believe kindness and thoughtfulness are the keys to ensuring a successful life. As I move forward, and embark on a new life, a life free of alcohol, free of pain, a life free of poison, I take to heart what the word bravery might actually mean.”

Scientists and philosophers have long tried to determine what exactly leads to genius. I think the only thing people can agree upon is that there is most definitely a biological factor; some people are simply blessed with a formidable brain. But it’s not all nature, I think. There is most certainly a nurture component – hard work, dedication, and a passion for a particular field of knowledge. At the same time, I feel equally confident saying that crutches like OxyCoton, meth, heroin, crack, whiskey, gin, beer, etc. (ad infinitum) will get a person nowhere, especially an artist like a writer, who already spends enough time alone and possibly dredging up memories and emotions that could sink even the strongest person if not handled with extreme cerebral care.

So if you’re interested in getting started on that story you know you have in you, or perhaps you’re brash enough to want to become a professional writer (ha ha ha ha ha…that’s just dumb and dumbly), do so with a cup of Joe or a mug of herbal tea, preferably in the hours before the sun rises, and you (and your liver) will be grateful for the decision in the years to come.

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Stop Worrying, Start Writing

What does Jerry Seinfeld have to do with staying sharp when it comes to your writing? What does it mean when you say that “the broadband starts to narrow the moment you stop”? And what does “breaking the glass” have to do with the price of tea in Korea?

They all tie in to an article by Corey Mandell that appeared on Screen Craft’s blog entitled “How to Stop Worrying and Start Writing.” If you find yourself overwhelmed by the writing process for both rational and irrational reasons, you might build a little confidence after reading this piece.

Also, if you want to learn how to take your writing to the next level and you happen to be in Toronto, sign up for the Professional Writers Association of Canada’s “How to Polish Your Prose So Editors Love You” workshop tomorrow, March 5, from 3-5 p.m. at Spadina and Bloor. Just $20 for non-PWAC members and you’re sure to learn a ton.

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12th Annual Literary Short Story Competition for Emerging Writers

Are you a Canuck? Do you have zero publishing credits to your name? Would you like a chance to win a cool $1,500 ($500 if you’re under 19 and entering the Youth category) for writing a short story? Then click here and check out the 12th Annual Literary Short Story Competition for Emerging Writers, sponsored by the Alice Munro Festival of the Short Story.

Stories can be up to 2,500 words. Deadline is April 1, 2016. Cost per entry is $25.

Happy writing and good luck, all!

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In Support of Unfamous Authors

Couldn’t……resist……posting……this……

 Carol Anne Shaw Books's photo.

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To Anyone Who Thinks They’re Falling Behind In Life

Sometimes you have to take a step back in life and call out the elephant in the room. And sometimes that elephant will show you that it’s all good (even when your world is falling to pieces), that it’s useless to compare yourself to others (even if it’s second nature for the entire animal kingdom), and to recognize that effort does not always equal success (good people who work hard get crushed just as often in life as bad people rise to the top).

Jamie Varon has penned an emotional, poignant, and deeply affecting piece in the Huffington Post that is a rare case of dropping F bombs not just with aplomb, but with apparent impunity – and getting away with it!

She inspires without being pedantic or patronizing. She’s youthful and hip, but sage enough to know some of life’s great secrets. Most of all, though, she has the reader walk away feeling better about themselves no matter how shitty things might seem right now. Varon’s prose is gritty, yet uplifting; seemingly base until you think about what she’s just written and go, Shit la merde! She’s bang on, yo!

Personally, motivational speakers annoy me. The best part of Chicken Noodle Soup for the Soul, for example, was that I didn’t have to read Jack Canfield, the anthologist who put it all together, but instead got to be blown away by some impressive writers and orators.

With respect to Jamie Varon’s piece, if you don’t have the time to read the entire article, here are some of my favourite nuggets of gold:

Our experience cannot always be manipulated. Yet, we don’t act as though we know this truth. We try so hard to manipulate and control our lives, to make creativity into a game to win, to shortcut success because others say they have, to process emotions and uncertainty as if these are linear journeys.

Things are dark until they’re not. Most of our unhappiness stems from the belief that our lives should be different than they are.

You need to stop listening to people who are in vastly different life circumstances and life stages than you tell you that you’re just not doing or being enough.

And what I think we all need more than anything is this: permission to be wherever the fuck we are when we’re there.

Sometimes you’re not falling in love because whatever you need to know about yourself is only knowable through solitude.

 

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Affordable Housing, Meet John Galt

    +      =

HO             PE?

 

“Who is John Galt?”

The Toronto Star ran a heartbreaking article on Friday, February 26 entitled “Months to live, but a longer wait for housing.” Part human interest story about 41-year-old terminal abdominal cancer victim Lisa De Medeiros, a single mother of a young son and a teenage daughter, part statistical nightmare about affordable housing in Toronto (and Canada as a whole, really), I felt compelled to write something on the subject, if not for the moral imperative then for my mother, who for decades has fought for greater funding to be directed towards rent-geared-to-income housing in this grossly overpriced city.

In Toronto, there are currently 95,280 households (or 238,200 people according to the latest Stats Can numbers) on the two-bedroom waiting list for subsidized housing. However, the city has only 70,000 units to go around, so the length of time someone has to wait for one of these units is, on average, 8.5 years.

Not months. YEARS, baby!

There is one exception (in theory), however. Victims of domestic abuse and the terminally ill shoot to the top of Housing Connection’s list. The average wait time for a two-bedroom unit for these people is said to be 9 months, but that’s a load of hooey. De Medeiros applied two years ago and has still not been accepted. Is Housing Connection, caretakers of Toronto’s social housing wait list, an evil empire of doom? No. The mortifying reality is that they could only move in 145 households last year and – even more horrifying – there were “emergency” applicants on the list who had been waiting longer and/or had a more severe situation than De Medeiros.

Toronto has built 2,848 affordable housing units over the last five years, about 570 units a year for a city with 2.6 million people, or roughly one new unit for every 4,500 Torontonians annually. Compare that with the more than 80,000 private condos waiting to be built/waiting for approval from Toronto City Council.

Here’s the real problem: Approximately 604,000 of us in Canada’s wealthiest city live at or below the poverty line ($18,759). Put another way, 23% of Toronto citizens are poor and the city has enough rent-geared-to-income units to accommodate 7% of the city’s households (not individuals). Furthermore, according to the City of Toronto Urban Development Services, Toronto’s population is expected to grow more than 15% by 2031, while the population of the GTA is forecast to grow about 35%, to 7.45 million.

It’s not much better at the provincial or federal levels. Ontario’s population is 13.6 million and cities and towns around the province have built a meager 18,030 subsidized housing units over the last 10 years, or 1 home for every 7,500 Ontarians a year. Perhaps the most troubling statistic is at the federal level. In the Netherlands, 33% of all homes are subsidized. In England, that number is 17%. In Canada, the second largest country in the world, one of the world’s wealthiest nations, and a land blessed with much bounty and seemingly infinite natural resources, 5% of homes are subsidized nationally.

Today, Doris Riker, the mother of Lisa De Medeiros, has raised a thought-provoking point in her ongoing letter campaign to officials, the mayor’s office and her local MPP: “If they can help find all these Syrian refugees find affordable apartments, why can’t they help my daughter find one?”

Indeed, while we (the “haves” Canadians) like to pat ourselves on the back for being such kind, gracious global citizens when it comes to assisting refugees, the rest of us (the “have-nots”) can’t help but sit back and wonder, Why are we spending an estimated $678 million over six years on the expected 25,000 Syrian refugees to Canada when we can’t even properly care for our own nationals? Is a feather in our political cap on the international stage worth more than providing adequate housing – a basic human necessity and integral element to our dignity – to the 4.9 million Canadians who currently live in poverty?

In Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, a novel as controversial in many ways as our housing policies, the story opens with the American economy falling apart and workers being laid off in staggering numbers. Just as worrisome, the country’s brightest lights and top talent are literally disappearing, one by one, and crippling the fields of commerce, science, and the arts. Not long after the brain drain begins and the impending demise of the American economy looms morbidly on the horizon, a phrase starts creeping into the lexicon of people’s everyday banter: “Who is John Galt?”

It’s almost used in a pejorative way:

A: “The economy’s going down the crapper, eh, Billy Bob?”

B: “Yeah, but who is John Galt?” (i.e. Yeah, and what the hell are we supposed to do about it, genius?)

As Dagny Taggart, the novel’s heroine, opines, there’s a tangible despair that John Q. Public feels and ultimately expresses through this apparently banal – and unanswerable – question. Yet those four words still manage to capture the hopelessness of a bitter, frustrated society.

It’s only later in the novel that we learn there really is a John Galt, the “invisible everyman” floating undetected throughout society, and he has been spearheading the brain drain since establishing his utopian home of Atlantis, a remote valley where the country’s smartest, most gifted minds now live in a valley somewhere deep among the Rockies in an effort to escape the incompetent and dictatorial government they don’t wish to live under any longer.

And that brings us to our present housing dilemma in Canada, especially in the country’s most populous city. Is there any chance that we will have the foresight and compassion to provide affordable accommodation to our poorest citizens?

Perhaps that question is best answered by Lisa De Medeiros, who has been forced to leave her current apartment because the landlord wants it for his own use and will, 12 days from now, on March 10, 2016, be homeless. As the terminal inflammatory fibrosarcoma mother of two put it, “By the time I get affordable housing, I’ll be dead.”

Let’s pray the answer to the above question lies not in the rhetorical nature of the former Atlas Shrugged parable, but in the hope offered in the latter one, a scenario whereby society’s wealthiest and most intellectually able can come together to find a solution to our present-day subsidized housing quandary – and not in the middle of nowhere, but in cities and towns across our great country.

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