whims + ice cream trucks with Erinne Sevigny Adachi

Officially, Erinne Sevigny Adachi is an editor and publishing consultant. But really, she is a magical handmaiden who coaxes stories from writers to help deliver them healthy and well onto the page. As she says in this video, Erinne helps writers to find their whims and to follow the right ones. 

Erinne compares whim-following to an ice cream truck. Further, she reveals a deep, dark secret about her marriage; encourages us to develop our skills around whims and intuition; and elaborates on how a part of her work works: as "a collaboration of intuitions" in finding a writerly direction that feels right. 

And I may have to repurpose Erinne's definition, that whims are "temporary bits of brilliance that transpire out of nowhere." I love it. 

See Erinne at Blue Pencil Consult, where you'll find information about her services for writers, publishers, and businesses. In 2013, she adventured through  The Great Canadian Publishing Tour, investigating the ins and outs of publishing in Canada.

on love and house-building

love gathers at a glance by Lisa Kaser on etsy

I wrote this three years ago. . . and still feel it.

It has been eleven years since the professor and I decided, for better or for worse, to be in each other's lives. He had a home and a routine with two teenagers and I was young and hot and single and moved in around the corner. (Okay. . . I was young and single.) On paper, it wasn't a good idea. I mean, teenagers? He's older, there were complications, but what do you do when love hits you uncompromisingly straight in the heart? We shared many meals, discussed the complications, and acknowledged that we were to be together.

Seven years later, we hired an architect to help us build an eco-smart house. Three years of negotiating and creating and hiring and budgeting and overseeing and a year of nestling bring us to today.

We didn't get married; we built a house together.

We decided years ago that today would be our anniversary. I kind of forgot, or thought that it would pass inconsequentially like the others, but no: we need to celebrate. Our plan: to have a picnic by the river, and then maybe go weed our community garden patch. I know: so hippie nouveau. And I love it.

There comes a point in one's life where one realizes: I do not live in an attic apartment on the Seine. I will not be sampling fresh baguette and wearing fancy shoes while sipping local wine at a patio bistro in a haze of light smoke and rolled "r"s. I live in the boreal forest. Our river is lined with washed-up deadfall from last year's flood, our neighbours speak in the remains of heavy slavic accents and local bad grammar, and at the longest day of the year, it's battle weed vs. veggie.

Love. you never really know when it's going to show up. And then you wake up one day and realize that you have survived the past eleven years of holidays and daily grinds and sickness and health, and think, yeah. We made this.

(originally published on June 21, 2012, at my now defunct former space borealtrim.com)

whims + space with Pamella Heikel

Pamella and I talk about how to get quiet and really hear when "whims" come in. And how, maybe "whim" is a word that doesn't quite work for us. In the space between our thoughts, in "the gap," that's when we recognize that receiving is happening. This is where we clear the space to plug in.

For Pam, routine helps. "In routine, there is freedom." And then, angels sang.

Catch up with everything Pamella is up to on her Facebook page. She does face-to-face meditation, qigong, and other soul-centred energy work. Also, a little bird told me that there may be some workshop-length projects on the horizon!

Be sure to watch through and see my visual plug for the best chai in Edmonton—and perhaps, the entire world! 

I saw a bear

This is like my bear. Only it was more just the bum that I saw, as it fled. Photo: Canadian Wildlife Federation 

I saw a bear, and it was some kind of magic.

I live three blocks away from the forest; it separates my home from my day job. About .05% of the population of workers walk to work, and about 5% more might use the trails regularly. 90% of people who are "from here" don't go on them at all.*

Fine. That means more trail for me.

There are "Warning: bear may be in area" signs. It's appropriate: we should be aware of our surroundings. But people are afraid. Afraid of the unknown: seems human. But what if--what if--we thought about our fears with curiosity?

When I moved here, I heard about the bears. I saw evidence of the bears. And I am not, nor have I ever been, Grizzly Adams. I didn't walk on the trails from about June until November, fearing that bears may be on the move and I might see one. And if I saw one, what would I do? But I love these trails. So, one day in 2007, I decided to study the black bear like it was my job. I read about habits and behaviours; about ranging areas and food choices (did you know that they eat dandelion roots in the spring?); I learned what to do if I ever saw one (hint: it involves thinking quickly).

And then I waited.

I walked the trails with my dog, daily, for years. Recently, I started walking to work through the trails. And this summer, I saw a bear. I was on my way home from work. It was a hot, sunny day, and I had noticed that the cranberries were ripe. I came to the creek-bridge that I cross every time, and noticed ripples in the water. There's a new beaver dam close by: I thought I'd see a beaver that day. The second I stepped on the bridge, I heard a slap on the water: just like a beaver would. Still calm and curious. And then I felt a rumbling out of the water and up the bank on the other side. I saw the butt end of a black bear. And in those few seconds while I frantic-flipped through the catalogue of my bear knowledge, it had bounded three times and dove into the woods. I can't say that I didn't feel fear. But more than anything, I felt a sacred moment. A bear cooling off: a human walking home. We coexist, somewhere between fear and curiosity, respect and utility.

I saw a bear, and it was some kind of magic.

*Clearly, these are not verified statistics. They are wild guesses based on observation.

(originally published on September 4, 2012, at my now defunct former space borealtrim.com)

intuition + action with Kimmy Beach

Kimmy Beach and I jam on where ideas come from, why we should go run with them, and hair in the early '90s (think high ponies and spiral waves).

Kim defines what whims are for her. They aren't something that comes from outside of her, but as something that is known, on the inside. We dig into what it's like to follow those moments of knowing—and what it's like when we don't. Kim refers to the book The Gift of Fear, and how we really do know that something's not quite right. And how we aren't taught how to do that.

Moments to watch for: my "Oprah moment," where I tell Kimmy what she's surely thinking, and then ask her (whoopsie!) (2:45); what Kim is up to next (a novella about a giant puppet—YES!) (3:53), and her best Tony Bennett impression (5:00). 

Kimmy Beach has five books of her own out in the world: Nice Day For Murder, poems involving James Cagney (2001); Alarum Within: Theatre Poems (2003); fake Paul, a sort-of love poem to Paul McCartney and his impersonator (2005); In Cars, where roller skating meets muscle cars, and so much more (2007); and The Last Temptation of Bond, an erotic, adventurous and [ir]/reverent exploration of 007 (2013). Go and check them out. If you don't think that you like poetry, think again.  

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**And, I've moved my office around. The painting behind me is by Ira Hoffecker, and cheers me to no end.