“She’s Alive!”
- At October 26, 2011
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 2
It’s Wednesday, the third day after returning from the Surrey International Writers’ Conference, and I do feel somewhat like I’ve risen from the dead. (Or maybe it’s because my kids got me into watching Walking Dead. Which is awesome… and I don’t even LIKE zombies.)
But the past year for me has been something of a dead zone. Like various bits and pieces of my life have been stuck on “pause.” Like I’m living in that ominous time between the flash and boom that lets you know how close you are to the storm. (“Pause?” “Flash?” Duh. Try “menopause.”)
This conference, and the friends I meet up with there every year, brings me back to life. You know who you are – or maybe you don’t. Our interactions might be brief and maybe I met you this year for the first time, but you did something that helped me believe in myself again.
Pam Patchett, my eloquent and thoughtful friend – and fellow dog-lover – on the other side of the country, who is so generous with her hugs, and whom I never get to spend enough time with! Deb Andersonwho always has the coolest hair, and so much energy!
Sheri Hart who I only met last year but I feel like I’ve known for much longer, Nick Andreychuk who always inspires me with his productivity and cool ideas, the whole gang at the RWA Greater Vancouver Chapter…. and then, of course, the Big Name Authors…
… the Celebrities who inspire We’re-Not-Worthy Fan-girl moments … after which everyone settles down to have an ordinary conversation over butter chicken.
After all, wherever we are on the path of publication, we’re all writers struggling with the same stuff:
Butt in chair, hands on keyboard.
Sit down at the typewriter and open a vein.
Thank you, my friends, for reminding me that I’m not alone.
If You’ve Ever Considered Homeschooling Your Kids… Watch This!
- At July 23, 2011
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 0
Or, if you’re an artist … or a lateral-thinker … or an entrepreneur… or you feel you were under-served by the public school system … or you’re a teacher, passionate about education, wondering why it doesn’t work for everyone…. or you just like cool cartoons, you’ve got to see this. It’s a little long for the modern attention-span, but trust me, it’s worth it.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDZFcDGpL4U&w=560&h=349]
Our three daughters stayed out of the system until grades 11, 11 and 10. For years, I had the faint, secret fear that I’d ruined their lives, that they’d all end up living in our basement, social misfits who couldn’t go to university because they didn’t know the multiplication tables and had never done macaroni collages. What was I THINKING???
Being me, I naturally took it to The Next Level. I envisioned my beautiful, talented daughters popping out illegitimate, cross-eyed babies – between cigarettes and during commercial breaks – who they’d fill with Coke and Twinkies before sending them upstairs to stay with Granny while they went off to pursue their careers as Wal-Mart greeters.
I think there was banjo music playing in this scenario.
Anyway. A little medication tweak and extensive therapy got me off the roof and it’s all okay now. The youngest is entering her senior year in high school, an Honours student. The oldest will graduate from UBC next year with her BA in English Lit, and plans to go on to teachers’ college. Our middle daughter, after getting halfway through her Bachelor in Fine Arts, is switching gears and entering nursing school. Both the older two have held down part-time jobs while studying. Both have struggled to figure out what they want to do with their lives, at least for now. Both have emerged victorious. I know the youngest will go through a similar journey, and will find her own way, too.
They may be a little fuzzy on math at times, but hey, there’s an ap for that. And being our daughters, I expect medication and extensive therapy may be in their futures, as well. It’s okay. I started saving for that years ago.
The main thing is this: they know who they are. That’s tough to learn in a factory school.
Alive with Possibility
- At July 07, 2011
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 0
I stood at my kitchen window this morning, waiting for my coffee, and was treated to an airshow. Swallows swooped between my rescued spruce tree and that darn cottonwood that will not be killed, sparrows fed on aurinia now gone to seed, hummingbirds dipped in and out of my hanging baskets, chattering and squabbling. Occasionally one perched on the supports against which clematis vines send their delicate tendrils. The scent of roses, planted and tended by my own hands, hung lightly in the morning air.
Butterflies drifted in and out of a patch of pink yarrow. Now and then, a robin flew in to break up a gathering, and deep within my heavily-laden currant bush, a pair of roufus-sided towhees scratched and pecked. As my coffee and toast got cold, I watched a group of little red-headed finches perch along my espaliered apple tree, six or seven amongst the four horizontal branches, each budding with a different variety of apple.
My yard might not be magazine-worthy; there’s whole patches that I haven’t dealt with properly yet. I plant things, only to realize that they would look better or be happier in a different spot. I build a terrace, only to decide a month later that it’s not quite deep enough, or needs more rock. Wild bunnies make lunch dates in my flowerbeds, and the deer sample pretty much everything, but I figure they were here first, the least I can do is be gracious.
So I move plants, redo hardscaping, dig, replace, adjust. Slowly but surely, I’m making headway against the invasive thorny weeds, but it’s a never-ending task, and I use Polysporin as hand lotion every night. I suspect the apocalypse will end with fleas, cockroaches, thistle and blackberry standing triumphant.
For me, gardening is – like so much of life – an ongoing project. Ideas sprout in me like scarlet runner beans, and I’m never happier than when I’m working on some new possibility, be it a book, a painting, a recipe or a new twist on an old relationship. But bringing ideas to maturity takes patience, thought, observation, more patience, and the willingness to try out something, even if it turns out to be wrong.
Or even if – especially if – someone tells me it was a bad idea.
More creative minds than mine insist that there are no bad ideas. I cling to this. Some ideas are better than others; some ideas are simply jumping-off points. But none are bad. The fifth try might be perfect, but you can’t get to five without going through four. Writers refer to this as the “shitty first draft” concept, which makes sense. Manure is fertilizer, after all.
So I shore up my shaky courage in times of creative drought and seek out warm shelter and support. I’ve found that gardens usually come back, when the season is right; life, it seems, is forgiving to those who keep trying.
So I’ve got flowers, animals, birds, insects, and even food. I’ve got stories, friendship, love, beauty, purpose. It’s summer, finally. My little bit of Earth is thriving …and nurturing my soul along with it.