Failures of Creativity

I identify as a creative person. Always have. It’s remained a constant thread through my life, though the expressions thereof have shifted over the years.

Taking this most recent degree has been characterized, for the most part, by having to put down most creative pursuits – unless I can do it more or less on autopilot on the infrequent occasions I watch TV, it’s hard to make the time. This has led to me turning out a truly ridiculous number of crocheted blankets and scarves, and little else.

Except writing. Continue reading

Unlocking Achievement: Troll

I write from the depths of a sleepless night. It’s been unsettled of late, between working on my thesis and my partner’s trip, and the two have conspired to leave me lying awake with a whirring mind.

The previous post finally drew something I’ve been half-expecting since I stopped writing about novels I’d read and started writing more personally and more opinionatedly.

It drew a troll. Continue reading

Enough.

I’ve been sitting on a bunch of posts under the excuse that I should think them over for clarity before committing to putting them out in public.

The truth is, I have a hangup around putting myself out there. There’s an insidious voice in my head that tells me no-one cares, no-one wants to hear that, and even if they did, how dare I voice that particular thing.

Screw it. Continue reading

When Writing Steps From the Life of the Imagination Into Hope for the Future

I’ve had a novel percolating in the back of my head for the last several years. It keeps threatening to bubble over, but the demands on my life have kept it largely contained. Nevertheless, it has grown characters, a world, and the seeds of a narrative. I’m not sure whether it will ever become a full story or remains scattered between notes and neurons, but up until a few years ago I never believed I would ever apply on a Masters degree either.

The two are interlinked in my mind. Continue reading

The Stone and the Grist: Jo Walton’s Farthing

This is a book gathered dust on my shelf for years. I bought it on the strength of Walton’s Tooth and Claw, a wonderful novel that “Jane Austen, but if the characters were dragons” does only the smallest service to. This on has languished untouched due to it being an alternate history, a subset I’m a hard sell on for reasons I won’t get into here. I finally pulled it out due to a critical mass of positively comments from too many unrelated sources to ignore any longer. Now I’m annoyed with myself for not having done so sooner. Continue reading

“Greetings and salutations,” said the spider to the pig.

I have a long-standing love affair with the written word.

I have to stretch before I can reach memories from before I could read. Writing became become tremendously important to me as I matured, from my first tentative forays into fiction to the text now before you.

It’s not all I am, though. A writer needs something to write about. This blog will be a hodgepodge, drawing from my own experiences and readings. It is an experiment of sorts, one I am content to leave unfocused for a time to see what develops.

By way of introduction, I am human, female and still with a great deal of life stretching before me. As for age, suffice to say that my parents had two children by this point.

I have lived in western Canada all my life, though not always in the same parts. My genetic heritage draws from much of northern Eurasia, though how much from where is an occasional source of speculation.

I earned a Bachelor of Arts, combining my love of writing with my love of Classical history and mythology. I am continually frustrated by my lack of a job that uses many of the skills that degree imparted.

My taste in fiction is speculative and fantastic; my taste in non-fiction is largely, though not limited to, the biological, anthropological and cultural. One room in my home is a dedicated library, ever-growing.

The periods without cats in my life have been brief.

I consider myself a creative person; the numerous craft supplies in my home support this claim. I cook as often as I can, make my own soap from scratch and can’t watch TV without a crochet hook and yarn. I drew my own tattoo.

My life is not extraordinary. I never went backpacking across another continent after high school or university. I’ve certainly never lived through a zombie apocalypse.

It is my hope that my writing will engage nonetheless.