It's the first Wednesday of the month: the day when members of the Insecure Writer's Support Group share their writing struggles and writing successes and offer their encouragement and support to fellow writers.
To visit the IWSG website, click here. To become a member of the IWSG, click here. Our wonderful co-hosts who are volunteering today, along with IWSG founder Alex Cavanaugh are: Erika Beebe,Sandra Hoover,Susan Gourley,andLee Lowry. I hope you have a chance to visit today's hosts and thank them for co-hosting. I'm sure they would appreciate a visit and an encouraging comment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Every month the IWSG poses a question that members can answer with advice, insight, a personal experience, or a story in their IWSG posts. Or, the question can inspire members if they aren't sure what to write about on IWSG Day. Remember the question is optional. This month's featured question is: What pitfalls would you warn other writers to avoid on their publication journey?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Publishing my first book is my writing goal, so I am looking forward to the advice of IWSG members on publishing pitfalls. To me the process is filled with unknown hazards, like crossing a newly crusted flow spewing lava to collect a sample.
Once the path to publication seemed straightforward, like scrambling over ancient flows, uneven and rugged, but stable and solid. Now the path seems shifting and uncertain because of the explosion of publishing options. In recent years I have read a variety of books written by family members and friends, from books published by mainstream publishers, to self-published digital books on Amazon. As I consider which path to take to publication, I have studied these books to see what works and what doesn't. The big difference I have observed between traditionally published books and other forms of published books is the quality of the editing. Often the traditionally published book is better. A poorly edited book jars me. I think a good editor can help an author improve his or her manuscript, not just with the mechanics of spelling, grammar, and punctuation, but also with the structure, focus, and clarity of the final draft. Some alternately published books I have read are so disorganized and full of mistakes that it makes it difficult to get through the book. In these instances I have persisted only because of a personal connection with the author. I think that a poorly written book annoys readers and discourages them from reading other books by the same author.
When it comes time to publish my manuscript,
I hope to have a traditional publisher; but if I don't, I will certainly look for a good editor before Ichoose an alternate path to publication. I have been humbled enough by good editors to know I need one. Just as I know there are many pitfalls in newly formed lava crusts, I know I will encounter many pitfalls in publishing as I move forward. I will be grateful for the advice of those who have traveled before me.
How quickly the unexpected and unfamiliar can become normal. Such was the case with my mother and we five children at the Garrick family's log cabin at Two Point River on Lac Seul. On Thursday, June 22, 1961 My mother wrote to her mother-in-law, Myrtle MacBeath:
We are all fine in Lac Seul. It is beautiful here, and the children are having a marvelous time. We find all kinds of turtles on the beach.
The children all loved the pudding you sent them. Donnie and Barbie took theirs to bed with them. The Imaginary World (List of Ice Creams and Desserts) The Imaginary World (Jello Box (Canada) w/ car coins - front)
I have two sauce pans of rhubarb cooking now that the children picked this morning. Louise made a cake yesterday and iced it with icing sugar and fruit cocktail. The boys, Fritz and John, are very good to us. They are 22 and 37. They wired the house for us and brought me up an icebox and radio.
Mrs. Daley, the minister's wife, has been very good to us. She loaned me a lot of linen, a coffee pot, the list is endless.
Well, Sunday we went up to the reserve to church. The Indians are much different here than in Lansdowne House. They dress the same as we do. There is a lot of intermarriage here. Fritz and John are half-breeds. Their mother is Indian and doesn't speak any English. (The boys just caught a trout bigger than Roberta). She is a very nice person, though, and very fond of the children.
I've never forgottenthe generosity of the Garricks and the Daleys: People who had so little, but who didn't hesitate to help my mother and we five children abruptly dropped in their midst. My mother managed quite well in Two Point after the initial shock of finding herself there. We kids flourished in the warm and caring attention of the Garrick boys and Kokum.
Six o'clock often found several of us waiting on the dock for Fritz and John's fishing boat to return, as we anticipated an evening of croquet and stories with them until our mother dragged us off to bed. Many times I was lulled to sleep by the sound of Fritz, and sometimes John, chatting with my mother at the kitchen table over a last cup of coffee or two before calling it a night. The Garrick's fish camp contained a number of grey-weathered outbuildings, some of which we didn't enter. One was a workshop that contained a generator which the Garricks used to provide intermittent electricity for the workshop and their home. When Fritz and John "wired" the log cabin for us, they strung an electrical line across the field to our cabin from their home.
We never knew when we would have power, but it was rarely for more than an hour or two at a time. Whenever we did and Mom could catch us, she would made us sit down on the floor in the front room and listen to a classical music record on a record player Dad had brought Mom when he came for a visit. Fortunately, the radio ran on batteries, and I listened to it every moment I could. It brought us the news of the outside world; but more importantly, it brought the Hit Parade. Pat Boone's Moody River became the soundtrack for my Lac Seul sojourn.
Notes: 1. Adult Western Painted Turtle: My mother was likely referring to the Western Painted Turtle. This turtle is found primarily in
Northwestern Ontario, in rivers, lakes, ponds, and marshes with muddy bottoms and basking sites. borealforest
2. Rhubarb: Rhubarb is a herbaceous perennial that has been cultivated in many areas in Canada. It can run
wild like a weed. As a kid I often found it growing around abandoned homesteads in Nova Scotia.
We picked its reddish green stalks for free. My mother cooked them with sugar and water to make
stewed rhubarb for a dessert, sometimes serving it with whipped cream. I make a rhubarb and
strawberry crisp that Terry loves. It kills me to spend $3 to $4 for rhubarb that I used to pick
for free.
3. Pudding:
A gift of boxes of pudding from Nana was a big deal, because our family had few pennies to spare
for such luxuries at this time in our lives. The pudding she sent was Jell-o Instant Pudding which
required no cooking. She may also have sent a box or two of Royal Instant Pudding. This always
tickled we girls, because we delighted in tormenting our brother Roy by calling him "Royal
Instant Pudding." Although Roy enjoyed the pudding, he did not enjoy the teasing. Roy's actual
name is Royal, hence the niggling with "Royal Instant Pudding."
4. Hudson: Hudson is an unincorporated community about 17 miles (26.8 kilometers) from Sioux Lookout.
Located on Lost Lake on the English River, it is included in the municipality of Sioux Lookout.
Historically Hudson has depended on its sawmill and tourism. The mill has repeatedly been
bought and sold, open and closed. The Garricks had a small home in Hudson. One day, when
I was twelve, I sold a lot of Girl Guide cookies in the Hudson sawmill. Wikipediasiouxlookout.ca
5. Reserve/Church: The "reserve" refers to the Lac Seul First Nation's treaty lands given to them as a signatory to
the 1873 Treaty 3 between the Ojibwa First Nations and Queen Victoria. Wikipedia "Church" was likely Saint Mary's Anglican Church. lacseul.firstnation
Mrs. Daley was probably the Anglican priest's wife.
7. Fritz and John's Mother: I only ever heard Fritz and John's mother referred to as "Kokum" which means "Grandmother"
in Ojibway. She understood English, but refused to speak it, and her sons understood Ojibway
but refused to speak it. Fritz told me toward the end of his life that his mother's grandfather
was a Scot with the last name of Wesley who was the manager of a Hudson's Bay post on James
Bay. I haven't been able to track down any information on him yet. Kokum was very kind to us.
She never allowed us to take her picture.
For Map Lovers Like Me:
Location of Lansdowne House, Nakina, and Sioux Lookout
It's the first Tuesday of the month, and we're posting today because tomorrow is July 4th. Today, as always, members of the Insecure Writer's Support Group will share their writing struggles and writing successes and offer their encouragement and support to fellow writers. Next month we will be back to posting on the first Wednesday of the month.
To visit the IWSG website, click here. To become a member of the IWSG, click here. Our wonderful co-hosts who are volunteering today, along with IWSG founder Alex Cavanaugh are: Nicki Elson,Juneta Key,Tamara Narayan,andPatricia Lynne. I hope you have a chance to visit today's hosts and thank them for co-hosting. I'm sure they would appreciate a visit and an encouraging comment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Every month the IWSG poses a question that members can answer with advice, insight, a personal experience, or a story in their IWSG posts. Or, the question can inspire members if they aren't sure what to write about on IWSG Day. Remember the question is optional. This month's featured question is: What are your ultimate writing goals, and how have they changed over time (if at all)?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Happy July 4th to all the American members of the IWSG. My husband Terry and I are on the road today, heading for the mountains to celebrate the holiday with family. Throughout my life I have had an ultimate writing goal of publishing a memoir about the time my family lived among the Ojibwa in northern Ontario when I was a young girl.
Life interfered, and I was unable to pursue this goal until I retired. Now I'm well underway with my memoir.
I also have a novel set in Nova Scotia and Newfoundland in the works, and I have been taking photographs for a children's nature book about a stretch of Piney Creek near my home.
Beyond that, I can't see. Of necessity, this post is brief. Wishing everyone a great IWSG Day. I look forward to reading about everyone's writing goals! Happy writing in July!
As long as I live I will remember my mother's sudden stop outside the cabin in Lac Seul that was our unexpected new home, and her tired, baffled question, "Why is all that heavy wire nailed over the windows?" Nor will I forget Fritz's answer, "To keep the bears out."
I think that was the lowest point for my mother in a very long time. Her shoulders sagged, and then she squared them and walked into the tiny cabin, a shouldering of determination I have seen her do at difficult times in her life.
The "Boys" set our suitcases in the middle of the front room. Fritz showed us around, while John grabbed two buckets and went to the lake get us water. The small front room contained a cot to the right of the door under two wire-covered windows, one above the head of the cot to the right of the door and one in the adjacent wall. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a small, tall tablebetween the door and the cot. Across the narrow room a door led to the biggest room in the cabin, a bedroom with an iron bunk bed, a double bed, and a crib lined up along the back wall of the cabin. The crib tucked under the one wire-covered window on the far left side of the room. Unlike the living room, the walls were unfinished. The logs of the cabin were nailed to the backs of visible studs, and the gaps between the logs were filled with a mortar-like chinking.
There was no debating who had the crib (Bertie) and who shared the double bed (Donnie and Barbie). Roy and I shared the bunk bed. I have no memory of how I won out with the top bunk; but I did, and I had it the entire summer. Roy sometimes kicked the bottom of my bunk out of sheer devilment, but I had the perfect object for revenge: a small, scraggily wolfskin with yellow glass eyes that I bought for 25¢ at the Hudson's Bay early on in our Lac Seul sojourn. I'd dangle that wolfskin by its tail from the top bunk in the dark of the night, carefully move the body over sleeping Roy's face, and tickle his nose with the wolf's cold one. When he woke with a scream, I'd yank it back and stuff it under my blankets. Revenge can be so satisfying.
The last room was the kitchen, which we entered from the front room. A cast iron wood stove stood to the left of the door and a large kitchen table with chairs to the right. A back door beyond the table led outside. Upper cupboards and lower cupboards with a countertop lined the end wall of the cabin. Windows on three sides made the kitchen the brightest in our three roomed-cabin.
Our one source of light was a hurricane lamp which Fritz had showed Mom how to light by the time John returned with water. The Boys left and took with them all the excitement of a wild day. Here we were, but we didn't know where, just a cabin in the bush somewhere out of Sioux by plane and boat.
My mother slapped together some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while I mixed a pitcher of Kool-Aid. Then she made up five beds while we ate our cold supper. My younger sisters were practically falling asleep over their plates, slowly biting and chewing their sandwiches and sipping their Kool-Aid without a word. As soon as my mother had Bertie in her crib, she shepherded a cranky Donnie and Barbie to and from the outhouse. It stood a hundred feet or so up the gentle slope from the kitchen door, a short walk on a rough path.
My younger sisters were none too thrilled about sharing a smelly, two-holed outhouse buzzing with flies. Fortunately it had a roll of toilet paper and a flyswatter. With Donnie and Barbie tucked in for the night, Mom ordered Roy and me to bed early; and, one by one, we made our reluctant trips up the hill to the outhouse, grumbling that we had to go to bed before sunset. A knock at the front door startled me, just as I was drifting off to sleep. Mom opened the door, and Fritz entered from the small enclosed porch carrying a shotgun. "I know you're worried about bears," he said. "They're not likely to bother you, but I thought you'd feel safer with this."
I fell asleep as Fritz was showing my mother how to fire the shotgun: "Don't worry about aiming carefully. Just point and shoot, because the shot sprays."
Mom often said that she didn't sleep a wink that night, but I know that wasn't true. The inevitable happened, and in the middle of the night, I woke up having to go to the bathroom. I was scared to death at the thought of trekking to the outhouse in the dark; but the more I tried to convince myself that I didn't have to go, the more I needed to go. Finally desperation drove me out of my bunk. I tiptoed into the front room. Mom was sound asleep on the cot with Gretchen curled up at her feet. The shotgun lay on the floor under the edge of the cot. Gretchen gave me the once-over as I crept by, stretching, yawning, and closing her eyes. I slipped out the kitchen door, kept my head down, and streaked for the outhouse. I stopped halfway up the path. Although it was a moonless night, to my surprise, I could see the rough path. I looked up. A million stars gleamed brightly, and northern lights shimmered in red and green curtains rippling in the sky. I turned around and saw the aurora's reflections moving on the surface of Lac Seul, and a cloudy band of light, the Milky Way, glowed toward the south.
The Milky Way (left) and the Glow of Northern Lights (right)
I raced up to the outhouse wondering if a bear was lurking about. The good thing about an outhouse in the middle of night in the middle of the bush is that you can leave the door open. I remember debating with myself: Is it better to leave the door open so I can see a bear coming? Or Is it better to close the door so the bear can't see me in the outhouse? Beauty won. I sided with the open door. The stars and aurora weren't the only lights. Hundreds of fireflies winked on and off in the rough fields around our dark cabin and the Garrick's dark home. The enchantment of the warm summer night lured me out to a grassy patch on the hill where I sat down and drank in the beauty of the stars, the northern lights, and the fireflies. The aurora teased me with dancing shafts of red and green that reached for me on the hill, pulled up, and dove for me again. The light spoke to me in crackles and buzzes and held me in its elemental spell. I might have sat there till dawn outshone the aurora, but crazy laughter broke out on the water near the fish house, answered by quavering laughter across the cove. Other voices erupted in eerie wails and shrill yodels, raising the hairs on my arms and sending a chill down my back.
I froze where I sat and stopped breathing; then I realized what I was hearing: the haunting voices of loons calling to each other on the water. I had heard loons before, but never such a variety of calls nor in the middle of the night.
Reluctantly I stood and walked back to our dark, stuffy cabin, tiptoed past my sleeping mother and Gretchen, and scrambled up into my bunk in our crowded bedroom. Two nights before I had fallen to sleep in Lansdowne House. One night before a pervert had molested me in a train car full of people. This night I heard the chatter of the northern lights and a chorus of loons, in a place I had never heard of until we flew in earlier in the day. It was a long time before the voices and images swirling in my overwrought brain stilled, and I could escape into sleep.
Notes: 1. Post Referred To: TLL: Life Disrupted 2. The Boys: Fritz (37) and John (22) Garrick, whose family cabin we were renting: They were commercial
fishermen on Lac Seul.
3. Sioux: Local people often referred to Sioux Lookout as "Sioux."
4. The Milky Way: The Milky Way is the galaxy that contains our Solar System. The band of light we see is
multitudes of stars that the naked eye cannot distinguish among. Our galaxy is a barred spiral
galaxy, and our Solar System is located within the disc about 26,000 light years from the
Galactic Center. Wikipedia
5. Fireflies (Lightning Bugs): These are winged beetles that uses bioluminescence to attack mates or prey. Their light is a "cold"
light with no infrared or ultraviolet frequencies. The yellow, green, or pale red bioluminescence
is chemically produced from the beetle's lower abdomen. Wikipedia
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