My experience with helicopters having been only sight and sound related. I’d seen them, up there, flitting (or chopping?) in the sky, reporting on traffic among other things that people in helicopters do. I’d seen and heard them on screen, chasing, swerving, exploding, being stolen, serving as an escape vehicle for the good-bad guys and the bad-good guys. I’d never been close enough to a live-action one to see that, yeah, it totally does look like an enormous, steel dragonfly. I’d never grasped the edge of the cockpit’s frame, fingers dented with the imprints of the welded bolts that hold it together. I’d never smelled the not-at-all-new-car smell of a vehicle used countless times daily to ferry tourists to and fro. It wasn’t anything I’d ever really thought about doing, it didn’t factor too high on my cliched bucket list. But sitting in that helicopter (shotgun and pilot adjacent, front row center, uhuh), wearing those heavy black headphones to hold the propeller’s ruckus at bay, would have defied any expectation I might’ve had.

As cool and badass as riding in a helicopter is (oh, it is), it beyond pales in comparison to walking around an honest-to-goodness glacier. The glacier in question? Mendenhall, located just outside the state capitol Juneau (not Anchorage as some people might still be inclined to believe).

Flying over the ice fields, the pilot was quick to point out the jagged crags of the glacier’s surface, over which we were circling closer to make our touchdown. A wall of fierce blue and white ice extended up from the flat surface we were going to land on, looking just as friendly as pressing your naked cheek against a skating rink for an hour might be. Friendlier, even. Hovering over that shock blue ice made it really difficult to discern the scale of what I was seeing. How tall was that natural fortress of frozen water? How expansive? The pilot pointed again, down below, indicating a small huddle of ants scurrying over the ice to a big neon orange flag. It took a second or two, but the ants eventually grew in size, proving to be our guides and other tourists, seeking a lift back to solid concrete.

Glacier walking itself isn’t a difficult feat when supplied with the right equipment. On a normal day, it’s extra windy and rather cold. On a normal day, even in the summer, there’s a good deal of cloud cover. On an extraordinary day, the clouds have dissipated (mostly), the sun is glowing so bright off the ice that sunglasses are essential. On an extraordinary day, the wind’s presence isn’t much of a bother and a sweatshirt works to cut through the minimal chill. (Have you guessed it yet? What kind of day it was?) Our guide was a tiny thing, and for a tiny thing to call something else tiny you know that other person is clearly pint-sized. She bubbled and smiled and educated us; a perfect people pleaser. She had the usual rules for walking on ice fields left in the wake of the Little Ice Age: watch where you step, don’t walk backwards. And she laughed at the second one, because I saw my strange, perplexed expression mirrored on the rest of the people in our group. The guide (Tiny Bubbles) held up her hands, framing them as one might when miming a camera.

Because you folks like to take pictures. And who wouldn’t like to take pictures, look at this place! Except when you’re backing up like that, to get everyone in, to get the whole scene, you’re not watching where you’re going. You could slip. You could trip. Or you could fall into one of those cracks over there, we’ll get closer in a minute, and those are a lot deeper than they look from those helicopters.

And as she led us around, explained that the ice was so blue because of the highly dense concentration of water, told us to try some of the exhiliratingly fresh glacier juice (h2ohyeah), smiled widely and took pictures for us, I took a closer look at the cracks she was talking about. The ones that were misleadingly deep. Tiny things don’t do well in deep crags. I decided not to venture any closer.

Before I knew it, the sound of choppers hit my ears and we were being loaded back onto the red steel dragonflies. The chill had started to cut through my sweatshirt, but it wasn’t enough of a bother to detract from the giddy feeling I had as we lifted off again. Back in the helicopter, staring down at the retreating body of Mendenhall, it was strange to think that some day… it might not be there anymore.

Check out more pictures from my Mendenhall Glacier Walk on Flickr.

In re-reading last week’s check-in, I realized that my article for TalentEgg should’ve also counted as a submission. I know it doesn’t technically fall under Write1Sub1 jurisdiction, it being non-fiction and all, but I think I’m going to count it. So as a tardy addendum to last week’s check-in, consider my Student Voice piece a submission. Consider it, too, as an accepted submission because you can now read it right over here. Go Expos!

Write1Sub1 Week 7: Sooooooo How’d You Do?

The Write Part: It was down to the wire and I was seriously considering making this week a throw-away. Fifty-one out of fifty-two ain’t that bad, right? Just call me a slacker. Except the next picture up on the LensWright to-do list procured some instant inspiration and before I knew it “Out of Storage” was scheduled. So writing happened this week, despite my best efforts at procrastination. Go figure.

The Sub Part: Remember the part where this was going to be a throw-away week? Case and point.

Final Thoughts: I have plans. They involve writing, a home stretch and buckling down. They also involve a change of scenery, a couple actually. Also: blogging while watching the Food Network is never a good idea.

Except sometimes, as it happens, things don’t always work out the way they’re meant to.

Our initial flight was delayed, landing us in Vancouver with 45 minutes to make our first connection. Standing between us and our next gate? Getting our bags and U.S. Customs. (Runrunrun!) In retrospect, we should’ve stepped off the flight from Montreal, taken stock, a few deep breaths, and asked someone about our next move. In the moment, we were an M.D., a fresh University Graduate, and one Helluva Nervous Mother, we figured we were intelligent and high strung enough to know better.

A little ditty about the Vancouver airport: A high-tech establishment which snaps photos of each checked bag, complete with tag information, for easy reference when making connections through customs.

We lose ten minutes discovering this. What follows is a scramble to the ticket counter, an admonishment about exiting the secure part of the airport, a glance at the time, and a mad dash, carry-ons bouncing frantically. We pass through security (again) only to hit the brick wall of U.S. Customs. We have minutes to make our flight, none to spare.

A little ditty about the Vancouver airport: A high-tech establishment which snaps photos of each checked bag, complete with tag information, that isn’t instantly sent to customs for making easy connections.

(Speak plain, girl!) No, we didn’t make our flight. We manage to fit ourselves onto the next one, though. Our arrival time in Fairbanks: 02:37 Alaska Standard Time. No more hotel shuttle for us.

Tired, irritated, wondering why there was so little leeway time between our connection, the plane rides blend and fit into each other. No travel day feels as long as it is, always longer, longer still if you’re travelling back in time.

Some explanation: For a few months out of the year, Alaska ‘s days are longer than you might think imaginable. Being so close to the arctic circle, the sun takes exponentially longer to set as the summer solstice rolls by. They call it the midnight sun. (Keep in mind, the opposite is true in the winter, where the nights are so long sometimes only an hour or two of daylight is squeezed out at time.)

Arriving in Fairbanks at close to 3am in early July and we can’t believe our eyes. We feel almost dead, expecting the sky to reflect that, bathing in its ink. But Helios is taking the long way down, taking in the sights, lazing like summer.

Scene from a plane at 2:30am

Whatever strife we were wrestling with due to hiccups in travel arrangements were left aboard that Alaska Airlines flight.

This was how we began.

The Write Part: LensWright post? “Old Habits Die Hard“. A little late on the actual posting, but it made it onto the internet. Did some more writing this week, non-fiction, an article actually. Had a bit of a bad experience in the realm of employment searching and was thankfully made aware of a Canadian internship/new grad job search site called TalentEgg. They have a particular section called Student Voice for folks (like yours truly) to write in with various notes on their school-career transition experiences. I was pissed and so wrote something. Maybe they’ll pick it up, maybe they won’t, but the word is out and at least the writing proved therapeutic.

The Sub Part: “Tea Time” is being shelved. Officially. Submitted it again this week, received a rejection after two days. Granted, the magazine in question was probably not the best fit, but who’m'I kidding? Merkin (not a pubic wig, okay?) and Johnny had a decent run, maybe worth a revisit in the far future. Onto the bigger and better.

Final Thoughts: There’s a two week deadline for submissions on this one piece I’ve been wanting to rewrite. Here’s to making it… and other things. Clink!

Last summer, I was lucky enough to embark on a journey through Alaska’s inside passage on a fancy-pants cruise ship. Contrary to popular perception, the average age on-board wasn’t 75, though the golden-agers were still prevalent. The trip was the culmination of a dream and a lot of planification. The result was an experience that will forever remain impossible to sum up succinctly. There is only one tried and true way to describe it, and that might cost you some hard-earned dollars, as you would have to emulate the experience by having your own Alaskan adventure. But until you get around to it, I suppose I could throw in a few tidbits and learned facts from my excursion in the Last Frontier.

7 Steps to Consider When Faced With A Gigantic Alaskan Grizzly Bear

1. Should you be out in the Alaskan wilds and happen to come upon a Grizzly, first things first, do not let said-Grizzly notice you.
2. Should you fail to become invisible to said-Grizzly, ignore your first instinct, do not run away.
3. It is most important to establish yourself as a fellow predator, lest said-Grizzly is contemplating your role as prey. Make yourself appear as big as possible. Ways to accomplish this: Stand tall, no slouching. Hold your jacket wide open or raise your arms straight up above your head.
4. It is now acceptable to make use of all the profanities that would be bouncing around your brain under the circumstances. How you should do so: Yell, at an octave lower and a decibel louder than you ever thought yourself possible.

Said-Grizzly of the Alaskan wild is unaccustomed to human speech. Flummoxed by your current status as a predatory raving lunatic, it should not be compelled to make an approach.

Should said-Grizzly be unfazed by your behaviour and proceed to charge you at full, break-neck speed, continue to Steps 5-7.

5. Grizzly bears are known to bluff charge, a tactic that would scare the balls of a normal person (regardless of gender). This simply means that they will run at you and deke away at the last moment. Appropriate action: Stand your ground.
6. If all else fails and attack seems most imminent, play dead. But be forewarned, said-Grizzly might nudge at you with nose or paw or breathe into your face. Grizzly breath is not made of ginger-snaps and roses, try your best, do not retch.
   
7. Pray.

The thing about giving up is timing. Nobody likes a quitter, which is just fine, because most people I’ve come across don’t like quitting. The thing about life, though, is that there comes a time when letting go is necessary to move forward. The old adage about snakes and shedding skin applies here. But again, it’s all timing. You might think you’re giving up, and then find yourself exactly where you left off. You might retire a project, only to find it back in your hands a few hours/days/weeks/months/etc/so on later. The right time is the right time, and who really knows when that is?

Write1Sub1 Week 4: Sooooooo How’d You Do?

The Write Part: You might have noticed a new piece up on LensWright on Friday. I must have rewritten that thing five or more times. I’m still not pleased with the angle, but the idea is one I’m really attracted to. You can expect me to revisit it at some point in the future for a rewrite, that’s a certainty.

The Sub Part: There was a piece I’d written about two years ago, that’s been workshopped countless times, that I’m pretty stubborn about. As of now, the rejection count for this story in particular is at a whomping 11. Up until this week, I’d resigned to retire it after the eleventh rejection, figuring it was just one of those stories that wasn’t going to find a home anywhere unless I changed certain aspects of it. I know what would need to be changed to comply and possibly get more attention, except that’s where the stubborness comes in. I don’t want to. It won’t be the same story and what I’m seeking to achieve with it will be transformed beyond recognition. If this piece doesn’t end up finding a home somewhere, I’m fine with that. But I sent it off again anyway. To a fledgling publication that’s working on its inaugural issue. They need to find their tone, right? Maybe this story can help  them do that.

Final Thoughts: I have a very specific project in mind for Week 5′s submission. Here’s to getting things you want done, done.

Fairy tales, folklore, mythology, all things that I’ve been continually fascinated with since I could read. This ain’t new, or surprising, as I’m certain these types of tales are the general first foray into storytelling for most (possibly everyone). Lately though, there seems to be an influx of focus on the genre, perhaps more so than usual. I’ve been following both Once Upon A Time and Grimm in an effort to pinpoint which creation does the fairytale mash-up plot better. (I’m still Humpty Dumptying on the fence about that one, both have so much promise as well as irksome aspects.) I have a complete collection of Brothers Grimm tales sitting on my night table, giving me a constant stare down (I’ll get to it eventually, I need to catch up on some CanLit first).

All this to say… I’ve got happily-ever-after on the brain.

Write1Sub1 Week 3: Sooooooo How’d You Do?

The Write Part: Dilly-dallied a tad, but I started work on another LensWright piece. This one is, as this post is themed, fairy tale related. I won’t specify which one, but I will say that it’s not about the Princess’s side of things. I’ve started and restarted it a few times over the past few days, still unsure how I want the final tone to be. I’m hoping to get it up for your viewing pleasure by Wednesday, or have two pieces up on LensWright by Friday. These are the goals. Let’s make it happen.

The Sub Part: Submitted another bit of Twitterfiction to Nanoism, a real swell Twitterzine that I’ve actually had the pleasure of being featured in once before. Trying my luck a second time. In similar news, I did get a lovely form rejection from Monkeybicycle, which I submitted to before the new year. The con being that I didn’t get a piece in there, which would have made my year (so far). The pro being that it gave me an interesting idea for a series of posts for this blog.

Final Thoughts: A somewhat more productive week, but still not up to par. As long as I don’t fall back into what happened last week, I think moving forward is a definite option.

Shivering timbers aside, last week it seems I began setting up to start sinking my own battleships. This week isn’t looking so clear on the horizon either, but hey, it’s only Wednesday and I’m generally optimistic (when not stealing away to drink down half-empty glasses of what-have-you).

W1S1 Week 2: Sooooooo How’d You Do?

The Write Part: Let me be the first to admit… I cheated. I didn’t “write” anything new. I did post on LensWright, buuuuut I didn’t produce fresh content. I had something lazing around languidly in the archives since August and upon a reread thought it would do well with the image. I certainly tweaked it here and there, but it’s not “new” writing. It’s new writing for you, sure, but not for me. Iceberg! Straight ahead!

The Sub Part: Nothing. Nada. Cero. Rien.  This is not a proud moment for me. Especially with all the potentially promising drafts I have smacking their lips for a nice, fresh, thirst-quenching edit. It was sad, so sad, when the great ship went down!

Final Thoughts: This? This great ship of potential? It might have taken a wrong turn, blundering through the frigid waters of the Northern Atlantic, faced with sinking feelings and in need of some life preservation. Luckily, I’m good with direction and don’t give up that easily. Week 3 might already be almost at half mast, but I’ve got my sleeves rolled and all hands on deck. Bring it!

 I am a firm believer in the art of not making New Year’s resolutions. Yes, I call it an “art” because it takes a certain amount of skill, of craftsmanship, to not leap aboard the caboose of the FreshStartCleanSlate bandwagon. After all, everyone else is doing it. That train is so long it typically takes an entire year to pass before the next one shows up. And if you’re not so weak-willed that you jump when everyone tells you to, then maybe you get irritated with all the questions: What are your New Year’s resolutions?  They ask. Why don’t you have any New Year’s resolutions? They wonder. Isn’t there something you want to accomplish? To reconsider? To look forward to? And when you won’t concede, the snark sometimes comes out. Oh, you’re one of those. So sometimes it’s easier to make them up, just to please the people and continue the conversation. Except if you do it often enough, come January 1st, you find an actual written list in your pocket and a shiny, beefed-up gym membership on your credit card bill. Like I said: an art.

The simple reason I set up my cookware around the ‘No thanks’ campfire when it comes to New Year’s resolution making has to do with expectation. Expecting to keep the goals you set, the promises you make to yourself, for an entire year is a set up for failure. (Fine, it works for some people. I, however, have not actually met any of those, but would love to be introduced.) When expecting nothing, there’s a lot more wiggle room for good things to happen without being disappointed when they don’t.

Except I do think goal setting to be an important practice, so how does one reconcile the two? The best way I can think of is to use what’s so attractive about making New Year’s resolutions (the new, the fresh start, the back-to-the-beginning, the count-up-from-1), chop the year up into quarters (a natural process anyway, thanks to the Earth’s rotation), and acquire four access points to retreat/regroup/start over. But you’re still setting yourself up to fail! Sure, but a potential four months of failing before clean-slating certainly sounds less depressing than twelve, right?

So let’s begin the Winter Quarter with a progress report on my budding journey as a Write1Sub1 participant. The idea, in a very tiny nutshell, is to write and submit a different piece of fiction (or poetry, or script, or essay, or etc) every week for (ruh roh) a year (or a month, I decided week; subject to change). The story written does not always equal the story submitted. Inevitably, the end game will see 52 stories written and 52 stories submitted. Easy peasy? Um, no, but challenge has been accepted anyway.

W1S1 Week 1: Sooooooo How’d You Do?

The Write Part: Well, I was expecting to do a little better than I did. 680 words on a piece (working) title’d: Barista Blues. Learning from this week’s mistakes, I think I’m going to start using the LensWright project as inspiration for Week 2.

The Sub Part: Submitted a 140-character piece to Twitterzine trapeze magazine called Individualism. It was actually something I’ve been toiling with for a few months now. Mostly reformatting, rewriting, reconfiguring. Writing micro fiction is akin to wrestling a jigsaw puzzle. It’s sweaty and involves lots of pieces flying around trying to fit somewhere for big-picture purposes.

Final Thoughts: Despite the womp-womp feeling that came with writing this week’s new piece, I’m still looking forward to Week 2.