But stomach always wins in the end, because the prospect of exploding is not as tantalizing as living to chow down another day.

In case you’re feeling lethargic, this is what my Winter Quarter was like. I bit off a huge chunk with Write1Sub1 Weekly Edition, and found myself pairing it up with other projects for TalentEgg.ca, job applications, and other personal endeavours. A scrumptious buffet, indeed. And my gung-ho fizzled, of course, because I had eaten myself into a food coma. Although, to be fair, there were some highlights: publication in trapeze magazine, featured in the Toronto Star’s highlights of TalentEgg.ca’s #HireGenY day, another article syndicated in Metro.

But in comes Spring! The bearer of showers and flowers and the promise of somewhat warmer temperatures. The bearer of longer days and people who are all-around more pleasant. Thank you Vitamin D! Spring also ushers in a clean slate plate onto which I can strategically pile only as much scrumptious fare as I can stomach.

A small tasting menu of what’s on the docket this quarter: Scriptfrenzy, an epic dance show of awesome proportions produced by Scream Dance Academy, the possibility of picking up on the monthly edition of Write1Sub1.

Last week I gathered up some moxie and ventured out to a vernissage on my lonesome. I’m a bit of a chicken. A bit of one? Okay, I’m a huge chicken. I don’t enjoy going out on my own, especially to schmoozy events where I might know a handful of people who I can only exchange few pleasantries with. In this particular case though, the vernissage was for an art show in which a friend of mine had a photograph. Said Friend was going to be there and, luckily, the chances of my knowing anyone else would be slim to none. Another key factor was that this happened to be my very first vernissage in my hometown. Weird, I realize. I’d only actually been to one previously, and that was this past summer when I was in Vancouver for a few days.

I never once had an inkling that I’d be sorry I went, and I wasn’t. The show itself was nothing especially spectacular. Granted, it’s been a few years since my last Art History or Art Theory class, but nothing really stood out to me except a couple of works. Obviously the awesome-possum piece that Said Friend had contributed was the highlight, and while my bias might be a tad plain, I sincerely do think the man is talented and have never not been impressed with his stuff. Honest. (You can call him Bajango and see some of his work.) The other piece that interested me was a mixed media textile number, riffing off the idea of those notes Mum might have put into your lunchbox once or twice or every day. It was clever, kind of cutesy, but fit with the theme of the show (which happened to be titled “MY PREGNANT PRETEEN BIRTHDAY VACATION WITH DAD”). I just wish the artist had proofread his notes before putting all the work in stitching them. I also wish I’d taken a picture so that you could cringe along with me.

All in all, a decent experience. Well, besides the presence of a few uber-Hipsters, one of which decided to belch at me repeatedly for no reason. Good thing my eyes are big and can be rolled with minimal effort. Speaking to my Friend the Artist after I circled once and a half through the show, we were able to catch up. More importantly, we were able to rehash a conversation we’d had a while ago about working on a project together. And it started me thinking about other things that I’d talked about, or tried to do, that maybe didn’t stick the first time, but have since come back. And worked out or moved forward.

You know… Boomerangs.

And in my experience, it seems the further I throw them, the more chance they have of coming back.

Write1Sub1 Week 10: Sooooooo How’d You Do?

The Write Part: I’m still working on that rewrite of a LensWright piece. It’s a bit slow going, which goes against my usual MO of write it all in one fell-swoop. Although change can be good sometimes, so maybe I’m onto something that works better.

The Sub Part: Don’t yell at me but this is week the third that I haven’t submitted anything. I guess I’m just tired of submitting things that I know, while not entirely rough, could do with more work. I’m also tired of submitting the same story over and over again, fully recognizing that it’s probably not something that most magazines would publish (though it has gotten close and some good remarks).

Final Thoughts: I’ve decided to do something a little drastic. Drama queen… Okay, okay, not drastic, but I’m reconsidering my Write1Sub1 goals. I’ve got other projects I want to get to and committing to one new story and one prepped submission in seven days is just… It’s not realistic. So at this juncture, at Week #10, I’m going to take a break. I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t work as hard as I should have, but we’re moving into the Spring Quarter soon and I think some stock needs to be taken.

Boomerang!

I could show you my cards, y’know, explain everything. Tell you why this week was jam-packed, why writing fiction might have taken a slight backseat to writing other things. Why I didn’t make that deadline, for the sake of my own integrity (or writer’s block? who’s to know). I’ve never been very good at Poker. Seriously? I’ve never been able to play properly, I can never remember all the rules/hands/plays/what have you. But let me tell you… When it matters? Doesn’t it always? I can pull off a pretty good poker face. There may be a few more aces in these sleeves.

Write1Sub1 Week 9: Sooooooo How’d You Do?

The Write Part: While I didn’t complete the project I’d set aside for my train ride, I did get work done. There’s a story in the works there. Not entirely my typical genre, but definitely my tone. Subdued, under the radar, you know how I roll. I’m going to try and get some more down this week. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be ready for a sub?

The Sub Part: There’s a strategy going on here. You might not believe me, but there is. The past two weeks might have been write-offs, sure, but I’m working toward making a bit of a change. You’ll have to wait until closer to the end of the month to find out. Surprises! All you need to know now, is that I’m being disappointing and haven’t submitted anything this week.

Final Thoughts: You’re probably getting tired of thoughts like these, but… Things are afoot. Promise? Promise.

Yesterday was Monday, right?

Yes. According to the calendar.

What week of Write1Sub1 are you on?

Considering last week’s entry says “7″, I’m guessing this week would be 8. Week 8.

Shouldn’t there be a check-in?

Actually, yes, I do believe there should be.

Um, so then… Where is it?

That is an excellent question.

You gonna answer it?

Do I have to?

Are you the one asking the questions here?

Actually…

Where is Week 8?

Oh fine.  Alright. The story of Week 8 involved three gorgeous days of downhill skiing, an absolutely fantastic dance show of epically Burtonesque proportions, a lengthy drive to Ontario’s capitol, Shabbat dinner at somebody’s future in-laws, a successful telephone interview, and lots of wine. There was some writing and a submission, neither of which fall under the appropriate Write1Sub1 category. There just wasn’t any time.

Wasn’t Week 7 the throwaway week?

That’s what I said.

Didn’t you say you had plans?

I have a deadline tomorrow and a five hour train ride. I’m cracking my knuckles already.

Is that glass empty or full?

No comment.

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.