'Tis the season

...to be jolly. Posts will be light or nonexistent until the new year. Thanks to all of you for stopping by and making this blogging thing fun. Happy holidays!

If only I could figure out how to release

...your neurological opiates. I wonder if big publishers are doing neurolinguistic studies of novels to determine the size of print runs? Perhaps such studies are being used to help publishers decide which novels best fit their publishing program. I can see it: the manuscript is downloaded and within minutes the program spits out the projected profits, size of advance, etc. Better yet, writers could do neurolinguistic studies of their own work and use the results during the editing process.

"Literally unputdownable" will be my motto for 2006.

Because I spent the day buried

...in my gigantic manuscript, I'll just quickly point to Tracy Hamon's apt post and then head for the couch. My blanket is waiting and the second period is about to begin. My Leafs took a kicking tonight. I'm hoping the Oilers will have better luck.

I must get my hands on

...this essay.

Ovid

...in Tears.

Thick Skin

...arrived today and Thick Skin is now on the wall in front of me, facing the light and almost within reach. It's beautiful. The strength of the piece is incredible and inspiring. It really does make me want to reach out.

A resignation towards reality

...is perhaps the most intriguing thing Philip Roth revealed in this interview, but his comments on the idea of a "100-year moratorium on insufferable literary talk" were pretty entertaining.

The story of an ancient Maya king

...revealed. The little image is beautiful. I can't imagine what it would be like to stand before it or to have taken part in the excavation.

The body snatchers'

... legacy to medicine. When I studied anatomy I'm sure they didn't tell me about this bit of history. The article also contains some interesting pieces of art.

Children are instinctive poets

...says Carol Ann Duffy. I read the bit about poetry and innocence a few times. It's the first time I've seen it put that way.

Art

...matters.

I spent the entire day thinking. I did give my thoughts on someone else's work earlier in the day, but since then I've been puzzling over a few ideas, wondering how they could possibly work on paper. At one time I used to doodle and scribble down notes, reams and reams of notes, but the older I get, the more time I spend in that airy little office in my head. I took my office for a long walk this afternoon. Chickadees peered in my window. Ravens flew over. Snow surrounded me, supported me. Snow sat on rocks and stumps, reclined on branches, crunched on my boots. Snow held the tracks of birds, dogs, foxes and people the same way. The only one dragging its feet was the writer.

This strikes me

...as an odd contest. Is there poetry in my voice? Good question. It would be fun to post a recording of me reading a poem and then send out a survey to all and sundry asking that very question. Is there poetry in my voice? If so, how much?

What the philosophical habit of mind made

...possible.

This morning I complained about my lack of creative output over the past week, but by afternoon I decided I was just recharging as I tend to do each year at this time. I then spent some time wandering around, wondering where to put Thick Skin. It will either hang on the wall I face as I work or it will be what I see right after I turn left at the mirror. I'll have to wait and see. After reading the artist's latest post, I've been leaning towards the latter.

When I saw "insect art" in the headline

...I did not expect to see evil fairies. Not today. Today was a glorious day. We were under a heavy snowfall warning up until a short while ago. The snow fell while we had coffee, ate cake. It fell while we finished our Christmas shopping. It fell while I walked around feeling really really lucky. It's still falling.

The L-word

...is an issue? Really?

I'm keeping a good eye

...on Pete McGregor's blog. Both the writing and the photos are absolutely gorgeous.

I just learned about

...Cara Winsor Hehir's blog. Cara is doing exciting work. I look forward to owning a piece one day. Right now I have my heart set on Thick Skin.

The weekly Canada report

...from George Murray of Bookninja can be heard any time on MobyLives radio. I'm going to lobby for a few glowing words about the book scene in the west. Maybe next week he can wrap up his report by saying there's More Than Three Feet of Ice in Canada and Amazon will gladly ship it south.

I found Louis MacNeice

...in the The Poetry Archive. I heard his voice, his "Prayer Before Birth," more than 40 years after his death. What an incredible experience after years of feeling his words vibrate in my mouth. I recite "The Sunlight on the Garden" quite often. H can recite it as well. I'm sure my cat knows it by heart. I have no idea what triggers the recitation, but now and then out it comes. It's never in the presence of anyone else, so it's not some weird attempt to impress or freak out the guests. Perhaps those moments just call for attention, an infusion of beauty. Of meaning. Of course there's a part of me that likes to think the ghost of MacNeice is always floating around, stringing his lines through unsuspecting mouths.

Art for me is a free space to explore things

...says Simon Starling, winner of the 2005 Turner Prize. Nice.

Good grief

...is something I say fairly often. i.e. Good grief, have I seen "A Charlie Brown Christmas" that many times? Good grief. It's a perfect expression for writers and artists. A brushstroke is too thick and the colour is muddy. Good grief. The book you're writing is too long and you're still not done writing it. Good grief. Another rejection letter. Good grief. You're antsy as you wait for news on your submission, but you know it will be months before you hear back. Good grief. Yep, it sums up the whole process quite nicely.

My relationship with sonnets

...is quite odd, but then again maybe not. Maybe the world is teaming with writers who write sonnets only to squirrel them away. My latest manuscript contains a couple sonnets, but I'll likely weed them out of the final draft and throw them in the box with all the rest. My sonnet on Random Highbrow might very well be the only sonnet you'll ever see with my name attached. It follows a fine steamy piece by Tracy Hamon.

Take a look at the competition rules. It's free and there's plenty of time to get in on the fun.