CategoriesArchivesJuly 2008 |
December 2007the business side of things…sigh.I just received an email from the publishing house that I wrote the reluctant reader for. A long form to fill out. Many pages of questions requiring details, facts. New photos are wanted with strict requirements and instructions. A request for media contacts and so on. And when I opened this email up and read it, I wanted to crawl in bed and pull the covers over my head. The idea of starting all of this “being out there” all over again, when I feel like it was only this week that I started settling, letting go of the chaos that has been the last few months. Trying to tell myself that it’s okay to relax, let go, settle in myself, my body, my home. I was really surprised to tell you the truth. It’s a short little reluctant reader, for goodness sakes. People don’t go on the road for them. Do they? I thought I was off the hook for next year. A few Porcupine things I’d promised to do. A visit to my daughter. A vacation perhaps. There’s something about forms that overwhelm me. And this one, looking at it, is going to take at least two or three days to compile. And it’s Christmas and I don’t want to take the time off of Big Muckle. I’ve just finally started to get a real good writing rhythm going. I wonder if they’d mind if I waited until I finished this draft? Probably. Phooey… Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, December 13, 2007 in Chewing the Fat Christmas treeWe bought our Christmas tree today. It was the fastest tree buying excursion I have ever been on. When we were little we would divide the family up into small groups, put on as many layers of clothes that we possibly could wear (and still be able to move our limbs) and then we would trudge out into the snow. The cold winter air biting our faces, turning our cheeks and noses a rosy red. We would hike for hours sometimes, all of us searching for the honor of choosing out the most beautiful Christmas tree ever seen. Once we found and agreed upon a tree, we would tie a bright ribbon around it so we wouldn’t get lost and the ribbon could be seen from far away. Then we would race back home, full of giggles and excitement, our hearts exploding with joy. So certain were we that our tree would certainly be the most beautiful tree of all. Then the whole family would go out with the saw and we would look at the trees and choose the best. That part wasn’t as much fun. There was some arguing. It was hard to agree. Some family members liked big bushy trees with an abundance of branches. Others like the wispy ones. The Charlie Brown Christmas looking ones, because they felt you could see the pretty Christmas ornaments better that way. Now me...of course I didn’t like the bushy ones or the sparse ones. I liked the pretty ones, because I was no fool. And the pretty ones were the trees with elegant draping arms, just right for showing off the fine ornaments and tinsel. The ones that weren’t too bushy, or too sparse. I like the trees that were beautiful and magical and everything a Christmas tree should be. The one that whispered to me in excitement, “Look at me! Choose me! And all your Christmas dreams will come true!” But they never chose my tree. They never heard the whisper. And I guess that’s why, some of our Christmases weren’t quite as happy as they could have been. But today, I didn’t have to tromp around the woods for hours, clambering up hillsides only to discover that what looked like the perfect tree had a big gaping hole at the back. We drove to a Christmas tree lot, walked in, and there it was! The most perfect tree! This never happens. Even in a fancy Christmas tree lot you have to pull a lot of possible choices into a standing position, look at it from every angle, check out pretty much every tree in the place, until finally, you find the one. Today, I walked right up to it. It was towards the back of the lot. It was the first one I touched and as I lay my hand on it, I got that magical feeling, and I knew. I knew, but I was holding my breath too. “Could you hold it honey?” I asked Don. “I want to see what it looks like.” And I stepped back, and it was the happiest feeling. The tree was perfect. Just right. And I knew in that moment, even though Emily and Will aren’t going to be here this year. I knew that it would be a very nice Christmas and even though I’d be missing them, my heart would have gladness too. And I knew that we would have a nice time with our friends flying in from far off places. And we would drink wine and eat yummy food and laugh and maybe even turn the music up loud and dance like we imagine we used to , when we were young. And maybe I will be able to convince them to come out with me and wander our neighbourhood for an hour or so, singing old time Christmas carols and la..la..la in the parts where no one remembers the words. And David will come, on Christmas Day with his friend, so there will be stockings, because Santa still likes to come, even though they are grown. Yes, I will miss Emily and Will, but there is always the phone, and our hearts will be connected, even if our hands aren’t.
Much love, Meg
Posted by Meg Tilly on Wednesday, December 12, 2007 in Chewing the Fat sometimes you have to step away…and eat chocolate.Okay, this is writing time. I am in my writing room. I was working on my manuscript, but then I finished up the bit that I was working on yesterday and I’ve hit another large tangle. This chapter is a bit more difficult to handle because I LOVED this chapter in the old draft. It was one of, if not my very favorite chapter in the book. But it doesn’t work anymore. Doesn’t work at all. The whole purpose this chapter served was to shine more light and understanding on a relationship and situation that no longer exist in this new draft. Sigh… I have to take a breather. I’m trying to hang on to a little of it, a smidgen. I’ve cut a total of 6 pages out of a 8 1/2 page chapter. I’ve got the other two and a half quivering on the chopping block. I’m hoping I’ll be able to rework maybe a sentence or two, but I’ve got that sinking feeling in my stomach that I won’t. Sometimes, writing sucks. Anyway, I dealt with it by flinging myself from my desk, tearing into the kitchen and cutting in half and eating 6 halves of the fancy Thomas Haas Chocolates that we just picked up. (I wanted to just eat them all. Waistline be dammed. Cram them into my despairing mouth, but I didn’t want my husband to miss out on any of the fancy flavors. And since these are relatively new chocolates for us, I don’t know which ones he’s going to like the best.) I am in such a desperate state with the loss of this beautifully written chapter that I would have eaten all of them if I wasn’t so fond of old Donalah. And now here I am. Taking a short breather. Calming myself down to do what needs to be done. Breath in. Breath out. Relax. Okay. I’m off. Back to the writing. Wish me luck. I’m going to need it. Posted by Meg Tilly on Tuesday, December 11, 2007 in Chewing the Fat writingI threw out a whole chapter today. Just kept four sentences from the old chapter and those I re-wrote. How can a whole chapter be worthless? Not add anything of any value to the structure or the story? How could I have thought that this manuscript was so great when I finished the first draft two years ago. And thank God I put it away for a while. It needed sooo much work. How could I have been so blind? There is so much there that is just not necessary. So much dead wood. So much to remove and discard. And then, the next day, I go back to what I had worked on the day before and am stunned to see how much more needs fixing on this piece that I was finally able to leave alone the previous day, thinking that it was so much better, smoother. I’m at that point with the manuscript were no matter how much I manage to get done, it doesn’t feel like enough. And the little finger on my left hand and the thumb on my right hand are tired. The little finger feels slightly bruised and the right thumb sore, like it might get a small blister if I keep abusing it in this way. I must sit crooked in my chair that these two digits are getting more stressed than the others. Actually, I just noticed, I am sitting crooked, my left foot tucked up under the thigh of my right leg. My right foot, out to the side and resting on the floor. Let me switch and see if it helps. Okay, now I’ve got my right foot tucked under and my left foot on the floor. And yes, my little finger and thumb are not quite so cranky, but my body is complaining because it isn’t used to being tucked up on this side. It’s like when my children were young. I’d automatically carry them perched on my right hip. I’d try to carry them on both sides equally so I wouldn’t get lopsided and get a crick in my neck, or throw my back out, but it was to no avail. When ever my mind was occupied. (Which was around 98% of the time) up would fly my children, snuggled in tight on my right. Well, my body is still feeling awkward with this position. It’s weird how just switching can make such a difference in how my fingers are feeling. Interesting. Anyway, as I was saying, I’m at this point in my manuscript that even though I’m moving forward, pushing my way through pages, I feel like I’m standing still. Like I’ve made no progress. I just write and re-write and then re-write again. Take yesterday, for example. Yesterday I woke up with the realization that how I started the chapter before the chapter I had just finished after four days of work was off. So, reluctantly, I went back, changed tossed out the old start, wrote a new one and then had to spend the entire days work, re-working the work that I’d just worked! Yes, I know that is a confusing mouthful, but I’ve been re-writing too much, so I’m just going to leave it. It’s okay if it doesn’t make sense to anyone. It doesn’t have to. It’s not a finished manuscript. This is just a blog. Wheeee! I think that’s one of the glories of doing this. It doesn’t have to fixed, smoothed, make sense. There is something very liberating about that. Posted by Meg Tilly on Monday, December 10, 2007 in Chewing the Fat Living dangerously aka/Black Cod with misoStephanie and Todd just left. They arrived yesterday afternoon for the Sidney Crosby game… Okay, well, it wasn’t “The Sidney Crosby Game” per se. Seeing as how he would have looked pretty ridiculous gliding up and down the ice by himself, slamming his body into the boards and dodging pretend opponents, darting in and out, weaving and bobbing and then scoring on an imaginary Luongo! So, let me rephrase. Stephanie and Todd arrived from Seattle to attend the Pittsburgh Penguins/Vancouver Canucks hockey game at which Sidney was playing. How does Meg know all this fancy information, one might ask? Well...it would be a gross understatement to say that my husband is a wildly crazed Sidney Crosby Fan. Do I need to say more? I, by the way, was saved from having to attend the game ( I don’t like the fisticuffs) because my son, Will was singing in a Christmas concert with his school choir and of course I wanted to be there. I watched beaming from the incredibly hard pew of the church where they were performing, and since I told the woman next to me that he was my son, both her, her husband and an elderly friend that might have been a father of some sort, watched and beamed proudly at my son too. (They weren’t parents there for Will’s school choir. They had come to hear the processional singers that the school got to perform with.) So my son had a whole row of listeners proudly beaming at him. Surrogate family for six songs. Anyway, our friends arrived. Came for the game, bearing gifts. Thoughtful gifts! Like really thoughtful. I’m a horrible gift buyer. I get all anxious, like whatever I get it’s going to be dumb or not fit or they will have no use for and it will clog up their cabinets and be an albatross around their neck. I’m about as good at gift buying as I am a clothing shopper. I have no idea. It’s not that I don’t love the people that my gifts are so uninspired, it’s just that some people have some talents and some people have others. Sigh. On the rare occasion when I get corralled into entering a store with a family member or friend, I try to deal with that slight panicky claustrophobia that set in, by watching them closely, trying to figure out what they are going to like, holding up suggestions. But what people like seems to change with the seasons, and what was a home-run last year is a oh-god-mom-never-in-a-million-years look this year. It changes too fast. I get overwhelmed in stores. That’s why I avoid them. Get in, buy what I have to. Get out. Actually, that’s a lie. My scenario is more like, walk in, look around, get overwhelmed, talk myself out of needing what I drove down for, by saying something like, “Hey, these boots are only 7 years old, the soles aren’t worn through and no one can see that the tiny triangle of stretch elastic at the top is unraveling when you’re standing up. And if they noticing that when you’re sitting down, well...Why are they looking at your feet anyway? Your feet don’t talk. If they are looking at your feet they must have a foot fetish and then that’s their problem to deal with not yours.” And then I feel quite relieved to turn around and walk out of the store. Quickly, I might add before, god forbid, someone asks me if I need some help! Whoa! I went way off topic there. Back to the recipe. I decided we are going to live dangerously my dear bloggers! I am once again going to post a recipe that I have never tasted. I am going to post it because Stephanie has impeccable taste and so I feel that if she says this is an amazing recipe, and since the salted chocolate caramels from Fran’s that she and Todd brought me from Seattle were yummy, this fish will be yummy too. Nobu’s (and Stephanie and Todd’s too because they wrote it out and brought it!) Black cod w/Miso
1lb black cod (sable-fish)
-Marinate for 24-72 hours.
Posted by Meg Tilly on Sunday, December 09, 2007 in Recipes Phew!Well, I survived my day as the guest blogger on The Debutantes Ball! Gasp...That was a LOT of questions. I didn’t know what to expect. I figured, yeah, sure, check back once or twice during the day. Maybe there will be a question, maybe not. I made Don promise that if there were no questions or comments that he would write one so that the debutantes wouldn’t be disappointed. Well, Don didn’t have to write one! There were so many interesting questions and comments. I found myself talking about a wide variety of topics. The problem was, no sooner did I answer one question when several more had popped up. There was one point in the middle of the day where I started feeling panicky. Like I wasn’t going to get to them all. The questions were just going to keep pouring in until I drowned in them. But I didn’t want to walk away from it, not answer because the people who took the trouble and time to write in might feel a little disappointed if I didn’t respond. It was a bit of a challenge, because I had to work on my manuscript as well! But I couldn’t go into my writing room for one long straight hunk because I’d feel the weight of the comments responsibility calling me. I had to break my manuscript writing time into chunks. I managed to get my pages done (thank goodness!) and keep up with the comments section, but I wasn’t able to accomplish anything else. Towards the end of the day, my hands were pretty tired and my nose was buried in the dictionary because when I get tired, my ability to spell flies out of the window and my entire answer was underlined in red. And I hate having to dig things up in the dictionary, because the reason you have to look the word up is because you can’t spell it. And if you can’t spell it...how are you expected to look it up?! So, although I had fun, and enjoyed meeting my many readers on-line, I think I’m going to hold off on putting a Comments section on my website. Otherwise I won’t have time for the rest of my life. All the things I enjoy so much, cooking tasty treats, cuddling with my husband, going for a walk, romping with Molly, talking with my boys, my daughter, my friends, writing to them, thinking about life, watching the cloud formations, listening to the grass grow, reading and so on. Thank you to everybody who wrote in. It made for a hectic, but very exciting day! xo Posted by Meg Tilly on Friday, December 07, 2007 in Chewing the Fat good morningDon and Will just went out the door for the trek to school and I decided, rather than to make my tea and go straight to my working on my manuscript that I would post a brief blog here first. Normally I wouldn’t do this but I didn’t get around to blogging yesterday, and tomorrow I won’t be here as well. If you find you are needing your daily dose you can find me at www.thedebutanteball.com. I met Danielle Younge-Ullman (a real debutante, her first novel, Falling Under, is coming to a bookstore near you, Aug. 2008) at my Type book reading in Toronto. She told me about the debutante’s blog and asked if I’d consider being a guest blogger for a day. “Yeah sure,” I’d said. I wasn’t sure what a “guest blogger” was. At that time I’d only been blogging for a month and a half myself. (I’m much more experienced now with almost 3 months under my belt!) Anyway, we set it for Dec. 6th. Danielle sent me a bunch of questions. I answered them. She sent some more. I answered them. She sent a couple more....You get the drift. Anyway, with this guest-blogging thing, apparently not only do I answer Danielle’s questions, but if any of you out there have a burning question you’d like to ask me, (or just a regular one is fine too) Tomorrow’s the day. I’m supposed to check the site from time to time and respond to comments and what-not. (Hopefully it’s not too hard to do. I am a little electronically challenged.) This is great actually, because Susie, (web designer extraordinarie) has mentioned several times that I really need a comments section on my website. I’ve resisted. Well, tomorrow I’ll get to to try comments out and see if it’s something that I’d like to do on a regular basis. Probably not, but you never know. When we first did my website I wasn’t planning on blogging, and look at me now! Posted by Meg Tilly on Wednesday, December 05, 2007 in Chewing the Fat helloNot much to write about today. Feeling better. Got a lovely email from Jenny. My writing was slow but steady. It wasn’t one of those magical inspired days, but it wasn’t total crap either. I slogged along and hope I got some good stuff. But who knows? Tomorrow when I read over it I might decide that I must abstain from even the comfort of a brandy cherry or two while writing. I wonder how many one would have to eat in order to feel an effect? Five? Six? The most I’ve eaten in a day is three and I felt perfectly fine. I just glanced up and saw the picture someone took of me and Emily on the set of The Two Jakes. This is one of my favorite pictures of Emily and me. It’s a large black and white photo that’s been blown up. I’m wearing my Kitty Berman Courthouse outfit with one of those 40’s hats that is tipped so extremely that it looks like somebody slammed a large chocolate layer cake with no icing on it, to the side of my head and it stuck. Little Emily’s wearing a cotton sun-dress and little white sandals. She’s only four in the picture and is holding my hand, skipping/walking beside me, a smile of pure sunshine on her face. Our bodies are leaned ever so slightly towards each other. You can feel the bond. My skirt is stretched taut, so I must have been hurrying to get to the set. It was a lot of hurry up and wait with that scene, since most of the principal characters appeared in the courthouse scene. My jacket is wrinkly around the arms and shoulders, so obviously the wardrobe department hadn’t gotten to me yet with the steamer. Probably were waiting until the very last minute. I remember that day. Such a crowded scene, hard to organize. Complicated lighting. It was difficult to get a bathroom break. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the 1st A.D said I could go. I remember sprinting to the bathroom. I remember the sound of someone close on my heels. I didn’t think much of it. All I could focus on was getting to that bathroom, that was a good long gallop down a hall that seemed to go on forever. I get in the bathroom stall. Lock the door. Coat the seat with toilet paper. Manage, to get out of all that 40’s paraphernalia that Jack insisted that us women wear. Try wiggling out of a skirt, a girdle, navigating 1940’s garters and hose, not to mention underwear. Finally, collapsing on the seat, thankful that I was able to safely make it to a seating position without an accident. When there is a “knock...knock...knock” On the door of my bathroom stall. “Miss Tilly...Miss Tilly...Knock...knock...knock. Are you there?” I freeze. Everything freezes. I have to go to the bathroom like there’s no tomorrow...but SOMEBODY is knocking on my door! I don’t say anything. I am hoping this VERY RUDE person will go away. No such luck. “KNOCK...KNOCK...KNOCK!” Louder this time. “Miss Tilly? Is that you? Could you please...” There is a rattling of paper and THIS PERSON SLIDES A 8X10 photo of me under the stall along with a Sharpie. “Miss Tilly? That is you isn’t it?” “NOT WHILE I’M GOING TO THE BATHROOM!” I roar. There is a long silence. A shuffling of feet. “It will only take a...” “OUT!” There is another pause. I feel the person outside of my bathroom stall deflate, but I really don’t care. Enough is enough. I am needed on set and I need to pee and there is no way I’m going to be able to do anything with this donkey in here. I hear a sigh. Then a hand appears and gathers up the the photo and Sharpie. “Will...you sign it later.” “Yes.” I feel weary. “Please go.” Finally the person leaves. I wait until I hear the door close behind them before I am able to unclench. Hmmm… Interesting. I had no idea what I was going to blog today. Certainly didn’t think I was going here. Oh well. I did. Anyway, for those of you who think you’d like to be famous. Think again. Here’s a little taste of what you can expect and honestly...It’s not that fun. Posted by Meg Tilly on Monday, December 03, 2007 in Chewing the Fat after shocksYesterday, I went from this sort of numb what-the-hell-happened-and-don’t-think-about-it-just-deal-with-the-details of letting go. And found myself angry. A serves-him-right-if-he-regrets-what-he’s-done kind of anger. A cold F___ you kind of anger. I am done, done, DONE! I slept a full uninterrupted night for the first time in a long time. A deep exhausted sleep. When I awoke, the anger was still there, I continued the tirade of all the things I’d done for this friend, the sacrifices I’d made, the many times I spent at his side in the hospitals, in the doctors offices, nursing him back to health, bringing him food on a tray. The countless times I put my life on hold to be there in times of trouble. The endless lies he had told me, right to my face. Promises broken, again and again.
I woke up steaming mad and I was glad too! That it was over. The truth had been forced out, a choice had been made. A choice that didn’t include me.
“Meg,” Don said, softly. His face serious. “I know you’re trying to be brave, to be strong.”
And then he held me as all my bravado crumbled away and there was nothing left to do but bawl. Posted by Meg Tilly on Sunday, December 02, 2007 in Chewing the Fat new beginningsSnow is falling. The first snowfall of the year. So peaceful. I love how the whole world gets quieter when it snows. Muffled, tucked in, hot chocolate and cozy beds. It’s Saturday. The house is still. A gang of family and friends tumbled out of the door this morning, braving the snow to hop on the ferry to Vancouver Island to see Dave. So it’s just me and Don and the two dogs. I guess this is how it will be when Will’s grown and gone. There’s a missing of course, but it’s nice to have all this time and space and no structure. Maybe I’ll write after this blog. Maybe I write later today, or tonight even. I could stay up late, working on my manuscript until the wee hours of the morning, since there will be no alarm clock tomorrow, and only a hot breakfast to make if that’s what we choose. It’s an interesting sensation after 23 years of diapers and night feedings and school sorrows and joys. Years of teacher’s aiding and cookie baking, applying band-aids and wiping tears. Birthdays and pinatas and rented pony rides. I could get all morose. Missing it all. But what’s the point? I have to find what I like in this solitude. The blessings, the hidden joys and pleasures, because children grow up, leave home. You can’t hold back the wind. Posted by Meg Tilly on Saturday, December 01, 2007 in Chewing the Fat |
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