Chewing the Fat

For those times that I want to blather on about whatever.

A fresh start

I feel very happy today.  A quiet peaceful happy.  I talked with Laura Langlie today and I really liked her, so she will be my literary agent from here on out. 

It’s a good feeling not to have those unfinished dangling ends nagging at me when I’m trying to write, saying “You really need to deal with this, Meg.  It’s all well and good to be writing away in your room, but who is going to submit these manuscripts?  Tundra wants to do Try And Stop Me.  Who’s going to handle that?”

Laura is.  A new beginning.  I feel lucky. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Tuesday, May 13, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Hello everybody

Just wanted to share the good news with you.  Porcupine was chosen by the TRISTATE YOUNG ADULT BOOK REVIEW COMMITTEE as one of their “Books of Note.” Whoohooo! 

My thanks to the public schools, public libraries and private schools in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware who decided to include my novel on your Books of Note list.  I am thrilled!  There is something very distinguished sounding about having written a Book of Note.  Makes me feel ten feet tall.  Well, for a while anyway.  I’m sure the feeling will dissipate tonight when Don takes himself off to play ball hockey and I return to my writing room for another wrestling bout with my new/old (formerly The Big Muckle) manuscript. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Monday, May 12, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Unusual, but good

I was going through my purse and I found an unexpected gift in it.  A small candy encased in a brown and gold and red shinny wrapper.  It had all sorts of interesting writing on it that was in a foreign language that I couldn’t read.  And when I made the happy discovery of it, I instantly remembered where I had gotten it.  Boris from The Northern Voices Conference was at the BC Book Prizes Soiree and I’m not sure how we got on the topic of candy, but somehow we managed, and he pulled a handful of these candies from his jacket pocket and I was the lucky recipient of one. 

I offered him one of my own, but since they were not exciting and were not wrapped and were rolling around in the bottom of the cute little French quilted purse with dangling decorative fowls dancing around the opening that my sister Jenny had given me, he decided to decline.  The interior of the purse looked quite clean, but I guess Boris was squeamish.

Anyway, I have this candy in my mouth as I type this, and I have to say, it is quite unusual.  Very fruity.  A strong (I can’t quite place the fruit?  Cantaloupe?  A melon?  A tropical fruit?) taste.  I know the minute someone would place the flavor I would say, oh yes.  Of course. 

Oops.  The last fragment of the candy has just dissolved.  So now, there is no way I’ll be able to pinpoint it for you.

I’m glad Don wasn’t here when I found it in my purse, because he probably would have confiscated it.  He doesn’t trust anything anyone gives me, unless it is from him or my kids or my sisters of course.  He’s over protective by a long shot. 

Anyway, it was just Boris.  I sort of know Boris.  And I was curious.  And it tasted good.  And I’m not feeling any unusual pain or discomfort in my stomach, so all’s well that ends well.  We just won’t tell Don is all.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Sunday, May 11, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Dinner in the big city

We were going go to someone’s house tonight for a BBQ but they came down with the flu.  So we decided that going out for a delicious King Crab in the city was what was called for.  Don called our favorite Chinese restaurant and lo-and-behold, they had a King Crab that was still up for grabs.  Don reserved both a table and the crab.  5 pm, because the minute he knew a crab dinner was in our future, his mouth got very hungry and impatient.

We got to the restaurant five minutes early.  No one was in the lobby and there was the loud noise of someone pushing an industrial vacuum cleaner around and the clanking of dishes.  We waited.  So pleased that we had come up with this good idea.

Dinner was delicious.

We declined dessert.  Don and Will probably because they were full, but me?  I was thinking ahead.  I was planning on waiting until we were out on the street to hit them up with the old, “Hey, anybody want to walk over to Robson for a caramel apple?”

As we exited the doors of the restaurant, Don groaned and said, “I’m so full.”

“Me too,” said Will. 

I wasn’t.  I’d saved room.  No worries.  There was no law saying that just because they were full didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be happy for a little after dinner walk, with me.  Robson street always feels like an event waiting to happen.

I opened my mouth to make the caramel apple suggestion when we came across a rather small person with their upper body curled up around them-self, face down in the dirt.  The hips twisted slightly, legs dangling down the cement flowerbed wall, next to a full garbage can.  The yellow tulips were in bloom and there were some pretty pink delicate flowers as well.  One of this person’s arms was tucked under the body.  The other was hunched into itself, the hand gnarled around into almost an exaggerated claw.  The fingers of the arm this person was lying on looked feminine, delicate, swollen and a reddish purple color because, I don’t know, lack of circulation.  I could see a few thin red scratch marks in her dirt matted scalp.  Didn’t know if the dirt had been embedded in the hair for a while or if this person had been in a different position in the dirt before the torso curled itself into this modified fetal position.

There was a middle aged man, bottle thick lenses on his glasses.  Holding a plastic carry bag in his left hand.  “Are you alright?” He was saying.  “Are you alright?” He was shaking.  I walked over, Don and Will followed.  “I’m worried,” he said, looking lost.  I tried to rouse what I thought was a woman, with a mans haircut to keep her safe on the street.  No response.  “Listerine,” the middle aged man said.  “It’s poison.  People die from it.” At first I didn’t know what he was talking about, and then I noticed the Listerine smell.  So strong my eyes smarted.  “I’m scared,” the middle aged man said.  “I don’t want this person to just die on the street.  I...” he was staring at this person like maybe it was himself he was seeing.  “I feel terrible.  I am just coming from the liquor store.  I walked down to get a bottle of wine to bring back to my apartment.”

I put my hand on the shoulder of this curled up person.  Gingerly.  She was breathing.  “Are you okay?” I said.  Nervous that she was dead already, but scared too, that she would come too and roar at me.  Bite my hand.  Or that somehow, by touching her, I would become her.

No response. 

We decided to call 911.  Don had his cell.  The operator on the other end asked us to describe the person.  Hard to do when the person is lying face down in the dirt. 

“We are supposed to roll her on her back,” Don said, listening hard in the phone, his other finger stuck in his ear.  “I’m going to roll you over,” I said.  I tried first gently, but the person’s body was stiff, hard.  “I can’t,” I said.  “Are you sure that’s what we’re supposed to do?  What if she throws up, she’ll choke on it.”

“We have to roll her over.” I put more muscle into it.  And got her onto her back.  She had some straggly whiskers on her upper lip and coming out of her chin.  She was way younger than I had thought.  Late twenties maybe.  Her mouth moved.  “You have to tip her head back.”

“It is tipped back,” I said.  All of a sudden a grey haired woman in her late fifties, early sixties, was at the woman’s head.

“We have to tip it back more,” she said and she did.  Her hand hovering over this persons mouth.  “Her breath is regular.” She said, to Don who told the person on the phone.  I was glad she was there.  And that’s when I noticed the hospital bracelets on the right hand. 

“Excuse me,” I said to the unconscious person.  “I’m going to check your wrist.” The name on the band was a man’s name.  I felt embarrassed.  Hoped he hadn’t heard me somewhere in his unconscious mind saying he was a woman.  That he had a woman’s hands. 

There was the sound of sirens.  A fire truck screeched to a halt.  A second later an ambulance jumped up onto the sidewalk and we were surrounded by professionals.  One of the guys from the fire truck, got within four feet and said.  “Listerine.  Now that’s what I call fresh.” And then they got busy.  I don’t know if that is from a TV ad or something, but they didn’t need us anymore, so we left. 

Nobody was interested in ambling down to get a caramel apple.  And I wasn’t sure if I wanted one anymore myself. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Saturday, May 10, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

An opinion

I thought maybe some of my readers might be interested in this paragraph that I lifted from Richard Russell’s Dow Theory Remarks today.  Richard Russell writes the incredibly brilliant Dow Theory Letters.  It is a financial newsletter, but he writes about many things.  His cactus, his family, past and present, WWII, the great depression, what it was like living in New York when one could buy a great dinner for 35 cents.  What the garment district was like in New York way back when.  How the great depression affected his father.  He is an 83 year old WWII vet.  I’m pretty sure he was B52 bomber pilot, I know he was in the fighter planes because he has generously shared many of his memories, but I’m can’t remember for sure what his particular job was up there in the air.  He has lived through many presidents, I believe he is Republican (I don’t know if he still is) Anyway, here it is for those of you who are interested.

“In less than a year, George W. Bush will leave us. He’ll leave with some of the lowest approval ratings of any president in US history. He’ll leave us with 81 percent (April poll) of the American people believing that the country is on the “wrong track.” He’ll leave with the US heavily in debt. He’ll leave with the US sunk in a tragic and expensive war that has lasted longer than WW II. He’ll leave with the US disliked and mistrusted by perhaps half the population of the world. He’ll leave with the dollar, the world’s reserve currency, in tatters. He’ll leave with a US tax system that is complicated beyond description—he’ll leave with never having attempted to change it. He’ll leave with a crazy ethanol program that is taking up one-third of our corn production, and which in turn has upset the food situation in much of the world.”

Posted by Meg Tilly on Friday, May 09, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

sigh…

Yesterdays writing went so well that it took me a little while to get my head out of the story when we were driving into town to the panel I was on for the Authors Association.  But luckily, by the time we finished dinner, I had called myself back. 

The problem is...today.  My writing is just not flowing today.  It’s stiff, no give.  I can’t seem to drop in.  Frustrating. 

It’s one of those writing days were I feel I’m just banging my head against a wall.  Pointless.  Futile.  Why bother.  All this effort to eek out a paragraph or two.  And no...I’m not exaggerating.  That’s all I’ve been able to manage, and I’ve been at it for hours.  And the worst part is that what I have eeked out, sucks. 

I think the problem is, yesterday was one of those magical writing days, where everything flowed, surprises revealed themselves to me, things seemed to make sense, fall into place.  And so I was very excited to enter my writing room today.  Knew it was going to be great.  HA!

I should probably go for a walk.  Get out of this airless claustrophobic space, where it feels like no matter what I type, how hard I work, I will end up tossing everything I wrote today, into the garbage, so I can start fresh. 

I hate this type of writing day.

You know what?  I’m going to go make some cookies.  Maybe a couple warm cookies and a cold glass of milk will help.  That’s what I’ll do.  And then I’ll go back in and try to work some more on the manuscript tonight. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, May 08, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

more mother hening

I read this little tidbit from a Financial Times article.  There was a lot more besides, but unless you are interested in that kind of stuff, it can be long and lugubrious.  But when I read this particular sentence it caused my stomach to drop. 

“MasterCard on Tuesday said first-quarter profits more than doubled to $447 million, or $3.38 per share, as US consumers put more expenses such as food and petrol on their cards.”

The reason I found it so scary was because that means that people are now going into even deeper debt just to put food on the table.  And with the financial world tightening credit, this seems to me to have the makings of a disaster waiting to explode. 

And then when I listened to the BNN interview with Don Coxe from BMO Financial Group, who specializes in commodities, I got even more worried.  He was talking about the precarious situation that we are in.  And said that unless we have great crops, and everything falls together and the weather cooperated, we could very well have a sustained food crisis in the coming year. 

He said that people might have to double the amount of money they use of their income on food. And that “If we have a crop failure, God help us.” He pointed out that this will effect everyone but the very rich, because food is not something that you can do without.

Anyway, I don’t know what the answer to this is, but again.  Just in case.  Don’t wait until it is on your doorstep.  Figure out now, what your family will need to do, if in fact our food bills double in the next year.  What can you do now, that would help you get safely through this?  Do you need to take on a part time job?  Is there anywhere you can cut back on expenses?  If so tuck that money away.  Or perhaps use it to buy a few staples that have a long shelf life. 

And if we have a bumper crop year?  Yay!  Then you will hopefully have extra funds to put away for a later date when you might need them. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Monday, May 05, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

I’m tired…

The Dallas Stars and the San Jose Sharks are having the battle of the Titans.  It is very late, and we are still up, because they are now going to be going into the 4th overtime!  The fourth. Each overtime goes for twenty minutes unless someone scores.  The score is one-one and the goalies Marty Turco and Evgeni Nabokav have been playing amazing.

I’m still up, because this is a crazy game, and it’s one of those games where I can’t just pad upstairs and go to sleep, because apparently this marathon game is one of the most exciting games ever played.  And something as thrilling as this, needs company.  Don’s watching the game, and I’m watching Don and now I just got smart and brought my computer in the family room and am blogging to you. 

They have played the equivalent of two full games and the Dallas Stars have oxygen at their bench.  It is after 11 pm here and after 1 am there.  It’s going to be a little challenging to do the spring out of bed at 6:45 tomorrow morning to make breakfast and get Will off to school.  I wonder how many more overtimes there are going to be tonight? 

It’s gotten so that I am worrying for both teams. They are playing so hard and passionate, and the goalies are like super heroes.  It’s like I want someone to score so I can go to bed, and yet I don’t want anyone to score because I’ll feel bad for the team that lost because really, they both deserve to win. 

And you know what?  Best of all, no fighting!  The game is too crucial.  Nobody wants to take a penalty. 

Okay, the break is over.  We are going into the fourth overtime.  I don’t know what to wish for.  I’m pooped, I can’t even begin to imagine how tired the players must be. 

The camera crew is panning the crowd, a little boy, fast asleep, a couple staring in a zombie like fashion, her head resting on his shoulder.  Already both goalies have made another save.  This is crazy.  Marty Turco has made 60 saves!  Nabokav just made another body flinging save.  That is ridiculous goal tending.

Even the dogs have collapsed in exhaustion.  Molly went upstairs and put herself into her kennel and Scooter is snoozing in the armchair.  I’d like to be snoozing too.

Well, I don’t think I’ll keep blogging until someone wins, because like the game, this could turn into the longest blog in the world. 

Nite everybody.  I hope you don’t have hockey nuts for husbands and are sleeping comfy in your beds.  xo

Posted by Meg Tilly on Sunday, May 04, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

The house to myself

Will is better today, thank God.  So after his drum class, he and Don decided to race to the theater to see Iron Man.  I don’t know who was more excited. 

It’s nice having the house to myself.  I don’t feel lonely at all.  I guess it’s because I know this alone time isn’t a forever situation.  When the sun came out, the dogs started dancing at the door.  Wanting to go out and play, take advantage of the dawning Spring day.  We’ve had such bouts of weird weather, for such a long time.  It’s funny though, I had never really thought about it before, that the weather mattered to them as well.  But it does.  These two mutts we have are sunshine junkies.  So even they have abandoned the house to me.  I’ve opened the door a few times, in case they are tired of frolicking about, but they’ve showed no interest in returning.

Once Don and Will had headed out, I did the breakfast clean up, nice and leisurely, no rush.  The only thing waiting for me after that was my computer.  I put the waffle iron back away in the cupboard, cleared the table, wiped it, did the dishes.  Then I ate a piece of smoked cheddar cheese, made myself a cup of tea, cut myself off a hunk of chocolate and then disappeared into my writing room.

This re-write is not feeling like re-writes usually do.  It is much slower going.  More like the start of a new book.  I’m only a few pages in, but I’m still having to read back, re-work everything again and again.  A character who I hadn’t planned on including her POV, has insisted that I do.  This format that I am using is so different that anything I’ve ever done, and it’s difficult to know if it works or not.  If it still gets across what I want to?  Or if it is too removed?  And then, when I get on a roll, I find myself slipping back into a style that doesn’t work for this manuscript, but is what feels comfortable.  And so I have to rework it.  And then rework it again.  And then I wonder since the other is so easy, if maybe I’m not listening properly to what needs doing, and instead, trying to force it into a shape or idea I have instead of what it should be?

I don’t have any answers at this point.  I’m just showing up at the page, ready to work.  I don’t know whether this ultimately will work or not.  We’ll see.

I hope you all have a nice weekend.  I think I’m going to go outside for a while.  Take in a walk, the sunshine, breathe in the fresh air after being cloistered in my writing room for so long.  Stretch out the kinks.  Bye for now.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Saturday, May 03, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Hello

My boy Dave was here for a couple of days with his bud Derek.  They’d gone up to Oregon on a road trip saw some friends, mountain biked all over the place.  Swung by here to see the family.  And it was nice, having them in the house, so appreciative of home cooked food.  I baked up a storm, Don too.  My pants are feeling a bit snug at the moment, but I don’t care.  It was lovely having David home.  I wish Will had been feeling better.  Felt bad that he was sick.  He loves it when David and/or Emily come home. 

I wrote again today.  I was scared to go in.  Scared that I wouldn’t be able to accomplish what I think this manuscript needs.  Still don’t know if I can, but I’m glad that I made myself sit down at the page.  Slow going in the beginning.  Working for a long time, only able to eek out two and a half pages.  But two and a half pages is better than no pages.  And I feel real good that I faced my fears.  That I went in, even though I was tired and wanted to go to bed. 

Good, bad or indifferent, I went in, sat down, turned my computer on, and tried to write.  And you know what, that’s an accomplishment in itself.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, May 01, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Back in the writing

I started the sixth draft of the manuscript that used to be called The Big Muckle today.  It used to be in first person.  I am trying this go around not only in third person, but with several different POV.  I’ve decided to resurrect the ex-husband from the dead, and a zillions other things. 

Who knows how it will all play out?  But it feels like it’s worth a try.

It’s an exciting, daunting, scary feeling.  I was hoping that I’d be able to use huge hunks of the old manuscript and just change it from first person to third, but the whole approach to the material is different this time, and it is doubtful I’ll be able to lift much, if anything. 

If I had known it, before I dove in today, would I have decided to go forward with attempting another rewrite?  I don’t know.  But now I am in it and there is no going back.  We’ll see what happens. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Wednesday, April 30, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Blog entry deleted

This used to be a blog about why I decided not to do that movie.  It was very funny, but someone read it, and you know what I was saying about an over-inflated ego and control-freak tendencies.  Well...I’ll let you figure out what happened. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Wednesday, April 30, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Poor Will

I got a call from the school around 9:15 this morning.  Will was sick and needed to be picked up.  He didn’t eat a lot of breakfast this morning, I figured it was because we had a huge dinner last night and he was still full.  Only had one boiled egg, one English muffin, one slice of bacon and two or three pieces of fresh pineapple. 

Now some people might be reading this and saying to themselves, that is a HUGE breakfast, but believe me, for a 6’3” teenage boy, that is small.

I pulled up to the school and he came out.  I knew by the way he was walking that it was not good. 

And it hasn’t been.  He hasn’t been this sick since he was seven.  All the color drained out of his face.  And then once we were home and the sickness set in even more, his face got even more pale, which I could have swore wouldn’t have been possible.  Thank God he’s listening to me about drinking fluids.  I’ve been trying to mix it up with all kinds of options.  De-hydration is the biggest concern with a bad flu.  I’ve been giving him chicken broth, Gatorade, water, soda crackers, and home-made iced tea.  Food is impossible. 

Around two hours ago, his eyes got glittery and the fever set in. 

I hope he’s better soon. 

He’s so polite when he’s sick.  He’s always been that way.  Some people get mean and grouchy when they are sick.  I suppose it’s because they are scared, but not Will.  The worse his sickness hits him, the sweeter and politer he gets.  All, yes please, and thank you, and no thank you, I’m fine.  Sick as a dog and as good as a saint.  That’s my Will for you. 

Will continue to check on him through the night.  Got my fingers crossed that tomorrow he wakes up with some color in his face.  Make sure you wash your hands everyone, lots of soap and water.  This is a really bad flu.  You don’t want to get it.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Tuesday, April 29, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

shifting gears

So sleepy today.  Went to bed so late and then woke up at 6 AM.  Couldn’t fall back into my sleep wave so I went downstairs and read the character info my sister sent me and then got inspired to start working on my own. 

I’ve never done an improv movie.  Actually, I didn’t know such a thing exists.  Not quite sure how the whole thing works.  I guess I’ll find out as we go along. 

Hard to believe that I’m going to be in Cannes in around two weeks, hanging out with Jenny, acting.  It’s weird.  A mix of feelings.  Been so long since I’ve done this kind of stuff.  Not sure how I feel.  On one hand, I’m excited to spend the time with Jenny, free-falling into the work. 

On the other hand, it’s all very well to be content with being forty-eight years old and all that goes with it, but do I really want it to be documented, photographed and blown up to the gargantuan size that is required to fill a movie screen?  What forty-eight year old woman in her right mind would be jumping up and down saying ”Yes!” ?

Not only that, but will I be able to fly along at the same rate as the other actors, none of whom have taken a fourteen year hiatus?  Many of them have done these improv movies before with the director. 

And how does this whole, no concrete script, no written dialogue thing work?  Even though it seems to me, that there is a freedom in it, because the camera is just rolling and the scene unfolds however it does.  There is a sense that maybe the character will feel more like it is mine.  Rather than a chess piece being moved about.  But it’s an odd feeling too.  I am so used to finding clues about the back-story from the script.  With this project, each person writes their own back-story. 

And then I wonder, since they don’t know what they are going to have until it comes out of everybody’s mouths, how will they know how to cover it?  Will they be able to cut it?  And then I think, It’s none of your business, Meg.  And I try to let it go.

I called my old acting agent, Ilene, today, and we talked about the logistics, when they needed me, where I would be staying, and it was wonderful to hear her voice, to be chatting like old times and at the same time, it was sort of strange too, how there is the familiarity and yet a huge hunk of time has passed.  Everything the same, but different.

What an interesting life I have.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Sunday, April 27, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

I didn’t win but…

I had a damned good time!  The food was better than edible.  I have never been to a big banquet dinner where I actually ate the food.  Not only that, I didn’t know that I knew so many people.  It’s going to sound weird, it’s a hard feeling to explain, but it felt like I was beginning to be part of this writing community.  Seriously.  People kept coming by and saying hello, giving me hugs, and it didn’t stop after the prize was handed to someone else.  If anything, I had an even better time. 

Christianne whooping and hollering her hands clapping wide and big over her head when my name was announced and I had to stand up.  (I’m grinning at my computer right now remembering it.) Her fierce hug afterwards and her note that I read when I got home and washed my face.

The white rose that was pinned to my dress, so everyone would know that I was a nominee.  It felt special. 

The bagpiper who walked with a bent-kneed-glide and led the procession of the Lieutenant Governor and the other dignitaries that were there.

Rita Wong won the poetry prize for her poetry collection Forage. And I am so happy for her.  We spent the last week on the book tour and if I could have chosen anyone to win something, it would have been her.  Not just because her poetry rocks, but because of everything she is, how she walks in the world, the straight forward, pure truth that surrounds her. 

Karen was there, and James too.  And a lovely man in a velvet jacket and a kilt said such sweet things to me, and he had such kind eyes, and I enjoyed talking with him and wished I knew him better so I could ask him if the rumors about what was, or wasn’t under the kilt were true. 

Another man in a green shirt and a dark blue blazer introduced himself and told me how much he loved Gemma.  That it was a hard, but important book.  And when he said this and other things too, my eyes filled up, because Gemma is my child that nobody wanted, and that he saw her beauty, said these things to me, moved me deeply. 

Several of my favorite booksellers came by and said hello.  It was cozy.  I wish I didn’t suck at names.  I remembered faces, incidents, conversations even, but I don’t remember the names.

And then when Robert Wiersema and Dennis Foon joined up with me and Don, well the conversation topics got a little out of hand, but I suppose I am to blame partly for that.  It’s fun being bad.  I haven’t laughed so much in quite a while. 

Robert is almost finished the first draft of his new novel, which is really exciting.  And he and his family are going on a very long cruise, which I hope will be exciting and action-packed in a good way, not the throwing-up variety.

It is one o’clock in the morning, and I should go to bed, but sleep is impossible.  I’m still too excited by the evening.  Tonight made me want to write.  But Don is waiting, patiently upstairs, so tomorrow. Tomorrow I write.  And hopefully, write well.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Saturday, April 26, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

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