The ABCs of 2018

Welp. The planet and everyone on it lasted another year, which is, frankly, astounding to me at this point. (I have never claimed to be an optimist.) Happy last day of 2018, everyone. Let's see how far we can make it into 2019!

So here's my 2018 alphabet. I love doing this every year; my friend Courtney got me into it. I don't expect anyone to read mine—it's super long—but you should do one yourself. It's fun, both to do now and to look back on later.
(2017, 2016)


a - A few of the things I did anywhere from more than twice to every single week: walked around the lake and to the park, hung out at friends' houses, taco night at The Lobby with Shlee, early morning writing sessions at the Bean, trips to the museums and art gallery, made elaborate Sunday brunches with Barclay.

b - Built a desk and some bookshelves in our bedroom—can't have too many desks, can't have too many bookshelves. Made a desk for Sully in his bedroom too (he was so thrilled; he said, "OH I GET MY OWN THUMB TACK BOARD!" and, "Um, my desk needs a plant like yours has. In a real vase.")

c - Car trips: To Erin's house with Kate, to Frontier to visit my family a couple of times, lots of trips out of town to see Scarlett's parents, to Saskatoon for a cousin's wedding and to Medicine Hat for another cousin's wedding. No flying again this year (come on, 2019).

d - Drove also to Moose Jaw to attend the Saskatchewan Festival of Words with Hannah.

e - Editing. In 2018 alone, I closely edited V&V (counts on fingers) seven, maybe eight times. Editing with a publisher is a whole new ball game—editorial letters! Copy edits! Proofreads! Style sheets! It's like taking a writing class every time you do a round, which is excellent.

f - Film agent. We got an amazing film agent attached to V&V, and maybe nothing will come of it but it was really fun to start brainstorming actresses and daydreaming about sending my baby to Hollywood.

g - Gardened! Or, tried. And, subsequently, failed miserably. I killed everything in the yard, you guys. Everything. Even the grass died.

h - Had our car broken into twice—the second time was yesterday morning. I got up at 4:30 am to take a friend to the airport and was, like, super overjoyed to discover that the car had been trashed only moments earlier (there were fresh footprints in the falling snow) (I was so sleepy and so mad I was tempted to follow those footprints and give a good lecture to somebody).

I - I sold an article to Freelance Magazine (the Sask Writers' Guild's quarterly), to be published in 2019. It'll be my first publication in a physical magazine, which is very fun.

j - Just was such a bad book club member. (Last year's J was 'joined a book club.') I don't think I read even one of the book club books this year. Am I even still in the book club? I joined another one, too, and haven't been to a single meeting.

k - Kaeli, my good friend, started teaching Intro to Bullet Journalling classes at the Paper Umbrella and I went to one. She taught me a lot this year about how great it feels to support your friends in their endeavors, and how great it feels when they support you back.

l - Lake Union Publishing offered me a two-book book deal in January.

m - Music, live! This year I saw Jack White, Tokyo Police Club, a Beatles tribute band, Robyn Koester, Nazareth, Bruce Cockburn, Shakey Graves, Walk Off the Earth, Matt Holubowski, Neko Case, the Arkells, the Regina Symphony Orchestra, Big Wreck, Delhi 2 Dublin, Begonia, Close Talker, and Bears in Hazenmore. Went to Swampfest, Winterruption, and Folk Fest.

n - Neglected a lot of housework this year. It's like, WHEN, you know?

o - Onions, red. This year, I got super into red onions. I used to only buy white onions, but I haven't purchased a white onion in months. Crazy, isn't it? Red onions.

p - Peregrine Landscape Construction: the name of Barclay's new business that he started in August of this year. I'm so excited for him and proud of him; he's got one employee and they have half a season under their belt. Going well!

q - Quite enjoyed many quiet evenings this year at the kitchen table with Barclay, him working on his business and me on my books, drinking coffee and sometimes interrupting each other to ask for opinions or advice or whatever.

r - Read 14 books—which I'm going to consider pretty good, considering it was a crazy busy year. This doesn't include the books Barclay read out loud to me though, so...probably closer to 20.

s - Sullivan turned 4 & Scarlett turned 2—today, actually! (Happy Birthday, Scarlatti!)

t - Tourism Regina sent me to some fun events—mostly concerts and music festivals (above) but also the CP Women's Open, Nuit Blanche, Cinema Under the Stars, the RCMP Heritage Museum, the Ex, Fan Expo, and Video Games Live.

u - Undertow by Stars was one of my favorite songs. (The song itself is off of the Sad Robots EP, which is from 2008 or something, but, I don't know, it just never caught me until this year, and then I listened to it a lot.)

v - Vacation. Our family vacation this year was a couple of days in Saskatoon. We walked around, drank coffee, etc. It was super chill.

w - Wrote my second book, which I'm going to turn in to my publisher in the new year.

x - XXXI (see y)

y - Yes, I turned 31.

z - zebra sightings: 0.

Dear Loved Ones IRL

“Writing is something you do alone. Its a profession for introverts who want to tell you a story but don't want to make eye contact while doing it." - John Green

I was on a walk with someone the other day and she asked how the book stuff was going and I said it was going well and she said, "I'm so excited to read it!"

And I, immediately flattered and flustered and touched, said, "Yeah!...and then we can both pretend you didn't, right?"

She seemed surprised and asked me to explain myself, and I promptly found that I couldn't. I just did a lot of mumbling about how the whole thing is so fun, and so exciting, yes, it is, totally, and also I just never want to have to discuss it with anyone I know very well in real life. 

This confused things further because, of course, there is this: I have a blog where I write a lot, including about the books, and it is not a private blog. I have an Instagram account where I share, on average, a picture a day, and where I talk about the writing process a lot. And then, you know, I wrote these books and, with great effort and absolutely on purpose, am having them published. Publicly. 

So it's understandably confusing when I say to someone that I want to pretend with close friends and family, offline, that none of this is actually happening. Yes. Confounding.

I have had ten thousand iterations of this conversation in the past year or so, and I've found that I'm not getting any better at explaining myself. In fact, at best I'm confusing everyone, and at worst I'm offending them or maybe even hurting their feelings. The fact that I came here, to my blog, to work out and write out what I can never seem to say in real life almost feels like an explanation in and of itself. But I'll try to elaborate just a touch more. 

Okay.

I'm not even sure where to start. Maybe with this:

Do I contradict myself?

Very well, then, I contradict myself

(I am large, I contain multitudes)

- Walt Whitman

I have always wanted to be an author. I have always loved writing. And I have always been terrified of people reading what I write. I want people to read what I've written, because that's obviously a measure of success as an author, and I want to be published so that lots of people can read what I've written, and I don't want anyone to read what I've written because I'm the one who wrote it. 

When I started this blog, I protected it from everyone I knew in real life—Barclay, my family, my friends, everyone. There was a tiny community of strangers who read my blog, and I read theirs, and it was just a great way to practise writing and to connect with other people who loved writing too. It was a simpler time, when the internet wasn't so searchable, when blogs weren't so discoverable. As people began to find this place, though, I realized I had to make a decision: give up this hobby that I loved and the community I built here, because CRIPPLING EMBARRASSMENT, or keep on going and pretend like I didn't die inside every time someone in real life told me they'd stumbled across my blog or someone had shared it with them. 

This already sounds dumb. Bear with me; these are just my actual feelings. I just actually feel them. 

So the book thing, at first, was much the same as the blog thing. I was going to keep it a secret. I was going to use a pen name and tell NO ONE. My dream has never been fame; my dream has been the finished product: a legit book. Professionally edited and designed and published. 

Barclay said, "There are a few people who would want to know you wrote a book." And then I almost decided not to write a book because, well, he was right. People would be put out if I didn't tell them, and I was not willing to tell them. But then I found that I was so attached to the idea of publishing a book that I also couldn't not do that. I was stuck between something I could not do and something I could not not do and at first I couldn't tell whether it would be harder to do something hard or to not do something wonderful...and somehow, I ended up here.

And this is how it's been for every single step in the process. Weighing the outcome against my fear, briefly considering giving up, and then pushing forward in spite of myself.

My bestest-best friends know that I mostly deliver book news by text message (or not at all) and then get really, really weird about it if they want to follow up in real life. I can barely even say the names of my books out loud because I wrote those too. 

I got my book deal in January and didn't tell my parents about it until April (and then I did it via super awkward text message, sandwiched in between a picture of something Sullivan made and a funny story about something he said).

And Barclay will attest to the fact that any time I get good news about this process, or any time I have a phone meeting with my agent or editor, I get actually, physically ill. The better the news, the sicker I get. My whole entire being suffers from stage fright. (It's actually kind of incredible, the way the brain is, like, connected to the body like that.)

All that said, I'm loving it. I have had a headache for months and the knots in my shoulders are like rocks, but I'm having the time of my life, I really am. I'm so happy and sick and it's all I want to talk about and I do not want to talk about it at all—like really, at all. I would not create a fictional character like this because my editors would say she didn't make sense. They'd say, "So her life-long dream is finally coming true and she just wants to pretend nothing's happening? This is dumb."

And I'd say, "Oh, it's not that she wants to pretend it's not happening. She'd be okay talking to strangers about it."

And they'd be like, "What about her charming, supportive husband who cares so much and asks so many intentional questions?"

And I'd say, "Mm...maybe him sometimes. Depending on her mood. But he's kind of figured her out and knows which questions make her eye twitch and he avoids those. It's really actually very sweet."

Anyway. This is my brain, hello and welcome, I'm sorry if it's weird. I will try my best to not be a jerk, but maybe, if you know me in real life, you could sometimes—just sometimes—meet me in the middle and pretend like I'm an architect or an accountant or some other occupation where we don't really talk about the specifics of my job very much. And the rest of the time I will laugh too much and turn too red and make self-deprecating jokes and steer the conversation hard the other way without even meaning to. (Don't forget that I'm saving you too, because what if you want to talk about this, like, all the time and then you actually read it and you hate it and suddenly you don't know how to mention it in front of me without being super awkward...)

And we will mutually understand that we love each other and that's actually why I'm so shy about this in front of you, and neither of us think that makes much sense but, hey, people don't make sense in all kinds of ways! You're weird too, you just don't write about it on the internet.

Which is probably a good call.