Archive for the ‘remembering place’ Category
places for writers … writing workshops – part two
Sometimes the ‘place’ experienced at a writing workshop is the local area, the community where the workshop is held. I wrote this poem in 2014 after a writing workshop at WordSpring in Saint Andrews (New Brunswick) …
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encounters
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on a windy night
in Saint Andrews, a toad
out of place, hop-toddies across
the street
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also, on Prince of Wales, a deer
pauses on the sidewalk, stares
up the hill, and I hesitate
before driving on
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in the Algonquin, a light
switches on, in the room I know is mine
and a couple huddles on the hotel porch
their attitude more suited to summer
than a night when leaves skip
mottled across the street
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Previously published in ‘writing weekend’, June, 2014, http://www.nichepoetryandprose.wordpress.com
Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
places for writers … writing workshops – part one
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For a writer, spring is often a time for attending writing workshops. Last month I attended part three of a workshop about writing life stories. In the next couple of months, I plan to attend short courses as part of the Writers’ Federation of New Brunswick’s WordSpring weekend, and a workshop about nature writing ( http://www.natureofwords.com/writing-workshops/write-in-nature/ ).
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Partly because my current fiction project ‘Crossing at a Walk’ is about a writers’ retreat, I have been thinking about the spaces where writing workshops are held. I have attended workshops at hotels with comfortable meeting rooms and lovely gardens. I have also been at workshops in huge community auditoriums and cosy private homes. One year my writing group went to a retreat at the Abbey in Rogersville in eastern New Brunswick and experienced simple dormitory surroundings in a very spiritual setting.
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Some of the rooms have been so noisy or full of echoes thinking is impossible. Some spaces are quiet, meditative. Auditoriums can be freezing cold. Workshops in summer can be stifling and hot. I remember one July week at the University of New Brunswick during the Maritime Writers’ Workshop … every writer in the poetry workshop had an electric fan. Our instructor shook her head and said, ‘Those poets, they want to carry their own space with them!’
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I think the most variable aspect of space in the writers’ workshop is the ‘chair’. Some are comfortable, built to allow both body and mind to relax. At one workshop the designer chairs were so flimsy, I spent the entire time worrying I would fall to the floor!
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Although I have attended many workshops on writing, in many different spaces, I continue to benefit from these experiences and to learn more about the craft of writing.
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- Every workshop facilitator or leader offers a unique perspective on approaches to writing. It is rare for me to leave a workshop without some new technique or method for improving my writing.
- Writing workshops cover a variety of themes. I am a writer of poetry and fiction, but I have received some of my most valuable training from workshops about writing screenplays and non – fiction.
- Learnings can be so simple, obvious even. For example, it seems I have to be reminded, over and over, to try techniques such as writing from the perspective of various characters.
- Workshops create an opportunity to meet other writers. Meeting old and new friends and renewing past acquaintances is a constant source of inspiration for me.
- The workshops I attend contribute to my own history of being a writer and demonstrate my interest in the writing community and in improving my skills as a writer. Even retired, I continue to build my resumé since publication and grant applications are an important part of my writing life.
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Hot or cold, noisy or quiet, on chairs designed to break backs or to summon comfort, the workshop space itself can be a source of experience and inspiration. A lot of those chairs, cold spaces and pinging echoes have found their ways into my writing. For some reason, the places I encounter on the drive home from a workshop also make it into my poems.
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Have you attended any writing workshops and has the workshop space influenced your writing for better or worse?
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Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
words from the woodland – where branches touch
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fear of heights
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as dizzying to look up
in the forest
as down
into the abyss
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the trees taper so
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they lean
water birch
against fir
rubbed raw
where branches touch
or reach for one another
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and sudden, wrenching sounds
a branch swings back or breaks
loosed by a squirrel
burdened where crows complain
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or where a warbler scolds
teacher teacher teacher
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Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
red sled
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on her sled
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from the window
I watch her
she is one red mitten, lost
on the path, smitten
by the four-footed track
of a wild rabbit
hurrying home
or the toe of a red
shoe, peeks from under
the hem of a white
crinoline, a cardinal launches
from one tree, snow-laden
to another
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Copyright. 2015 Jane Tims
campfire
I love a campfire. If you visit our property, you would know this because there is a fire pit for every occasion.
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We have a stone fireplace, made from big granite cobbles, for serious fires. We have a chiminea on the back deck, perfect for a quick fire in spring or summer. And now I have a metal fire pit on the front lawn.
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Fire is insubstantial yet so powerful. It can be dangerous but soothing. When I sit in front of a fire, watching the flames, I feel I am sharing community with every person who has ever tended a campfire.
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
a Heidi picnic
When I was a child, one of my favorite books was Johanna Spyri’s Heidi. I loved reading about Heidi and Peter’s trips to the alpine meadow to watch over the goats. And I loved the simplicity of their dinner … milk and cheese and bread. My favorite picnic lunch is a version of theirs and I always think of it as a ‘Heidi Picnic’.
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A week ago, my husband and I took a short vacation in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. We followed the Route des Sommets, a trail of roadways through the elevations of the Quebec Appalachians …
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We admired the architecture of the churches – spires and rose windows …
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and we sampled the local food, squeaky cheese curds, herbed cheese, sweet honey, crisp Lobo apples, and yeasty artisan bread … our Heidi picnic …
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
writing weekend
This weekend, I will be attending WordSpring. WordSpring is the annual spring meeting and workshop of the New Brunswick Writers’ Federation. I will be reading some of the poetry from my ‘harvesting colour’ manuscript and I will get another eye on part of my novel at a Blue Pencil Café.
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Preparations for the weekend made me think of a poem I wrote after the workshop in Saint Andrews a few years ago …
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encounters
~
on a windy night
in Saint Andrews, a toad
hop-toddies across the road,
bewildered
~
and on Prince of Wales, a deer
pauses on the sidewalk, stares
up the hill, and I hesitate
before driving on
~
in the Algonquin, a light
switches on, in the room I know is mine
and a couple huddles on the open porch,
and leaves, mottled, skid
along the street
~
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
remembering place: high school
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In Grade 10, 11 and 12, I went to Sidney Stephen High in Bedford Nova Scotia .
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I had good friends. I loved all my teachers. I took swimming and golf lessons. I went to school dances and played piano at our various talent nights. I was on our school’s Reach for the Top team and answered only one question during the television program … name Santa’s eight reindeer! We lost to Halifax West, the school where my Dad was Vice-Principal.
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I walked the sidewalk above so many times. Once I carried Myles Goodwyn’s guitar down that hill. The guitar was borrowed for a weekend, something to do with a talent night. Myles Goodwyn is producer, singer, guitarist and composer in one of Canada’s greatest rock groups, April Wine.
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Just outside the end door in the wing of the school visible in the image above, sitting on the grass, I helped my friends prepare for a test on William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. Among my friends, I alone actually read the book, and I made the lowest test score of the four people I coached that day!!!
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English and History were my favorite subjects. My English teachers were Mr. Burke and Mrs. Bussey. I learned about Shakespeare, the Romantic poets and travel writing. I remember Mr. Burke’s class so clearly: ‘Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ (Ozymandias, Shelley). In Mrs. Bussey’s English class we went to live theatre and I fell in love with set design. I remember the two-storey backdrop of the set for Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night at Neptune Theatre. The house I live in today, which my husband and I built with the help of my Dad, has a loft inspired by that set.
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Our History teacher, Mr. Harvey, was a great inspiration, taking us to all the historical nooks and crannies in the area. Our History Club researched the first length of the old stagecoach route between Lower Sackville and Truro (surveyed in 1817-1818 by Woolford; for an old map of this road, see http://www.novascotia.ca/nsarm/virtual/woolford/archives.asp?ID=11). For the project we actually walked the old road, even then almost obscured by the growth of the forest. We could still see the path of the road by looking for the younger trees in the landscape, and we could find the old culverts. Later, we made a 3-D model of the road and its path between lakes and hills. Today, the old road begins at the Fultz Museum in Sackville (once Fultz’s Twelve-mile House, an inn along the way) and follows various local roads, including part of the Old Cobequid Road. I once lived (my first apartment) just across the lake from the old road (the long lake in the upper part of the map below).
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If we ever had one, I did not go to my class reunion for Sidney Stephen. I gradually lost touch with my friends, although I know where they live (not a threat!) and a little about their lives since High School. And I still talk to Mr. Burke, my English teacher, occasionally. Some friends I will never see again and that makes me very sad.
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims






































