nichepoetryandprose

poetry and prose about place

Archive for the ‘remembering place’ Category

places for writers … writing workshops – part two

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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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'oak leaves and acorns'

‘oak leaves and acorns’

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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

~

also, 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 hotel porch

their attitude more suited to summer

than a night when leaves skip

mottled across the street

~

~

Previously published in ‘writing weekend’, June, 2014,  http://www.nichepoetryandprose.wordpress.com

Copyright  2015  Jane Tims

Written by jane tims

May 15, 2015 at 7:51 am

places for writers … writing workshops – part one

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St. Thomas University workshop ‘Understanding Our Stories’, facilitated by Deborah Carr, 2015

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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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  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.
  4. 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.
  5. 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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‘birch trees’ Jane Tims

 

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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

~

~

Copyright  2015  Jane Tims

Written by jane tims

February 2, 2015 at 7:04 am

Posted in remembering place, writing

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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
~
~
Copyright. 2015 Jane Tims

Written by jane tims

January 14, 2015 at 2:05 pm

campfire

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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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December 26, 2011, ‘watching the fire’, Jane Tims

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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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first fire in my metal fire pit - leaves and wood  wet after yesterday's rain

first fire in my metal fire pit – leaves and wood wet after yesterday’s rain

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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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a summer campfire during a visit with family and friends

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Copyright 2014  Jane Tims

 

Written by jane tims

October 27, 2014 at 7:30 am

a Heidi picnic

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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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view along the Route des Sommets in the Eastern Townships of Quebec

view along the Route des Sommets in the Eastern Townships of Quebec

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We admired the architecture of the churches – spires and rose windows …

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Catholic church in East Angus, Quebec

Catholic church in East Angus, Quebec

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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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our Heidi picnic in Quebec

our Heidi picnic in Quebec

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Copyright  2014  Jane Tims

Written by jane tims

September 22, 2014 at 7:16 am

writing weekend

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This weekend, I will be attending WordSpringWordSpring 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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October 9, 2011 ‘Moon through the trees’ Jane Tims

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

~

~

Copyright  2014  Jane  Tims

remembering place: high school

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swing chair voyages.png

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In Grade 10, 11 and 12, I went to Sidney Stephen High in Bedford Nova Scotia .

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Sidney Stephen High

Sidney Stephen High (now a Middle School)

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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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old road scakville to truro

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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