I have a love-hate relationship with three things in my life: my dog, my canoe, and my writing life.
My dog, Maggie Jean, is a 100-pound goofy black lab. Heavy on the hoof; short on grey matter between the ears. I’ve heard it said that it takes three years for a lab to get a brain. Maggie Jean is six now; we’re still waiting.
Next is Cleo, my canoe. She’s 14 feet of battered blue fiberglass and looks as if she’s been through the Boer War. Yet we’ve had some extraordinary journeys over the past 30 years.
She’s still strong and sturdy, save for a maddening leak somewhere in the bow. I’ve patched her many times but water seeps in from some mysterious spot and the leak persists. It’s most aggravating — like a wart that won’t go away. But as our home is less than 100 feet from a river, I’m prone to looking for excuses to take Cleo for an excursion — in spite of that incessant leak. Maggie Jean’s never far behind.
This brings me to m
y third love-hate item: deadlines. Douglas Adams, author of The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, once said, “I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they go by.” When I first read this I laughed out loud. Today, however, that line gives me a bad case of the shakes, for at this very moment I’m facing a deadline. Two, in fact, and missing a deadline is suicidal. My stomach feels like it’s kneading a mix of molten lava and broken glass.
The first story that’s due is a profile for a lifestyle magazine about a fishing community that is loaded with history, colourful characters and unique bits that I’m anxious to celebrate. I loved researching the story, meeting people and conducting interviews. But at this moment I’m seized with fear. What if I don’t get it right?
The second story is a travel article about a trip I took to Wales a few weeks ago. As part of a travel writer’s conference, there were pre-tours. I signed up for “Fine Food & Fresh Air.” We ate our way across the country. When I wasn’t stuffing my face, I came upon some wonderful stories. But I can’t cram a full week into one page. Where oh where to start?
And that’s the amazing thing about meeting people. Stories are as abundant as raindrops in a deluge. I’ve also discovered that being privy to the lives of hundreds of folks and sharing a sliver of what makes them tick is quite a perk. It’s like being perpetually enrolled in a Humanities 101 course.
But, as a writer, I hav
e an obligation to share that information with readers. Although, I confess, I recently wondered: if I didn’t have to work, would I actually write or simply go out of my way to meet people and just yak with them, not bothering to take notes or tape conversations? Hmm. I could call myself a ‘life investigator’ instead of a “writer.”
Alas, I need the money. But I do love to write. So writing is a big bonus for storytellers as magazines, newspapers and blogs provide ready-made audiences. Once in a blue moon, someone contacts me to say how much they enjoyed reading such and such. Bliss! Pudgy little me at 5-ft.-2 turns into a 7-ft. goddess.
Then that blasted deadline lunges in like unwanted company, and I shrivel to 4-foot zip and scurry back to the keyboard.
Facing a blank screen is about the scariest encounter I’ve ever had. Some call it writer’s block. Mind you, panic can serve a purpose. The thought of facing a blank page the past couple of days has propelled me to clean my office, plant pansies, iron a small mountain of clothes, polish silver candlesticks and try a new recipe. I could put MP after my byline (Master Procrastinator.)
Uh-oh. I’m running out of time. I have exactly 51 hours before the community profile is due and 33 hours to file the travel piece. Presumably I’ll also need some sleep.
But, dear reader, right now the sun’s shining, casting diamonds downstream. There’s not much wind. Perfect time to take the brainless wonder and head out for a wee paddle. Might even discover where Cleo’s leak originates.
I say to my muse: I’ll tackle that blank page when I get back. Promise.
Photo Credits
“Maggie Jean” © Sandra Phinney
“Sandra in her old canoe called Cleo, on the banks of the Tusket River” © Barrie MacGregor
“Author faces blank page yet once more” © Sandra Phinney
Recent Sandra Phinney Articles:
- Puckering up for Valentines
- Gifts From Hanoi
- Labrador: "Big Land" and Great Food
- Seaweed Secrets
- The taste of respect
Sandra, I wanted to comment on this article from the perspective of a fellow writer, but I can’t think of a single thing to say.
Lorne, it’s confession time: I met the deadline for the travel piece on Wales but ran into big trouble with the community profile. Part of my procrastination was that I couldn’t figure out who the main character was. Believe it or not, while canoeing, I had the “aha!” moment and everything fell into place. But I needed to do two more interviews to flesh out some backstory in order for the main story to make sense. Mercifully the editor gave me an extension. Whew.
And yes, I’ll do an update on this article and will provide links when my stories are published. Thanks for asking.
Sandra, not to put more pressure on, but I am now looking forward to an update of this article with links to your completed community profile and travel pieces 🙂