Upcoming Readings

 Posted by at 10:34 am  No Responses »
Nov 252011
 

I’m grateful for opportunities to read my work, and the courage I realize when I grasp those opportunities. I am a writer first and speaker second – although all writing is a form of speech, passed silently from one soul to another. Before a reading, I feel nervous. Upon beginning, I find the words transport me to another place, as is my intention. My sense of self, always fluid, takes on elements of the characters I create. Writing is a dynamic process – an act of subversion – and reading adds another dimension to that quiet revolution.

I welcome you to join me at these readings, not only to hear my words, but the words of the many talented writers with whom I am fortunate to share a birthright of literary courage!

Out of the Warm Land: Cowichan Writers 3

Out of the Warm Land: Cowichan Writers 3
Vancouver Island Regional Library, Cowichan Branch
Saturday, 26 November 2011, 2-4pm

I am thrilled to be a part of this anthology of short stories, curated by Claudia Tenold of Ten Old Books, Duncan. This is the third year that Claudia has supported local writers by giving us a platform in which to see our words in print. The authors will read excerpts from their work, alphabetically by surname, so I will be reading later in the session.

The organizers write that copies of all three anthologies in the Out of the Warm Land series will be on sale ($10 for numbers 1 & 2, and $12 for this year’s edition) and coffee, tea and treats will be served.

For The Love of Words, hosted by Bill Levity
Duncan Garage Showroom
Tuesday, 29 November 2011, 8pm-ish to 10pm-ish

I plan to read an excerpt from my current novel in progress, which is a creative stretch for me, being about a middle-aged woman dealing with life’s challenges in a locale amazingly similar to the Cowichan Valley!

The Duncan Garage Showroom is an amazing creative venue for artists of all ilks and ills, run by Longevity John, who bills himself as the Showroom’s ‘benevolent dictator’. In this role, Longevity John keeps an intelligent, lively and well-rounded arts community alive in the Valley, and we’re all the better off for his commitment.

Bill Levity is the talented and entertaining master of ceremonies of “For the Love of Words”, which falls on the fourth Tuesday of every month and is billed as:

“… a written word appreciation night… come out and share your poems, stories or your favourite piece by someone else… sing, chant, word break-dancing, read off the page, it’s a night of word appreciation… most empowering and invigorating… $5 for readers… $10 for others”

The next reading is the fourth anniversary of this event. Having been to my first reading there last month, I can tell you that this is a funny and moving expression of creativity. It’s the kind of atmosphere you wish you’d always grown up with. It’s never too late to have the creative childhood you always wanted!

See you there, in body or spirit!

Blessings,
Jane

Raven flew in

 Posted by at 9:09 am  1 Response »
Apr 212007
 

A friend of mine is fond of the saying: “The only permanent thing is change.” That maxim has been true of my life recently, and will be for some time to come, I am certain. Words have circulated in my head. I have planned journal entries that flow seamlessly while I am measuring the streets of the neighbourhood with my feet. Yet, when I sit down to write, the words are censored: they choke, and somehow I do not make time to allow them to flow. Inside, I am snarled in the weeds, stagnant, unable to move, while outwardly I seem to be making progress, as evidenced by the movement of one foot before the other.

In early March I was visited by a dream in which I was, for want of a better phrase, a bird-woman spirit, with a worn, ruffled plumage of black feathers. I was set upon by a group of others who, with apparent disregard for my natural state, turned my feathers a deep sky blue. Before I had time to adjust to that change, they turned the feathers red and incited me to feel anger and express the emotions long held inward. Afraid of that anger, I resisted, which only made them heckle me more strongly. I awoke feeling unsettled.

The next three days when I ventured outside, I saw a raven fly by, uttering her somehow plaintive yet insistent cry. On the third day, she spoke continuously as she flew over, as if expecting me to understand every word of her detailed and demanding song. For the raven is a songbird – something I was not aware of until she flew into my life. In the weeks since then, Raven has visited often, going so far to appear as a black dog whose owner called “Raven” to her as they passed.

Collective wisdom describes Raven as a guide to deeper magic and the mysteries. She is the harbinger of continuous change. While I am not sure of all the things she is telling me, I am certain one is this – to not be complacent in my earthly frame, to challenge myself to keep evolving, and most importantly, to root out the places of fear, anger and poor self-esteem that keep me stuck and separate from access to the magic that resides within me.

Sometimes it is too easy to yield to the continual chronic pain of the body (and yes, the mind), and allow it to drag me away from my purpose – to write, to heal, to teach, to learn, to grow. Opportunities unfold around me, and amazing people walk into my life who understand the nature of the “withered” me I have kept locked away in the dark, afraid of what she might say. Tentatively, bravely, I begin to speak. I do things that seem hard for me right now. Talking to others, answering a telephone, even writing in this journal. I know the spirit inside me will unfurl, and the damaged feathers will heal and shine. I will go through many transitions, many colours, many feelings, which may scare me, but I will do, nonetheless.

Illustrated by a more recent dream, I will learn to let go of the clutter that I carry with me – substitutes for feeling and living that fall from bags and pockets and leave me scrambling to pick up these false treasures and keep them close to me. I will let others see the hurts and scars as they fall away, scattering like battered parcels on the pavement at my feet. They no longer serve me. They keep me from expressing fully, and keep me living in fear and shame of all the things I did not do because I was afraid. I will let them scatter, and I will discover the feathers that were concealed beneath my burden. I will learn to speak and not be afraid. I will learn to fly. I am certain this is the challenge that Raven has thrown down to me.

Favourite quotes

 Posted by at 4:25 pm  No Responses »
Sep 012006
 

My website background features one of my photos of the coast at Sorrento, Victoria, Australia. Sorrento is one of my favourite places in the world, where history meets the present, cocooned by the warm waters of Port Philip Bay and the colder depths of Bass Strait. Perfect for quiet walks and silent introspection at sunrise. Places like these give me strength that I might otherwise not have to draw upon in this earthly frame.

I also draw a lot of courage and strength from the epigrams and writings of other people – be they writers, philosophers, dreamers, realists, or scientists. Here are some of my favourites.

Words are the voice of the heart.” – Confucius

“We would never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.” – Helen Keller

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” – Oscar Wilde

“Well, I’ve wrestled with reality for 35 years, Doctor, and I’m happy to state I finally won out over it.” – Elwood P. Dowd

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.” – Robert Frost

“The sleeper must awaken.” – Frank Herbert

“Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart … Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.” – Carl Jung

Sanctuary

 Posted by at 5:57 am  2 Responses »
Nov 062004
 

Not for a long time, has a place sung “home” like this one does. It’s all been so quick – the work so hard, the ensuing body flare and pain so overwhelming – that the mind really hasn’t caught up with it yet. This place is ours, our new home close to sea, mountains and trees. Fog wraps the mountains, Canada geese congregate in the nearby field, and underneath our very window, amidst the perennials, a lonely maple turns yellow and seems to shout with the miracle of it.

E- once asked me how it would be if I had been encouraged to write: if my gifts had been nurtured, if the craft of word weaving had been regarded as something to be cherished, not reviled. I could only think of one word – “miraculous”. Here it is, without any loss of the reality of all the outer world can be, a place of miracles. Somehow any remaining struggles: those with health, with the need to belong and connect with the outer world, all seem lessened in enormity by the contact with this world of air, earth, water and autumn leaves on fire.

Today, I have the blessed opportunity to attend a workshop on self-publishing, including a trade show, which promises to expose me to all the options and information that any newly transplanted “writer” could hope for. I once read that the definition of a writer is one who writes. By that definition, I am at last what I longed to be, since I struggled to hide my words at the age of fourteen. Only now, there is no hiding. I feel the unsurety, the destructive force of the shifting ground, but I am to go out and pass amongst those whom I once revered as more worthy than me, but now (without any pride) those whom I sense are my equals. For we are all human, and we have all suffered. Our delight (and responsibility) is to write about it.

I have left the safety of the bank. I can experience the deep waters, I can return to the shallows and I can languish in between. That freedom is mine, no matter how small the time apportioned me, I feel it now in my soul. In this attic room with a view of mountains, geese, trees, lunar eclipses and the breath of sea, I am free. I have found my sanctuary, and it is miraculous.

Words are flowing

 Posted by at 2:41 pm  No Responses »
Jun 012004
 

Sometimes, the words are a river. Their ferocity and intensity threaten to carry me away, to wash away the last connection with land and safety and security.

What is that security? It is the place where words were mocked and ridiculed and controlled. It is the place where the words were scrutinized until they dried up in a drought of self-doubt and self-pity.

Pity – the word makes me angry somehow. Although I was threatened with the loss of all that I treasured – the beautiful words that flow past the bank – I still feel trapped in what I’m sure has become a prison of my own making. One cannot afford the luxury of pity. It makes one flounder in the shallows, afraid to toss oneself into the currents of the deep water.

And then, there is fear.

The words are flowing today and at the same time I am drowning. Nearly 89,000 words written of my “derivative” novel. I should feel some flush of pride and achievement in that. And whilst I do, there is the fear of feeling them too strongly, of feeling anything too strongly.

Emotions were burnt out of me. Ironic then, that I write about people and their feelings. Is it to regain what I cannot feel fully for myself, without fear? Perhaps.

Today I have worked very hard, and yet it is not the work that society deems worthwhile. After all, this new novel is for private consumption, and in a very real way (I’m reassured that it’s all right to say this), it is for me: to prove that I can do this again, without drowning, without being destroyed by the scrutiny of those lining the bank.

Yet the river swirls and eddies around me, and I feel the pull of dry land, the stagnant safety of sun-baked earth. I feel torn in two. One part of me wants to swim for shore, where I will surely face the death of my words and my dreams. The other part wants to take me into the deep water, to study the letters and words and meanings as they flood my soul. I still wonder whether I will drown in them, and whether that will feel so bad.

This fear seems to go on forever.