Okay, a decision has been made: I am offering a one day intensive “Writing in the Garden” workshop on Sunday, July 13th from 10 till 5. We will do various writing exercises, discuss issues to do with writing, great inspirational books, I hope have a guest speaker, eat a delicious lunch catered by my estimable daughter, do more writing, and talk some more. Inspiration, contact with other writers, deadlines, good listening and feedback guaranteed. Laughter, tears and insight or your money back. $125. There are six registered already with room for eight or nine more, at most.
So – pretty quick from waking dream to registered students! Nothing has materialised on the Frank Mahovlich front, however. And the racoon is still screaming.
I also hope, if there are enough students, to teach a course called “Narrative Non-Fiction” at U of T from July 7th to 11th, mostly in the mornings with some one on one sessions, readings and panel discussions in the afternoon. So – work in July, hooray. I’ll be able to pay for sunblock and strawberries.
Yesterday my kids and Sam’s two best friends Matt and Matt came for supper. Anna brought a favourite CD, a “Creedence Clearwater Tribute” band, and put on her favourite song “Cotton Fields.” She wasn’t aware that it used to be my favourite song too. I went into the basement and dug through my dusty records, which by some miracle survived the fire that destroyed everything around them a few years ago, until I found the Creedence album I’ve had since 1969.
In February I became obsessed with getting a record player again; I bought an amp at a pawnshop and an old turntable, so that I could begin to dust off the old L.P.’s. Maybe it was just so I could put on the real “Cotton Fields” last night, and dance with my daughter. Probably the record hasn’t been played in 35 years, and it’s just as good as ever. We even dragged the boys in to dance with us, briefly; they were dying to but were just too embarrassed to dance with familiar females in the living room. As she jived and twisted, Anna said, “This is my exercise and therapy.”
“None better,” I said.
And then she said, “Are you going to blog about this? I sense a blog coming on.”
Oh dear – they know me much too well.
