Interview with Catherine Greenwood, Finalist for the CBC 2011-2012 Poetry Prize

Victoria, BC resident Catherine Greenwood was shortlisted for the CBC 2011-2012 CBC Poetry Prize this past month. The winner was announced on September 25, 2012, and prize winner Sadiga de Meijer’s winning poem can be read on the CBC website.

But for now, I would like to chat with my friend, Catherine. She holds a BA in English and Writing from the University of Victoria, and an MA in English from the University of New Brunswick.

Welcome, Catherine, and many congrats on being shortlisted for the CBC 2011-2012 Poetry Prize, with your poem “Texada Queen.” What an honour this must be! I know you have submitted to this contest before - what does this literary ‘nod’ mean to you?

Thanks very much, Lisa. The CBC Literary Prize has been around for a long time, in slightly different forms. I remember years ago listening to some winning poems being read on the radio and thinking how great it would be win, not just for the prize money, which is very generous, but for the prestige factor. My poem making it to the finals this year was a big surprise, the kind of good news you secretly hope for, yet find hard to believe when it comes.

You have worked on a fiction novel and short stories in the past – any intention of returning to that genre?

Yes. The novel and the short story manuscript need more work before I can send them off to publishers, and have been set aside for quite some time. I hope I can return to them with a fresh perspective now, still able see what I originally had in mind with these projects, and finish them properly!

What do you like about writing poetry over fiction?

Poems in process often suggest a particular shape or form, even if they are free verse, and I’ve developed a sense of where they need more work, pushing and pulling the lines around, adding and subtracting words and ideas. With fiction, I’m not as practiced, and the self-editing process can involve eradicating large swaths of text – I struggle with that, and question my instincts more with fiction.

Is your poem autobiographical? If so, was it difficult to write? Was it cathartic to write? If not autobiographical, what was the basis for the poem? The inspiration? Why did you write it?

Much more autobiographical than usual for me. Perhaps I subconsciously chose a difficult form – the rhyming triplets – so that I wouldn’t have to engage directly with the uncomfortable memories of that event, which is something I’ve always regretted. My attention was focused on the problem of the poem’s structure. When, near the end of writing the piece, I put down the words “I can’t help my father recover”, the truth of that statement hit home. I don’t tend to think of creative writing as a cathartic or therapeutic process, but in this case, it did bring me up against some emotions I hadn’t considered, and it allowed me to wrap a narrative around an old regret, and in some weird way, put it to bed.

I know you have a new poetry book coming out in 2013 published by Brick Books called ‘The Lost Letters.’ Is there anything you can share about this upcoming book?

There are a few sections, tied together with themes of loss, and the material versus the spiritual realms, or at least that’s the way it looks to me at this stage. The main sequence, “Dear Peter,” is inspired by the love story of the medieval couple Eloise and Peter Abelard. After being separated early in life, they reconnected through letters, which reflect the changing nature of their relationship as they progressed in their separate monastic careers. I’ve set their story in the present, in an attempt have that past echo against contemporary notions of romantic love.

Do you have a writing routine? How often to do you write?

Oh, gosh, no. Though I wish I did have a routine. I write when I can get time off work, usually. My need to earn a living seriously compromises my literary ambitions, as it does for many other writers. Perhaps that’s why poetry is what I tend to get finished and published – it’s shorter, and can sometimes be tackled on weekends if not to much else is going on.

What inspires you? What blocks your writing? If and when you get ‘stuck,’ what do you do to get the creativity flowing again?

I get inspired by other great writing, by movies, by travel, by stories people share about their lives, and by nature. And by having time to contemplate, or just be. Business blocks my writing. I’ve discovered that if I let myself do what I ‘feel’ like doing, rather than what I think I ‘should’ be doing, I get creative. Good question, one I need to ask myself periodically. A book called “Unstuck” by Jane Anne Staw really helped me when I hadn’t written for a while, and I recommend it highly.

What is next for you in the writing world? Have you entered any contests? What opportunities have arisen for you from this experience in being shortlisted in this prestigious competition?

I will focus on finishing “The Lost Letters,” and some of those poems will be appearing in literary magazines this coming year, before the book is published in Fall 2013. Being a CBC prize finalist brought my work some unprecedented attention, and I’ve been hearing different responses from readers, some who have elderly parents and can relate to that aspect of “The Texada Queen”, others who have difficult memories of family gatherings gone wrong, and other writers who have admired the piece – I am not much of a publicity seeker, but I do feel proud of that particular poem, and I’m glad that people have had a chance to read it, or hear it on the CBC podcast.

Thank you for taking the time to chat with me, Catherine. I wish you much writing success in the future, and look forward to your book, "The Lost Letter" in 2013.

Thanks for your interest, Lisa! Good questions.

For more information about Catherine, and to read her poem ‘Texada Queen,’ please visit the CBC website.

What I've Been Up To Lately.....

I attended the 18th Annual Victoria Women’s Wellness Show on September 22, 2012. My Vancouver Island Chapter of Romance Writers of America had a table to advertise our chapter to emerging writers in town, and as well to promote the romance fiction genre. We had draws, giveaways, and lots of folks stopping by to see what we were about.

Fellow chapter members volunteered their time to wo/man the booth both Saturday and Sunday (we have a few men in our chapter). On the day I was there, many folks stopped by the table with questions about what we write, are our members published, and how someone can join. Other topics of conversation ranged from opinions of readers and non-readers of romance fiction, as well as those of other local writers. Many had comments about the ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ trilogy – comments coming from all ages and generations, and all walks of life. Our table and what we do proved to be a great conversation starter!

It was a great time, I was fortunate to meet and chat with fabulous people, and also to chat a bit with fellow chapter members.

But one of the neatest experiences was being 'recognized.' I am not a celebrity – I am just a lowly little writer in beautiful Victoria, British Columbia. Recently, Karen Elgersma, reporter for Shaw Television, interviewed me about my stories in the two books ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul: Find Your Happiness’ and ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul: Say Goodbye to Stress.’ The three minute segment appeared on their show, ‘Go Island’ only for a few days to lend way to other local stories – and wouldn’t you know it, but someone recognized me from the show!

A Women's show attendee had approached our table, and after a double-take, said she had only just seen the segment the morning before. To say I was thrilled was an understatement – the whole experience of being on the show and then being recognized, surreal!

In the end, a great weekend at the show was had by all – dozens of promotional items from our chapter members were handed out, our throats were parched from all the talking, and I was still reeling from the experience of not only the interview but of being recognized (by someone I didn’t know or pay to say that!)

Enjoy!

Watch it here!

Diary of a Rock Collector

I am not a geologist, but I collect rocks. Grade 11 Geology was intriguing, and the nasally way my teacher said igneous, basalt and obsidian made the course all the more entertaining. Even as a kid I had a secret fascination with rocks, ever keen to pick out the prettiest or most colourful from wherever I could find them. Yes, one must not remove specimens from nature, but there are billions of rocks out there, and the only rocks I have ever found are those of no value – except to me.

With time my fascination dwindled away, my attention on other more important things like getting a rock on my finger. Sure I would save the odd rock or shell from trips near and far, but it wasn’t the same as what my rock collecting fetish would eventually come to be; something more meaningful than I ever anticipated.

For 13 years I have had one particular rock on the nightstand beside my bed. Why there, I don’t know. It’s just a grey, round, seemingly-boring-to-some, rock. But that rock has a special meaning, and it’s what re-ignited my passion for rock collecting.

With permanent ink I had inscribed on the rock: “To Mommy, from Mitch. First day of school, September 7, 2000” It was the first day kindergarten and my son handed me this rock he found on the school grounds, a prized possession for he and I in every sense of the word. I wanted to savour the sentimentality of the moment. My other son was six months old and resting in his carrier at my feet, with my grandfather, their great-grandfather, at my side. One minute it was ‘just’ a rock, but after that, it was everything.

Time wore on, and I was busy with growing babies and growing kindergarteners. We had many outings to parks and beaches, and I have jars of saved shells and tiny rocks to preserve the memories. Some of the rocks and jars are labeled, and sadly some are not. All too soon I became aware of time passing and the need to preserve moments and memories. The boys grew, as did the rocks, and so did my keen sense of time passing all too quickly.

Wherever beach or park we went to, someone found a rock to save. A treasure in a tiny hand, the rock was often passed to me to carry in my purse. As the hands grew, so did the rocks, and so did my need for a bigger purse. But then I realized – bigger rocks meant more space to write.

Despite always being a busy whirlwind, I always had a sense of how quickly time was passing, and knew the boys would be out of school before I knew it. I vowed to myself that wherever we went, providing the rocks were aplenty, I would find a rock big enough to write the date, where we were, and who was present - that’s it. We have become avid hikers and explorers of local beaches and forests, so treasure hunting is frequent. The boys have joined in my ritual, and have become the hunters for the perfect ‘writing rock;’ they know the right size and shape.

So as the kindergartener is graduating high school this year, and the once six-month-old baby is now in grade seven, I know time is flying faster than I can collect rocks.

I just need more space to keep ‘em - both the kids and the rocks.

Garage Sales, Paul Revere, and Corelle

The prospect of a neighbourhood garage sale had us dusting off old books and excess kitchen ware, and digging out outdated electronics from the cupboards and rafters. What started as a combination of house cleaning and gleaning-of-stuff for the sale turned into a twist of fond memories and cringe-worthy nostalgia.

I have a slight habit of saving everything; my thriftiness and sentimentality my own worst enemy. When a cleaning bug hits, however, I seize the moment and let my deep-seated minimalist side emerge; I pitch as much unused stuff as I can. But when I opened a barely used cupboard housing my 22 year-old Corelle dishes, I had a moment of nostalgia that rocked me off my momentum. I could never rid of the dishes steeped in history; the thought of slapping on a piece of masking tape with some insulting low price, barbaric.

When I was 18 years old, I travelled to Boston, Massachusetts. I was living in Richmond, British Columbia at the time, so that was a big trip for a young, naïve girl. Distant family friends in Waltham put me up, but they had to work and I was my mostly on my own. I had been there four years before with my family and had a vague idea of where I was going, so by foot, bus, train and subway I zigzagged from one side of Boston to the other. I saw everything historical from Paul Revere’s house to the State House, and can say I went to Harvard University – I have the T-shirt to prove it. And just to add to my history-laden experiences, I watched the beginning of the Gulf War on the news with my hosts.

History aside, I was also keen to shop. From the marketplace at Faneuil Hall to K-mart in Waltham, I was eager to find treasures different from my homeland across the border. With stars in my eyes and the taste of freedom on my tongue I was also planning my future and had already been saving household stuff for my apartment I supposedly was going to have one day.

But of course, I couldn’t buy simple things like a potholder from Boston to bring back for my future apartment. I had to buy dishes.

And little did I know that the Corelle dishes I purchased from K-mart in Waltham, Massachusetts for $9.99 would eventually have their own history to tell.

I loved the cute set and was determined to get them home. I lugged the heavy box of dishes through Customs then a plane change in Toronto, Ontario, where they then sat under my feet during the final stretch of my journey to Vancouver International Airport. Not only did I learn to never do that again (I had other luggage to juggle), but I also learned that a glass of wine in business class at 30,000 feet without having eaten has drastic affects. But it was fun.

Those dishes would sit in the box unused for two years until I got married – I never got my OWN apartment. They were used during my first few newlywed years, only to be replaced by an updated pattern – of Corelle brand, of course. The dishes sadly made their way to the back of a cupboard, but were never far from my mind. They had a history.

A few years later we moved, and during our packing and cleaning my dear husband passed on a box of excess stuff which, unbeknownst to me, included my dishes, to his mother. When we went to their house not too long after, I was gleefully surprised when she cheerfully served us dinner on MY dishes I apparently gave her. I couldn’t eat.

After a night of tears mourning the loss of my dishes, the dutiful man he is crawled back to his mother and explained the situation. My own be-heading was inevitable, but at least I would have my prized dishes back.

I got them back, but it was a non-topic for a long time, and luckily the situation soon blew over.

Years later, the dishes were put back into circulation, but after a plate broke and a mug chipped (they are supposed to be unbreakable), and given that I was raising a house of raucous men, I figured they were safer stored away. I didn’t want my precious dishes – a piece of my history – to be ruined forever.

So 22 years later they still reside in a cupboard. I piled all the other garage sale stuff on the floor, but took a moment to pull out my dishes to admire and remember. They, ahem, weren’t washed thoroughly so many years ago, so I washed them to a keen shine, and put them back in the cupboard. Over 5,000 km they travelled, and through three moves, two kids, and a near-fatal family rift, they have survived. They have a priceless history that could never be sold or bartered.

Summer Wishes

It’s August 31st and I’m absolutely thrilled – sort of. It’s a full moon (not that really has anything to do with anything), the cool, crisp mornings are making my early morning walks that much more brisk, and the shadows are changing daily with every hour.

I have been waiting for this moment for the last two months, and it’s finally here. But in end, I really don’t want summer to end.

Although summer is technically not over until sometime mid-September, I consider the hot season over as soon at the calendar changes and the kids go back to school. People scoff at the sight of school supplies, Halloween paraphernalia and Christmas wrap showing up in stores near the beginning of August, whereas I jump for joy at the signs of what is right around the corner.

Summer is not my favourite time of year, as you have guessed. There is no escaping the hot, dry, constant heat that practically chokes me to death. My pores go into overdrive, gasping for air, and my face is constantly one big oil slick. I have sweat in places we won’t mention; deodorant is pointless.

Just as the grass and trees gasp for water, I long for a rain. As a west coast girl born in autumn, rain is in my blood. The rainless summer has me missing the green of grass and trees, even though the leaves fall all too quick. Their changing colours take my breath away – but it’s not the same as the gasping for air in the heat.

I love dark mornings, and even darker evenings. Give me flannels, boots and scarves, and I’m happy. Cozy up after dinner with a blanket, candles on, and a good book (or night time sitcom) and I’m happy. Who needs sitting outside with the mosquitoes sticking to the sunscreen on your neck?

Yet despite my counting down the days to fall, I have learned not to wish it away, and I try to keep my boys busy and active in the summer, fostering memories for all. They are growing too fast, and time races by just as a fast as the seasons. One day I won’t have them to flip over rocks on the beach looking for crabs, nor will I have broken water balloons to clean up outside. I keep them stocked with freezies and ice cream, and 7-Eleven is their second home. I need to open a savings account to save for Slurpee money next year.

But then, as every year, it ends all too fast, the flipping pages on the calendar a blur. One minute I am bemoaning the end of school - our routine, broken - but deep down know that another grade, another chapter of their lives, is over. Then I am torn between rejoicing that it’s back to school – back to a routine - and being sad that yet another school grade has crept up.

Despite me longing for summer to be over, time speeding by has taught me to be careful what to wish for.

As I think about their first few days back to school, and wonder if they will have to do the traditional ‘What I did during the summer’ essay, which inevitably I will have to help them with, I run through my mind all that we have done these last two months. Kids sometimes have short, selective memories, the question of ‘what did you do this summer’ often met with a shrug, downcast eyes, and a mumbled ‘Nothin’.’

I recounted all that we did (for the essay I will likely have to write). Hikes in the woods near and far, swimming in secret lakes near and far, travelling far to camp near a lake, and travelling near to camp near a beach – I realize we did a lot, heat be damned. Slurpees, fishing, movies, and just hangin’ out - we had a great time.

And that’s just it – time.

Soon I won’t be able to do all those things with them, not because of the weather and seasons changing, but because with every season they get older and farther away from the nest. I am aware of time passing all too quickly – just as summer slipped by before I could wish it away. One day I won’t have my young kids with me to flip rocks, hike, swim, or ply with Slurpees. Autumn will always return; their youthful days of hanging out with me will not. Deep down, despite my own misgivings, I want summer back – who cares about my pores, sweat and useless deodorant.

And as the full-moon rises on this August 31st, September 1st arriving while I sleep, I won’t make a wish. I have learned to be careful not to wish away something I might truly want. I guess I don’t want summer to end – I want it back.

Vancouver Island Chapter of Romance Writers of America Fall Workshop - September 15 2012

The Vancouver Island Chapter of Romance Writers of America Proudly Presents Their
Fall Workshop 2012 With Eileen Cook, E.C. Sheedy, and Harlequin Editor Susan Litman

When: September 15, 2012, 9:00 to 4:00 (registration from 9:00 to 9:30)

Where: Bowen Park Complex, 500 Bowen Park Road, Nanaimo, BC
Cost: $20 RWA Members; $30 Non-RWA Members. $40 for walk-ins or if registering after September 7. Includes lunch and coffee breaks. (please visit the chapter website to pay by paypal at www.vicrwa.ca)

Morning Session: Revisions (or Why There Are So Many Wine Bottles in My House) with Eileen Cook

You’ve written “the end,” but the process isn’t over. This workshop will discuss the four levels of revision: story level, structure, character/conflict, and polish. The workshop will focus on the conflict level in particular. Stories are conflict, without enough tension the story falls flat. Editors and agents constantly encourage writers to look for ways to ramp up the conflict in their novels. By turning conflict resolution techniques upside down, participants will discover new ways to increase both external and internal conflict. Participants will leave with a leave with a list of conflict increasing techniques and practical examples they can use in their own work. With tips and suggestions attendees will be ready to move from first draft to completed manuscript.

Eileen Cook is a multi-published author with her novels appearing in eight different languages. She spent most of her teen years wishing she were someone else or somewhere else, which is great training for a writer. Her latest release, Unraveling Isobel, came out in January 2012. You can read more about Eileen, her books, and the things that strike her as funny at www.eileencook.com. Eileen lives in Vancouver with her husband and two dogs and no longer wishes to be anyone or anywhere else.

Afternoon Session: Building Suspense with E.C. Sheedy

This workshop will cover just what suspense is and how to achieve it in your own work. In order to make this more relevant to the participant examples of work from writers attending the conference will be chosen by Edna. A page or two of participants’ work will be asked for in advance by Edna. These will be used in the second part of her workshop to show how to build and increase suspense in a scene. All work will be treated with the respect Edna believes all writers deserve.

Multi-published author E.C. Sheedy is fascinated with people, both good and evil, and the secrets and lies that bind them. She writes about change, and the danger that truth and honesty brings to her characters’ lives. Her writing is dark and her villains twisted, but hope, salvation and love always triumph. E.C. Sheedy lives on Vancouver Island. Visit her web page, http://www.ecsheedy.com/, for more fascinating facts.

Pitch Appointments

Pitch your manuscript to Harlequin Editor Susan Litman, via Skype. Appointments are on a first come, first serve basis. Space is limited!

Susan Litman came to Harlequin ten years ago after several years working in film development in New York. She is an editor for Harlequin Special Edition, but acquiring for multiple series including Harlequin Romantic Suspense and Love Inspired Suspense. Susan started reading in first grade and never stopped—and she’s got the (over)crowded bookshelves to prove it! In her spare time (what’s that?!) she reads cookbooks, watches Mad Men and Revenge and still obsesses over the unresolved mysteries of Lost. You can follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/susan_litman or Facebook at www.facebook.com/susan.litman.5.

To Register: Send your name, address, telephone number, if you’d like a pitch appointment, RWA affiliation (if applicable), and method of payment to vicrwa@islandnet.com. Please use the PayPal buttons found on the chapter website of www.vicrwa.ca or send a cheque payable to VIC-RWA, and indicate if you would like a pitch appointment, to:

VIC-RWA
P.O. Box 53553
RPO Broadmead
Victoria, BC V8X 5K2

Hope to see you there!

The Key to My Heart

The soaring summer temperatures drew everyone outside, but the fast-rising mercury sent everyone scurrying just as fast for shade and air conditioning. Sweating with the rest of them, I was happily walking along minding my own business when I passed a white van. Its doors were open, surrounding buildings providing just enough shade for the men huddled inside. Hunched over in the confines of the small space, they picked their way around machinery and tools littering the van’s floor. My imagination started to hum but I didn’t stop to ask what they were doing because, as I said, I was minding my own business.

Now before you think I was kidnapped and hauled away by these men in a white van, calm down and read on....I lived to write this, didn’t I?

Just as I passed the van, the telltale high-pitched, scraping and grinding of a key being cut stopped me in my tracks. The sound was still fresh in my mind as I had only just had one cut a few days before at a hardware store. But a key being cut in a van?

Before my imagination got the better of me and I started thinking jewellery heist, I figured I better quell my concerns.

The kind man huddled in the van with his assistant at his side confirmed yes, he was cutting keys; his open, friendly demeanour told me this was legal. Part of me was disappointed as witnessing a heist would have made such a great story. We exchanged a few pleasantries, I thanked him for his time, apologized for bugging him (I have to do that lot in my line of work – I bug people), and went on my merry minding-my-own-business way.

As I walked away thinking how cool it was to see a mobile key cutter – sheesh, you’d think I had never met a locksmith before – I realized that although many things during these ever-changing, fast paced times are slowly becoming extinct (think payphones), one thing is still a constant – keys.

These little pieces of much-cherished metal we lose, use as a tool, use to scratch our ears with (ew), make copies of (sometimes illegally), and lock them somewhere we wished we hadn’t, are much needed and I wonder if they’ll ever become ‘old.’

So I couldn’t resist and had to persist and went back to chat-up the locksmiths. What a great story this was going to be!

Emerson, owner of Emerson’s Locks Ltd, regarded me sceptically, wondering why I took such an interest in what he was doing. I assured him and his assistant Steve I was no quack, but didn’t let on I secretly wished to witness a jewelry heist. They were most patient and answered my questions, all while still trying to work in the blistering heat.

As Emerson pointed out, keys will not likely become a thing of the past – they will always be needed. Even though electronic key fobs, pass cards and the like (never mind keypads with secret codes, OH! and fingerprint readers and voice readers and eyeball scanners and...) are common place in these heightened security times we are in, a master key will always be needed.

Emerson has been working in the locksmith trade for over 30 years, owning his business for the last six. He’s seen it all – fixed it all. With his key cutter in front of him, tools everywhere, and his spiffy van to haul it all, he’s got a pretty good gig going. The air-conditioning repair man was busy that day; business hopping a few months a year. But a locksmith keeps running year- round.

That hot day when I was bugging Emerson, all while he was trying to work in the heat, he had the key to my heart – patience for me and a story. Thank you, Emerson, for taking the time to talk to me, despite the heat and my thousands of questions (even though no jewellery heist).

Need a key? Lock jammed?
Call Emerson’s Locks Ltd
Victoria, BC
(250) 389-2966