www.londonwriters.ca
For the past few months I have been involved in the London Writers Society. Cheryl Curtis, formerly of the the Victoria Writer's Society has steered the good ship LWS Penman into a safe harbour. We hold elections next month.
More importantly, I've been getting fabulous feedback on my work, and gained a bit more confidence regarding submitting my novel.
While the online support of the Bunions and all the many useful URLs have been invaluable, there's a quality to the "live" component of a mishmash of writers giving feedback. Online, I tend to gravitate to those who write similiarly to myself. In the LWS group there is a good mix of writers who pick up on things I might not.
Also, reading your own work aloud in fron of others is absolutely fantastic. You pick up on awkward sentances, words and phrases for more easily than if you merely read them in silence.
Get unplugged. And if there isn't a writing group in your area, start one.
Thank you, Cheryl!
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Hairy Handmaidens and the Lottery Monkeys.
Corey Redekop emits a high-pitched girly scream as Pat Wood’s muscular thighs clamp down on him like an unruly horse. A wild crowd flanks the Pit and rumbles encouragement as I elbow my way across the room to the Poker for Pills game in progress. Tarquini is shuffling cards as we watch the match on the newly installed big screen TV. Despite being 50 feet away from the action, it’s already flecked with errant bits of muddy jello cubes.
I set the pitcher of draft on the table and wave over a harried waitress for more gluten-free goodies and Spam-enhanced nibblies. Dana is already half-cut, propped up by her MIL, who’s won most of my prescription meds in less than three hands.
Dana picks up the pitcher and chugs a good third of it. “Thish is the besth blog warming evah…” she enthuses then topples over with a meaty thud. Krecker deftly saves the beer pitcher, de-spams the rim and refills my glass.
Up on the big screen, Pat squeals as Corey’s soul patch tickles a sensitive spot. I have twenty bucks on Corey, but suspect lady luck will go bust on me faster than a 70’s era condom.
Angie lights a Colt cigar and flicks the ash on the polished granite floor next to Dana. I feel a pang for the old linolium, knowing Bonnie’s nails will never get a proper grip on this fancy stuff. I spot her by the bar. She’s wearing a fake moustache and a cheesy beige overcoat. Sandra Ruttan is sticking a “kick me” sign on her back as she tries not to giggle.
Lisa ‘ooohs’ as Pat body slams Corey into the Pit’s oak barrier. Sharon ‘aaaahs’ as Redekop slithers from Pat’s grasp, elbows her kidneys and crushes her face down into the low calorie, aspartame-sweetened muck.
“Your Barnes and Noble ranking can’t save you now!” Corey screams triumphantly as a squashed cube of peach jello slips down his face.
I bit my lip, waiting for Pat’s signal of capitulation. Mindy is unfazed and takes a long pull of her beer. “She can hold her breath for ages – just watch.”
Pat struggles for a few moments, then goes limp. With a whoop, Corey jumps up and raises his arms in victory, splattering mud onto the screaming crowd. Pat suddenly rolls away, surges to her feet, takes a leap from the barrier and executes a flying scissor kick. There is a gasp from the crowd and a sound like a sack of wet cement hitting hardwood.
Redekop goes down faster than a groupie at a Stones concert.
Leaving a trail of chunky slime, the Pit Crew drags the Shelf Monkey out back to hose him off in the alley. Pat squelches over to the poker table to collect her winnings. I hand over a twenty I pilfered from Dana’s purse and pout appropriately.
JA is at the mike, introducing the next match. Rowling is tarted up in a wool kilt. Blue face paint endows her with a fetching Braveheart aura. She sharpens her nails with a cheap cardboard file and stares slitty-eyed as Atwood coolly removes a pair of dangly earrings and dons a bathing cap. Stephen King whispers pointers to JKR as Rex Murphy slips a pair of highly polished brass knuckles into Atwood’s waiting hand.
Oh yes. This will be interesting.
Bending over to filch a crisp fifty from Dana’s purse, I catch a glimpse of Oprah in a Chanel wetsuit hosing down a now conscious Corey in the back alley. Pat trades places with him as she hands over icepack for his face.
The beer may be bad, but life is good.
Corey Redekop emits a high-pitched girly scream as Pat Wood’s muscular thighs clamp down on him like an unruly horse. A wild crowd flanks the Pit and rumbles encouragement as I elbow my way across the room to the Poker for Pills game in progress. Tarquini is shuffling cards as we watch the match on the newly installed big screen TV. Despite being 50 feet away from the action, it’s already flecked with errant bits of muddy jello cubes.
I set the pitcher of draft on the table and wave over a harried waitress for more gluten-free goodies and Spam-enhanced nibblies. Dana is already half-cut, propped up by her MIL, who’s won most of my prescription meds in less than three hands.
Dana picks up the pitcher and chugs a good third of it. “Thish is the besth blog warming evah…” she enthuses then topples over with a meaty thud. Krecker deftly saves the beer pitcher, de-spams the rim and refills my glass.
Up on the big screen, Pat squeals as Corey’s soul patch tickles a sensitive spot. I have twenty bucks on Corey, but suspect lady luck will go bust on me faster than a 70’s era condom.
Angie lights a Colt cigar and flicks the ash on the polished granite floor next to Dana. I feel a pang for the old linolium, knowing Bonnie’s nails will never get a proper grip on this fancy stuff. I spot her by the bar. She’s wearing a fake moustache and a cheesy beige overcoat. Sandra Ruttan is sticking a “kick me” sign on her back as she tries not to giggle.
Lisa ‘ooohs’ as Pat body slams Corey into the Pit’s oak barrier. Sharon ‘aaaahs’ as Redekop slithers from Pat’s grasp, elbows her kidneys and crushes her face down into the low calorie, aspartame-sweetened muck.
“Your Barnes and Noble ranking can’t save you now!” Corey screams triumphantly as a squashed cube of peach jello slips down his face.
I bit my lip, waiting for Pat’s signal of capitulation. Mindy is unfazed and takes a long pull of her beer. “She can hold her breath for ages – just watch.”
Pat struggles for a few moments, then goes limp. With a whoop, Corey jumps up and raises his arms in victory, splattering mud onto the screaming crowd. Pat suddenly rolls away, surges to her feet, takes a leap from the barrier and executes a flying scissor kick. There is a gasp from the crowd and a sound like a sack of wet cement hitting hardwood.
Redekop goes down faster than a groupie at a Stones concert.
Leaving a trail of chunky slime, the Pit Crew drags the Shelf Monkey out back to hose him off in the alley. Pat squelches over to the poker table to collect her winnings. I hand over a twenty I pilfered from Dana’s purse and pout appropriately.
JA is at the mike, introducing the next match. Rowling is tarted up in a wool kilt. Blue face paint endows her with a fetching Braveheart aura. She sharpens her nails with a cheap cardboard file and stares slitty-eyed as Atwood coolly removes a pair of dangly earrings and dons a bathing cap. Stephen King whispers pointers to JKR as Rex Murphy slips a pair of highly polished brass knuckles into Atwood’s waiting hand.
Oh yes. This will be interesting.
Bending over to filch a crisp fifty from Dana’s purse, I catch a glimpse of Oprah in a Chanel wetsuit hosing down a now conscious Corey in the back alley. Pat trades places with him as she hands over icepack for his face.
The beer may be bad, but life is good.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
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(Art copyright Dave Sim)
JA's Bar will be reopening
on Tuesday, August 7th, 2007 at 1 p.m.
The Pit will be reopening with a special NOOBIES match:
Corey Redekop VS Pat Wood
h Special CELEBRITY Match p
J.K. Rowling Vs Margaret Atwood!
Donations of cubed Jello appreciated.
Also! Housewarming Party for BunionDana's new Blog
Bring Gluten Free Snacks and treats for the Cabana Boys.
(No Solicitors, turtles or Romance writers, please)
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