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Wicked Weather

09/21/2022

 

Weather, Memoir, Fiction and Don Shebib’s Goin’ Down The Road

Hurricanes, forecasts and storms are a big part of my very Canadian life. Earl has left and Fiona is arriving. At some point late Friday Night/early Saturday morning this rock in the middle of the North Atlantic will be feeling the full force of a class four hurricane. The lawn chairs have been secured and the potted plants are tucked away in a tiny spot behind the aluminum trash cans. You’ve got to be resilient to live in Newfoundland, the weather is that crazy and that horrific.

Two years ago at the beginning of the Covid19 nightmare, we were so snowed in with a weather event now known as ‘Snowmageddon‘ that the army had to come from the mainland to dig us out of our snow holes. In a scene resembling the apocalypse, we trudged single file in the middle of the road with at least fifteen of our neighbors to the local grocery store, reusable shopping bags in hand.

I have never experienced anything like that in my frigging life and I never want to wake up in an ice filled rabbit warren again. As you can see our front door was blocked and we had to tunnel out like rats. It took five hours to clear the path to the street and at one point we were actually standing on six foot high snow banks and reaching down to shovel. Once something like this happens, every snowflake is scary.

I’ve been choosing books for my October group reviews. I’ll try to get them read and up as soon as I can. There are so many wonderful writers but my time is limited for reading. I’m at work on my novel ‘Yellow Begonias’ as well as my memoir. Good God this manuscript has been through so many incarnations, I must have titled and retitled it twenty times so far but I’ve finally nailed it.

‘Reflections of an Invisible Kid’ is a collection of stories involving my mother, father and me. As the title indicates, I was a fly on the wall of their life together, a consequence to their coupling and quite incidental. My childhood was unstable, scary, unconventional and if pressed I would say it was an updated version of Don Shebib’s ‘Goin’ Down The Road.’ I grew up in the 1960’s and 1970’s, a time of acute reality and simple living. My parents were funny, vulgar, and always in transit. I’m excited to query when the MS is polished. Memoir’s are so personal, an agent’s rejection must feel like a kick in the guts. Time will tell if I find someone to believe in my story as much as I do.

Aside from all that, the cats are sleeping, the wind is blowing and the sun is being an occasional visitor. Time for tea and rest.