Paula Wild | Paula Wild

October 28, 2015November 11, 2015

The writer’s room by Yvonne Maximchuk

After fifty plus years of at least semi-conscious introspection I conclude I am somewhat disorganized. I no longer fight this, but accept it as an essential element of my creative being. A certain amount of order is necessary to actually pull a concept into tangible manifestation; however this does not begin in a writer’s room.

The first writer’s room is in my mind, independence from distracting stimuli the only requirement. Because I live in wilderness and consequently am extremely sound sensitive, earplugs are sometimes needed for this writer’s room.

Luckily the creative force is powerful and absorbing. Mrs. Ferguson, my grade five teacher, called it ‘daydreaming’ and encouraged me to write down the beautiful thoughts and word strings so I could weave them together into a larger narrative. Hence a pen and notebook are also needed in my writer’s room.

Often a writer, including me, takes years to birth a book from a stew of incomplete ideas so, at a certain time, a physical space becomes important. I must be comfortable to write; good back support, padded arm rests, feet at the right height from the floor. In my writer’s room a black ‘wheelie chair’ has pride of place. My neighbor built a cedar picnic table for me, which I painted white and is now stained with layers of paint splashes. The half of it dedicated to writing is stacked with piles of notes relevant to several projects.

When I raise my eyes from the computer, one window reveals the camellia, clematis and Japanese maple tree – color for all seasons and a rest from the screen. The other window shows ever-changing sky, distant islands and closer conifers. Both views allow me contemplation space and eye relaxation. Windows are essential for my writer’s room.

On a shelf below the window sits a CD player/radio. Often my daughter Theda’s inspirational music plays. Nearby, a bookshelf rich with the beauty and meaning of the ages; dictionary and thesaurus, books about root words, the writer’s art and artist’s rights, books of other authors’ journeys of discovery and on every aspect of my favorite topic, the coastal world I inhabit.

My writer’s room is my artist’s studio, which embraced its dual role around 2000. It was a comfortable transition as my writing habits are the same as my painting habits… notice, contemplate, imagine, notate, gather, assemble, sit in one place often enough to shape something new and interesting. I love my writer’s rooms.

Paula’s note: Yvonne Maximchuk is an artist and author of three books including a memoir of her wilderness life in the Broughton Archipelago, Drawn to Sea – From Paintbrush to Chainsaw, Carving out a Life on BC’s Rugged Raincoast. Yvonne and the legendary Billy Proctor are touring Vancouver Island with their new publication Tide Rips and Back Eddies, Bill Proctor’s Tales of Blackfish Sound. Dates and venues can be found at www.yvonnemaximchuk.com.

October 7, 2015October 7, 2015

A writer’s space

“This isn’t working!” I said over and over as I shifted my computer desk from the bedroom to one living room wall and then another.

In my writing workshops I always stress the importance of a place to write. But all of a sudden Rick and I were crammed into a living space less than half the size we were accustomed to. And carving out a creative spot for both of us was threatening to turn into a make or break issue.

In our three-storey heritage house, I had a spacious room with lovely big windows. Rick had even more space in his office on the lower level. Selling our home of 25 years and temporarily moving into an apartment meant going from seven bookcases to one, six filing cabinets to two and three big desks to two.

Of course — even though I meticulously measured rooms and furniture – my carefully planned placement of office furniture didn’t work out. As non-fiction writers we seem to need an extraordinary amount of space to store and inevitably spread out books, newspaper clippings and photocopies of old documents, as well as our own scribbled notes.

020 So now, after numerous trips to our storage unit, we live with boxes of file folders and stacks of books. I’ve added another large desk to our writing space and also a small table in the kitchen. Whoever gets there first often claims the kitchen table as a work station outside meal times. And from time to time, I even use the top of the microwave as a stand-up desktop.

The largest wing of the L‑shaped living room has become our shared office. That’s where we spend the bulk of our writing time. And that’s the biggest challenge of all. Before, we worked in separate rooms on different floors of the house. Now, seated at our computers, we can just about shake hands.

Rick’s working on a book about West Coast rum running. He tries to restrain himself but several times a day blurts out, “Listen to this!” and proceeds to read me a quote by some prohibition era liquor distribution entrepreneur.

I must admit I’m not much better. I’m researching wolves and it’s nearly impossible not to exclaim, “Look at this photo!” Or to keep the volume down during a chorus of wolf howls in a documentary I’m watching online. Wolves Gary Allan 039

But our transition work space hasn’t been all struggle. Rick’s “office” is closer to the main living area than in our previous home and he finds himself at his computer earlier in the day, thus producing more. And the move has made us both appreciate just how important a suitable work space is to our creative wellbeing. All things we’ll consider while looking for our next house.

September 20, 2015September 20, 2015

Cougars and lions

It’s walking into the jaws of death,” I whispered. Two zebras had broken away from the herd and were moving through the tall grass toward three lions snoozing in the sun. One zebra lowered its head to graze. The other set a course straight for the lions.

Suddenly the dozing felines were alert. Heads raised, they watched lunch on the hoof come closer. One lioness crouched with the tip of its tail twitching. We could see the muscles bunching and releasing beneath her tawny coat as she stared intently at the zebra. Then, ever so slowly, she began to slink through the grass.

I was with a group of friends and family on safari in Tanzania’s Tarangire National Park. These weren’t the first lions and zebras we’d seen. But it was the first stalk and potential kill we’d witnessed. The silence in the jeep was palpable.

Then the lioness broke cover, racing toward the zebra. It turned to run but within a few strides the lion leapt and sunk its claws onto the black and white striped haunch. There was a collective “Oh!” from our vehicle. The zebra bucked and kicked with its rear legs causing the lion to lose its grip. It chased the fleeing animal for few metres, then gave up.

In the distance we saw the zebra limping and wondered if the deep, bloody gashes would become infected or attract other predators.

Cougars, like all cats, focus intently on their prey.

Although a similar colour, African lions are much bigger than cougars and live in large prides unlike the more solitary cougar. (We saw as many as 35 lions lounging together!) But the two species of big cats are equally opportunistic when it comes to prey. And the lion’s total focus and manner of approaching her prey was exactly how a cougar would respond to an unaware deer coming its way.

But the story wasn’t over yet. As the lioness sauntered back to her companions our guide said, “She’s coming back for a hug.” When the lion reached one of the others, she placed her head on its shoulder and the supine lion reached up to wrap her foreleg and paw around the other’s neck.

Mountain lions often hunt alone but on occasion a female with cubs or two young adults will tackle prey together. I wonder if cougars also provide consoling hugs if their prospective meal escapes?

November 28, 2014November 28, 2014

How I got my longest writing gig, why I kept it and what I learned

As often happens, I found the answer to my problem in a book. I’d recently moved and couldn’t find a job. The heroine in the novel I was reading faced similar circumstances and solved her dilemma by taking in laundry.

Domestic chores rank near the one million mark on my list of fun things to do. But, in the pre-computer days of 1989, there was a surprising need – and lucrative payoff – for people who knew their way around a keyboard. So I decided to take in typing.

The first step in my self-employment plan was to call the Comox Valley Record to place an ad. But instead of reaching classifieds, my call was directed to the editor. I’d freelanced for Bruce Winfield when he was editor at the North Island Gazette in Port Hardy. We struck up a conversation and he invited me to cover arts and entertainment for the paper.

I had no idea the freelance gig would last more than a quarter century and involve writing more than 720,000 words in approximately 1,200 articles — the equivalent of 10 books.

It wasn’t always easy. The first obstacle was to overcome my sometimes painful shyness. But I can now ask anyone anything and am always surprised at what they’re willing to tell me. If I had $1 for every time I heard, “Don’t put this in the paper…,” I’d be a wealthy woman.

Older interviewees were surprised I was so young and young interviewees were surprised I was so old. I spoke to people who were sick, dying or riding high on their first glimmer of success. I learned to ask questions and really listen, how to take notes in a dark theatre and to always have three pens in my purse just in case.

I learned how to sniff paintings when it’s difficult to determine if they’re oil or acrylic, was fed Gut-Buster Cookies and discovered that a surprisingly high percentage of comedians are cranky offstage.

There were some dodgy moments. Most interviews took place in the person’s home or studio and more than once I doubted the wisdom of being alone with them. For a month I was stalked by a mentally unstable artist and twice a man followed me out of the community theatre muttering obscenities and hinting at what we could do if alone.

But most of the time covering arts for the Record was so much fun I couldn’t believe I was getting paid to do it. My appreciation for the creative process and the people who practise it increased immensely and I continue to be amazed at the artistic diversity and richness of the Comox Valley.

One of the most important things I learned was how to write a certain amount of words by a certain time. I can’t count the evenings I went straight to my desk after a late night show to write a review. It didn’t matter if it was midnight and I was tired. Newspaper deadlines wait for no man, woman or child. Word count and deadlines are the holy grail of professional writing whether it’s for a newspaper, magazine or book.

Writing for newspapers has launched many a writing career. It’s a sure-fire way to learn how to write on demand, not just when the muse pays a visit. It can be crazy, challenging and very rewarding. But after 25 years, I’ve developed a fondness for in-depth research and the exploration longer stories allow. So I’ve said goodbye to the Record to make more time for writing books.

An adaptation of my farewell article for the Record.