Paula Wild | Paula Wild

September 2, 2012September 3, 2012

The Dark Sources of Creativity — guest blog by Susan Ketchen

Readers of my novels often shake their heads when they finally meet me and say, “Where do you get your crazy ideas?”

I usually brush them off with jokes about my over-active imagination, and about how ideas come easily when I’m lost in thought (something that happens more and more these days) in the shower or in the pasture with my horses, though of course never while house cleaning.

These responses are diversions from a darker truth.

I am inspired by mistakes, misdeeds and transgressions.

Sometimes the mistakes are my own. I seem to feel that I can redeem myself by disguising my own ridiculous behaviour in the deeds of a character. For example, in a piece about the perils of self-delusion, I fictionalized an interaction I had with a neighbour. His lovely garden was being decimated by deer so he installed an ultra-sonic deer repeller.

Unfortunately I could hear it. I was reluctant to complain, but found I could not ignore the noise and after a few days tromped next-door for a chat. Perhaps he could turn it down? He thought he might try, or he would just return it to the store.

Two nights later I was again at my bedroom window, steamingly indignant because I could still hear that awful high-pitched noise. I really didn’t want to complain again, but that night I needed earplugs to sleep, and how fair was that?

deer — The source of creativity — and all the twisted turns it takes — will forever remain a mystery. Photo by Susan Ketchen

So the next day I returned to my neighbour. I wasn’t sure what to say. What if he didn’t believe me? Or thought I was being a pest? I muttered something nonsensical to him. And he told me he’d returned the unit two days before, generously adding that I must have been kept awake by something else.

This dark event has so inspired my creativity that not only did I devote several chapters of my novel to the puzzle of self-delusion, but I am still writing about it here. I fear I may never sort it out.

I have also used the transgressions of others to inspire my writing. And it seems that my memory is very long when someone wrongs me. From grade one through three, I was socially secure at school. In fourth grade two new girls arrived. They were exotic because they were twins. They had lovely clothes, were smart and socially gregarious, and one of them pushed me down in fun on the playfield and hurt my back! I also toppled from the social scene. I felt as though I’d become invisible overnight.

Several decades passed before my wounded pride was repaired by creating Amber and Topaz in my novel Born That Way. I made the twins into a couple of stuck-up little girls who bullied my protagonist, Sylvia, but never really got her down. Through Sylvia I experienced success managing a more difficult situation than I had faced originally. Apparently it’s never too late to grow up.

For my next project I am considering writing about how we rationalize our treatment and training of animals. Controversy is everywhere: there are trainers and whisperers and behavior modifiers all over the place, and mostly they disagree with each other. Plus they all have loyal followings, and people get quite heated when it comes to defending their pets: advising someone that their dog needs better training is never met with gratitude. Bad behavior abounds. Indeed, there are mistakes, misdeeds and transgressions everywhere. It is a goldmine of creative inspiration.

All I need is a decent pseudonym.

Susan Ketchen is the author of the novels Born That Way (2009), Made That Way (2010) and Grows That Way (2012), all published by Oolichan Books. Find out more about Susan on her website www.susanketchen.ca

July 30, 2012

Where I write

It’s true, a person can write anywhere. On the bus, at a park bench or even in the bathtub. I believe each person writes best when they’re in a place that is perfect for them.

Some like the background buzz of a cappuccino bar while others thrive on the clatter of keyboard keys as they pound out story after story in a newspaper newsroom. Personally, I prefer the quiet ambiance of my home office. And, as the oldest room in our 96-year old house, the room definitely has ambiance.

To begin with, its ample size provides plenty of room for two desks, built-in and portable bookcases, a filing cabinet (there are more in the basement) and two tables to pile things on. (Despite the best of intentions, I’m a piler, not a filer.)

But it’s the transom windows that I love best. At 1.6 metres tall by one metre wide (or 5 feet, 3 inches and 3 feet, one inch for the metrically challenged) the natural light provides a welcome respite from the glow of the computer screen.

And to tell the truth, they also present ample opportunities for distraction. In the spring my eyes are drawn to a snowstorm of white plum blossoms, a miniature forest of daffodils and a two-storey tall mock orange. Fall storms bring a rust coloured carpet of plate-sized maple leaves.

The view from my window one day this May.

But it’s the wildlife that lures me out of my computer chair. Over the years I’ve watched deer, raccoons, mink and squirrels, as well as feral cats and rabbits outside my writing room window.

Then there’s the cawing of crows and ravens and the high pitched screech of an eagle. Or the cacophony of sound an army of small birds made the day a Barred owl perched in a Douglas fir. I watched as a hummingbird darted forward to stab the enemy in the chest with a tiny beak. Despite his or her bravery, the owl didn’t budge.

The most surprising disturbance though, was the day my fingers paused on the keyboard as I wondered why I thought I heard a turkey gobbling. We do live in a rural area but there aren’t any domestic fowl in the neighbourhood.

But when I peered out the window there was a full grown tom, tail feathers fanned out in an impressive display, dancing around a flock of female turkeys on the lawn next door. I don’t know where these domestic birds escaped from or how they went wild, but they hung around for a month or so, until one by one, they all disappeared.

After 22 years of enjoying a great view and having a ringside seat to nature’s drama, I’m totally addicted. If we ever move, at the top of my criteria list for a new house will be a writing space with big windows and a view.

July 30, 2012August 5, 2012

Where I write

It’s true, a person can write anywhere. On the bus, at a park bench or even in the bathtub. I believe each person writes best when they’re in a place that is perfect for them.

But it’s the wildlife that lures me out of my computer chair. Over the years I’ve watched deer, raccoons, mink and squirrels, as well as feral cats and rabbits outside my writing room window.

June 18, 2012June 20, 2012

Preparing to launch Part 3 — guest blog by Rick James

Well, contrary to Susan and Harold’s experiences with book signings, I actually looked forward to my book launch of West Coast Wrecks & Other Maritime Tales with a good deal of confidence. Perhaps too much.

For one, I have no shortage of tasteful, better quality shirts in my closet. (Christmas presents over the years from Mom and also courtesy of Paula’s brother who manages the fashionable outdoor store, REI, in San Francisco). Plus I had just bought a new pair of black jeans. And since I don’t live in Merville like Harold, my fingernails stay reasonably clean.

But I do make sure I get a haircut just before a presentation. Otherwise, my unruly, white locks tend to make me look like a deranged Albert Einstein.

Also, I credit my ability to stay relaxed before a group to the fact that I’ve given a fair amount of slide shows and presentations over the years. And for some bizarre reason, I’ve become a more social animal as I age and actually enjoy standing up in front of a group. (This been a surprise to Paula who often reminds me that I used to be a quiet and retiring Fanny Bay recluse.)

Last fall I had my book launch at the Vancouver Maritime Museum. And, gad sakes! some 60+ people turned up and they were all out there in front of me!! Man, I was pumped and I think my publicist from Harbour Publishing was surprised too. Turns out she misjudged the number of people who would attend and hadn’t purchased enough pastry items; a disappointment for those late getting to the goodies table.

The PowerPoint presentation went over exceedingly well. A good indication of success was the comments afterwards and question period that lasted for about 15 minutes. The worst thing that can happen at the end of a presentation is that everyone sits there with a deadpan, bored expression on their faces.

So I was brimming with an overwhelming sense of success and goodwill as I made my way to the book signing table where a crowd had already lined up. Then it happened; about seven signed copies along.

As I looked up at this big, middle-aged, balding guy with a pony tail I asked, “Who should I make it out to?” And he answers, “Rick James!” I did a double take and replied, “No, that’s me, the author, I mean, what’s your name?”

Rick at Salmon Days002 — Rick back in the 1970s before he developed his published author persona.

“Rick James!” he declared again. “Don’t you remember me from the old days in Victoria? How could ya forget, I mean, we not only have the same name…” And continues in an overly loud voice, “Oh man! We even used to smoke dope together at Keith’s place on Burdett back in the early 70s!”

Thankfully most of the folks around the table were old friends or work colleagues who were probably already aware of my past. Still, I could tell some people were startled. You know, the strangers I had managed to convince over the past hour that I should be looked upon as a respectable West Coast maritime historian and writer. Who knows what they thought after the other Rick James finished talking?

So there you go, no matter how well prepared – and groomed – a person is for a book signing, something totally unexpected can still bring you to back to reality with a jolt.