Marion Agnew

Not to be all "gratitude list" about it, because nothing is more annoying when you're wound up and in a funk at the same time to be told, "make a gratitude list," but. Okay, this is maybe a little gratitude-y.  September has brought, shall we say, challenges, and in learning to meet them, I have been deliberately looking for bright sides.  * The "active words on a page" part of writing my new novel had to take a back seat in September. In the rest of life, we had problems. They needed solutions. We also had situations--things that existed but over which we had no control and thus couldn't solve. Sorting it all out meant fractured sleep and focus and concentration. That meant few words.  Bright side: the novel was still there. Occasionally I'd stop at my open notebook and write down something, and when I went back to look recently, all of the notes made sense. (!!!) Apparently I was continuing to work on my novel all that time. I'm sitting d...

Writing--for publication, anyway--involves a lot of waiting.* You wait for pitches and finished pieces to be accepted or rejected. You wait to hear from editors. You wait for your words to appear in print/online.  Waiting for the sun to rise. Regular life apparently involves a lot of waiting too--even when you can schedule appointments and aren't hanging around to hear by text or phone (or when you give out your cell number more frequently than we do). I have two appointments still looming this month (one fun, one not so much but worthy), and even though they aren't today's problems, I feel their weight.   Of course, it's possible to do things while you wait.  Yesterday, while waiting, I had a cavity filled and learned how to resize a graphic in Canva. Monday, I watched a knowledgeable expert fix the washing machine. For several previous weeks, I've produced and revised words.  The past couple of weeks have been full of mechanical things. I've asked many other e...

Below are a few of the things I’ve been pondering this August.   New glasses do make a difference in how and what I see, and that changes my outlook. So many things that I think of as metaphors are also literal.   Related: in an article about brain function by Max G. Levy in Wired , I read this astonishing sentence: “ Every thought that crosses your mind has, literally, crossed your mind, as millions of neurons in different parts of the brain chatter with one another. “ Literally. Here's a link to the article:  https://www.wired.com/story/this-is-your-brain-under-anesthesia/   It’s nice to be invited to participate in something professional. Related: It’s interesting (to me) to do a retrospective of my work in a particular form over the past seven or so years. I could see where external events influenced decisions (and I’m glad I made the choices I did), and I could also see where I began to push myself to develop skills I hadn’t had before.  ...

I don’t like oat milk. I have tried. But I really don’t. Fireweed is pretty, but I learned that some other July. Straw hats! So much new-to-me info.                 You can find them to fit people who have big heads.                 They can feel “too hot” on a warm day.                 They do not have a convenient hole for a high ponytail (like Maggie’s                     #ponytailofjustice on FBI), so yours has to lie low,                     like a Founding Father’s. Smoke (from forest fires) gets everywhere, not just in your eyes. Great song, though. Oil cleansers, about which I’ve been skeptical due to their “flavour of the month,” gimmicky connotation, really do work...

I read VOICE: Adam Pottle on Writing with Deafness several months ago.   Recently, I finally put into words some of my thoughts about it, and those appear at River Street Writing.  An excerpt (note that these are mostly my feelings):  And wow, this book. It combines creative nonfiction, memoir, and sage writing advice. Searingly honest, it’s full of rage and beauty and a palpable, energetic love of the written word. It’s transparent and full of longing to be “heard.” It commands and rewards a reader’s reflection.   I highly recommend the book, and I notice that Adam will be the writer-in-residence at Sheridan College soon. For the review (and other interesting topics on River Street Writing's website and blog), go here.   

 OK who's thinking of alligators and crocodiles, as well as headgear? Light blue golf visor, the kind held by a sproingy cord around the back of the head, with a pattern of birds; and a straw hat. Settle in, I'm about to extend a metaphor. I've always had a big head. Possibly also metaphorically, but I'm talking about physically. As in, it's hard to find hats to fit.  Luckily, my sister has kept me well-stocked with adjustable golf visors, which are awesome. They keep the sun out of my face and let me stay cool--they don't retain the heat a baseball cap would.  However, lately I've found that visors give me a headache if I wear them too long. Also, they don't protect the top of my scalp from biting bugs or the sun. (It's been a while since the part in my hair burned--THAT's not fun.).  So I've "adopted" a straw hat from my husband, just to try it out, and I like it. I'm sampling other straw hats, just for grins.  The point is, s...

Not yet.  Not even later this afternoon, when all the people in this household will be fully vaccinated, or two weeks from today, when our immunity should be ramped up and ready to go.  Not even when this country reaches some magical number of vaccinations or some magic percentage of the population vaccinated, which will in theory (or reality) mean that we humans can no longer transmit the virus in this country. Or any of the above in any other country, either.  Not before the world has access to vaccines.  But not even then. Increasingly, I'm understanding that the pandemic may never be over. Not for those "long-haulers" who continue to experience the effects of the disease.  Certainly not for those, in my extended family and not, who lost loved ones and were prevented from the social rituals of mourning that we humans have developed to accompany us through those difficult times of life.  But--ideally--it won't be over for all of us. When do we stop grievi...