But hopefully, somewhere in that pile of words, you’ve learned a thing or two, and maybe you’ve even put something together that someone, somewhere, would want to read. This is every writers darkest fantasy. Getting published.

It’s a long and hairy road. A lot happens between “writing” and “being published.” If we call “writing” step one of the process, I’m currently on step two: querying. You take your novel, (50-100 thousand words, with another million on the cutting room floor), and you try to condense it to roughly 250 words that are exciting enough to entice a potential agent or publisher to read more. You send this query letter out, and you wait patiently for the rejection letters to come pouring in.

And pour in they do! I have a folder filled with polite thanks but no thanks letters. But if you keep sending it out, maybe, just maybe, one day someone will be interested.

That’s what happened to me on Friday, January 27th. I received an email from a publisher asking me to send in a hard copy of my novel.

SQUEE!

Shipping  a manuscript is about a $50 investment in printing costs and postage. Good thing there’s a bus strike in Halifax. I can put my unspent bus ticket money towards shipping and handling. So I printed it, and packaged it, and mailed it with pride.

I was so excited, I wanted a picture of the packaged manuscript. Something to show the grandkids...

And this would have been the end of my little story. Except, the publisher wasn’t in the office when the package was delivered on February 1st, so it was returned to the nearest postal outlet, awaiting pickup.

And there it sat.

For 14 days.

Every day I checked Canada Post to see if it had been retrieved, and every day my heart shrunk just a little. What if they didn’t get the delivery notification? What if they lost it? What if they forgot?

What the heck is the protocol for this? You really really REALLY don’t want to harass publishers. But you also don’t want to miss the chance to get it to the only person interested in reading the damn thing.

I hemmed. I hawed. Finally, I broke down and sent the publisher a gentle, friendly reminder that they only had a few days left to get it. They promptly replied saying they’d just gotten the first notification of it that day (damn you, Canada Post!), and to basically hold my horses.

I checked Canada Post. I checked again.

And I can (finally!) say that as of 9:11am (EST) this morning, my manuscript is in the hands of a real live publisher.

I feel obliged to point out that this doesn’t mean anything at all. It’s non-news. There are many-a steps between having someone ask to see the full manuscript and publication. So don’t go telling people I’ll be a best selling author by Easter (Granny, this means you!).

But, hell! Someone besides friends and family is volunteering to read more! I say it again:

SQUEE!

Yes, I took another picture of the package on a clean tables, with flowers. I was that excited.

Post Script:

For those that are wondering, here are the possible outcomes, in descending order of likeliness:

1. I never hear from the publisher again (49.999999%)
2. I get a form rejection from the publisher sometime in the next 6 months (49.999999%)
3. The publisher is actually interested in it (0.000002%)

Fingers crossed!

Question 1: What is this?

If you answered Police Box, dummy. It says so right on it! Twice!, this probably isn’t the post for you. Perhaps you would enjoy listening to the theme song from Night Court?

If you answered it’s a Time and Relative Dimension in Space, or T.A.R.D.I.S., dummy! Clearly its chameleon circuit is faulty, causing it to be stuck in the form of a 1960s police box, but still a perfectly valid form of space/time travel,  then proceed to question 2.

Question 2: What is this?

If you answered a cat toy and a large tooth pick, I recommend you stop reading now, and instead watch this neat video on Sloths.

If you answered the raw materials to crochet something awesome!, then you may be interested in what I have to share.

Behold, the totally dorky present I made for my boyfriend (henceforth referred to as “Corey.” Because that’s his “name.”) for his birthday.

Pattern compliments of Army of Owls Crochet Invasion.

Ever think how much more cuddly the world would be if we were all plush? Even Angel learned how to let love in when he was turned into a muppet. And he was a vampire! (with a soul…)

Okay, I’m done being a total dork. For now….

I do apologize for my absence. It’s not like I haven’t been thinking about you. It’s just…how shall I put this…ah, yes.

All of my ideas for blog posts have been incredibly lame.

It’s true. Every time I sat down to write something, bad ideas flooded my head. I couldn’t move past them. Nothing remotely interesting came to mind.

I see three explanations for this phemonenom.

1) I’ve become an incredibly boring person.

2) I’ve  always was an incredibly boring person, and am only now coming to terms with it.

3) All of these little, stupid things are trapped in my head, blocking the good ideas.

Let’s test #3 before we turn to #2 or #1 as viable options. I’ll flush all of the bad ideas out with one quick post. Then we wait for all the good stuff to come flooding back.

I apologize for inflicting this on you, and understand completely if you’ve already stopped reading and have switched back to LOL Cats.

Top Seven Things That Really Aren’t Interesting Enough To Blog About

1) I made tea a while ago in my favourite mug. My step dad bought it for me when I was 18 and had moved out of the family home. I poured hot water into it and the cup split right in half.

2) We inherited (I swear we didn’t actually spend money on this) a package of Mug Cakes. You put the powder in a mug, add water, and microwave. The package promised a delicious cake in a mug. What we got was salty, powdery sludge-in-a-mug.

3) I made my boyfriend a sweater for Christmas. Part way in I had to pull out about half of it because I made a stupid mistake. (Note: I will likely post more about this sweater. I happen to think knitting stories are wildly interesting.)

4) I found a recipe mistake in a Jamie Oliver cookbook. For a few moments I felt this elated superiority.

5) We unpacked a box of Christmas decorations donated to us by family, I thought all of the broken ones put together looked really pretty.

6) I made Lemoncillo (gin, lemon zest, sugar). It looked sticky in it’s jar, but tastes really good on icecream.

7) Speaking of citrus fruits, I made marmalade too, which involved boiling oranges. CRAZY!

Just be glad I didn’t write seven full posts.

Okay, brain. Are you flushed. Can you start being interesting again?

Pretty please?

My boyfriend and I spent last Saturday running errands. We were driving a van full of donations for a charity sale out to Lake Echo, about half an hour out of town. We turned on the radio to keep us company on the drive, catching some random talk radio program.

We caught the very end of a story that sounded like a store had banned men from entering the lingerie section, and moved right into an interview with a man who had lived in the wilderness with a moose for four months. He talked about his upcoming book, Living with Kunga, and demonstrated moose calls for hunger and frustration. I couldn’t hear the difference, but Corey said he thought frustration had an upward inflection at the end. I thought the book would be a great gift for my dad.

They moved on to a story about an environmental phenomena discovered in Alberta – a wind that was blowing straight down! They talked to a wind scientist who discussed how it was possible in great detail, and we thought that sounded pretty cool.

Next they reminded listeners of their most shapely province contest. Write in with your favourite shaped province! That sparked a whole new conversation. Corey likes textured borders of BC and  straight lines of Saskatchewan. I’ve always been a sucker for Manitoba. It’s like Saskatchewan, but with a tumor growing out of its head.

It wasn’t until they did a piece on Vancouver’s Tic Talks, the tweeter’s answer to Ted Talks, that we started to realize something was up. Feeling that the Ted Talks 20 minute format was far too long, Tic Talks gives speakers 9 seconds to describe their passion. Because, if we can’t retweet your revolution, then we don’t want to be part of it.

Corey and I looked at each other.

“Is this…” he started.

“…fake news?” I finished.

And then we both started laughing.

The straight-down wind, the shapely province contest, the man who lived with a moose, we fell for it all! We even discussed each story. In detail.

We felt stupid.

And, totally meant for each other.

Thank you, universe. Message received.

PS, the show was CBC’s This is That. I kind of love it.

Photo Credits

Moose @ Flickr

Manitoba @ Flickr

LOL Cat @ icanhascheezburger

We would shoot these videos in the school halls or my living room, stopping to charge the battery every 10 minutes or so, then edit them using the latest technology (hooking two VCRs together and trying not to hit “record” on the wrong one). Then we would display our movies proudly to our classmates and teachers, sure they would rocket us up the ladder to at least the middle of the social hierarchy.

French videos were a favourite, featuring such treats as Super Vache (no, I can’t understand why a flying cow made so many cameos. It made sense at the time), and a cooking show where we learned to make sandwichs de doigt, with real fingers.

The pride of our teen film library was a remake of Hitchcock’s The Birds, with some lovely shot-by-shot recreations and flock of about 50 stuffed fowl making up the antagonists. But before I had a chance to submit our masterpiece to the Sundance Film Festival, a mother (I won’t say whose)  TAPED OVER IT! Our only copy! With something like Law & Order!

My spirits were crushed.

Under the wheels of a 100 ton truck.

Fuelled by rage.

Filled with broken dreams.

Driven by despair.

Flash forward 16 years.

I took an intro to film making workshop at AFCOOP a few weeks ago. It was 4 hours long – we’re talking a very basic overview of all the things you need to know about and be intimidated by when getting into film. The instructor, Walter Forsyth, tried to convince us that film making doesn’t have to be hard, and challenged us all to make a film in a week using whatever kind of technology we already owned.

I dusted off my Canon Powershot Sx1 IS, figured out how to record video on it (it’s as easy as pressing “record” – who knew?), coerced my boyfriend into making his début into acting, and, voila! 84 seconds of true magic.

And thanks to the internet, there is no way this sucker can get taped over! Sundance, here I come!

1. My passionate love of lists.
2. A belief that a really long list of books I had some relation to would make me look cool.
3. A (relatively reasonable) fear that over time I would forget what I’d read (reasonable considering how many times we’ll get to the end of a movie and Mom will say “You know, I think I saw that before…”). This was coupled with the  belief that if I can’t remember reading a book at least I could know that I had read it, and this would somehow make me feel better. Now, having seen dementia (only a little, only from the sidelines. And no, Mom, no, Granny, I’m not talking about you!) I’m starting to think being reminded of the things you can’t remember is probably worse and I should let these to-be-forgotten books go. But I can’t, because of point 1. And point 4.
4. I really super duper totally love lists.

The book I finished today, that prompted this whole debacle.

So, I started this list in 2001, when I was in college and feeling really smart. And I updated it faithfully for a few years. Then, in 2003, I stopped. I don’t know why. I was young. I was foolish.  I was working my first real job. I was distracted by cocktails and cute boys.

I few years ago I came across the file on my computer. Scanning the list of books I’d read years ago filled my with joy. It was like being reacquainted with an old, dear friend. A friend who you’d totally forgotten about, because while they are a good person, you are selfish and self-absorbed and forgetful and kind of mean. But they don’t mind; they’re just happy to see you and be remembered. I guess this friend is pretty pathetic. Which is probably why you let them drift away in the first place.

I digress…

Right. So it was wonderful to go through this list and remember these books and sometimes remember where I was when I read them. But it also made be incredibly sad. There was this huge hole, years missing! I wanted to start the list again, but the anal retentive part of me (it’s a really big part) said NO! The list will be imperfect. Invalid. You can’t keep a tally of books only sometimes. That’s not a list of things you’ve read. It’s a list of things you’ve remembered to record. It’s a testament to how stupid and lazy you are!

So I doped this part of my brain with a few bottles of wine and started my list again.

This morning I finished My Sister’s Blue Eyes by Jacques Poulin. I sat down at my computer, coffee in hand, and opened up “The File”.

I hadn’t updated it since April!

What? WHAT? WHATWHATWHAT?!?!?

The first book I can remember reading all by myself

The baby in me wanted to bawl. Fortunately she was quickly quashed by the uppity jerk in me (Are you in physical pain? Is someone abusing you emotionally? Do you have food in your cupboards? Then BUCK UP!) and replaced by the geek in me. Project! Fun!

The project? To put the list on my blog! I know, this is the best thing you’ve heard all day. Am I right? I can reformat the whole thing! It’ll take hours! Weeee! And I could add a rating system and link to author pages and—

Four hours later, and this is what I have. http://sarahgignac.com/books/ Not bad for a start, but the links to authors and such will take a while to add.

Does anyone else keep lists like this? Please, tell me I’m not alone!

And if you have any suggestions for reading material, I’m always on the look out for my next favourite author!

This is the situation my boyfriend and I have recently found ourselves in. We took all the stuff I own, and all the stuff he owns, and put it all in the same apartment.

It wasn’t much.

Sure, there are lots (and I mean LOTS) of boxes of books and movies and old journals and sketch books. Many drawings and paintings and wonderful art that’s begging to be hung on our walls. But when it comes to practical things…

Like furniture. For sitting.

And shelves. For putting said books and movies and journals and sketch books.

And cooking implements. For…um…cooking.

Then, one glorious day, Corey walks into the living room, carrying a plate of — GASP — toast! Where did it come from? We have no toaster. This is madness!

“I made one,” he says, chomping into a delicious slice of peanut butter toast. I covet this toast.

I like toast.

How can you make a toaster?, You may be asking. I sure did.

First, you take one of these.

Next, you add one of these.

Add your sliced bread, and you get this!

My boyfriend is a genius.

Photo Credits

Coat Hangers by Viewoftheworld
Other photos by Me!

The proposal happened last fall, and around Christmas they announced the wedding would be “some time in the summer.” By my calculations, that gave me 6 to 9 months to put together a bitchin’ present.

Challenge accepted.

I had this idea. I’d recently gotten into quilting. And by that I mean that I made a very simple small blanket out of 8X8 inch squares that was all mangled because I didn’t bother to learn how to finish it correctly (for those that don’t know, attaching the front patchwork part of a quilt to the soft batting and the back is done in a really specific and finicky way, and if you don’t do it properly the whole thing looks like junk). I was practically an expert. Who wouldn’t want a wedding quilt?

I sent squares of a plain beige material to friends and family and asked them to decorate them in some meaningful way and return them by April. That was the hardest part: getting those squares back from people was an exercise in frustration that I imagine is on par with herding cats.

But finally, by late June (JUNE!) I had 30 squares back. Now it was my turn. Time to put them all together into a quilt. No problemo.

Putting them all in their perfect place

Front Assembled

Trying to attach it to the batting without mangling the whole thing

Final Product!

Needless to say, it was a little more work than I anticipated.

The hardest part turned out being keeping it a secret. I was worried that one of my co-conspirators would spill the quilty beans, but it was me who very nearly told Angie several times.

Angie: Whatcha doing?

Me: Working on your qu….I mean, nothing. I’m doing nothing.

This was also my excuse for doing nothing else over the summer. Finding yoga work, writing, updating my blog, getting a stockpile of knitted good going – all that was put on hold.

I’m happy to announce that despite all of the great opportunities to ruin the surprise, Angie and Nathan made it to their wedding day having no idea.

Now, back to my regular scheduled programming. What did I used to do in my free time?

• Moved into a new apartment.

Day Seven

• Wanted cookies.
• Investigated cupboards. Shocked to find we didn’t have any cookies.

Day Eight

• Thought about making cookies.
• Investigated fridge. Shocked to find we didn’t have any butter.

Day Nine

• Bought butter.

Day Ten

• Left butter on counter to warm up for baking process.
• Forgot about butter.

Day Eleven

• Found butter.
• Remembered cookie plan.
• Investigated cupboard. Shocked to find we didn’t have cookies sheets.

Day Thirteen

• Went to Canadian Tire. Discovered cookie sheets are $20!
• Went to Thrift Store. Found a cookie sheet for 99 cents.
• Went home.
• Investigated cupboards. Shocked to find we didn’t have mixing bowls.
• Scraped super soft butter into a giant pot.
• Added sugar.
• Investigated fridge. Shocked to find we didn’t have eggs.
• Walked to store. Bought eggs.
• Added eggs, vanilla, flour, salt.
• Investigated cupboards. Shocked to find we didn’t have baking soda. Or cinnamon.
• Considered throwing giant pot out the window.
• Investigated window. Screens prevented pot throwing. Investigation also revealed it was raining.
• Thought about walking to store. Remembered rain.
• Finished cookie dough without baking soda or cinnamon. Added oats and raisins.
• Dropped cookie dough by spoonful onto cookie sheet.
• Tried to put cookie sheet in oven. Failed.
• Turned it 90 degrees and tried again.
• Considered throwing cookie sheet out the window. Remembered screens.
• Jammed cookie sheet into oven and slammed door shut.
• Poured large glass of wine.

Cookie sheet too big? Or oven too small?

Post Script

This may be the wine talking. Or it may be my inability to admit defeat to a kitchen appliance. But let the record show that despite of the universe conspiring against me, I was able to pull off a pretty darn good cookie.
Universe 0 / Sarah 1

Fortunately, last night I was party to an event that was so important I knew as it was happening that it was just the thing to bring my block back to life. So hold onto your hats!

Are you ready?

Here it is.

First, a little back story. I’m currently in Victoria for a visit, and I’m staying with family. More on that later.

Okay, backstory over.

I was standing in front of the fridge at around 11pm, scanning the shelves packed with leftovers and occasionally shifting the milk from side to side.

Mom: What are you looking for?

Me: Icing. I want more icing on my cupcake.

Dad: Someone should write to Reece and tell them to make a reece’s pieces icing. Wouldn’t that be tasty?

When brought face to face with brilliance, people react differently. For example, I stood gaping at my dad. My mom ignored the million dollar idea and instead took over my search for icing. My Dad, however, started rooting around in the cupboards, determined to create a prototype.

1. First he filled a bowl with peanut butter.
2. He started adding icing sugar, mixing thoroughly until it was roughly the consistency of old and crumbly mortar.
3. Next he added light corn syrup at a slow drizzle until it became slightly less crumbly mortar.
4. Finally he folded in a few spoons of chocolate icing my mom had recovered from the fridge.

I feel no shame when I say I tried this teeth-rotting, artery-clogging concoction. When I finally awoke from my diabetic coma, I was able to report that yes, my dad’s recipe did sort of taste like mushy reece’s pieces, and that no, I didn’t plan on suing.

Science: fun for the whole family!

This picture is a little blurry because I was just SO EXCITED!