Researching Earth’s hell-hole

I’ve been spending lots of time doing research for my novel, which is set in the Democratic Republic of Congo, arguably one of the worst places on earth. I visited the DRC several years ago, pre-children, while I was working with FH Canada (formerly known as Food for the Hungry Canada). We visited a hospital run by HEAL Africa for victims of sexual violence. One of the most commonly-performed procedures there was surgery to repair fistuala – which means that the woman was raped so violently that the tissue separating the vagina and rectum was torn apart, leaving a gaping hole between the two. Sexual violence is unbelievably widespread in the DRC, especially in the war-torn eastern areas.

Researching life in the DRC is a gut-wrenching experience. But I’m starting to get to know the community of amazing people who are giving of themselves to make that life better – or at least to share the burden of pain. One of those people is Amy Ernst, a recent grad of Colorado College who is working with rape survivors in the DRC. She’s a great writer and I’ve really enjoyed following her blog. If you’re at all interested in what’s going on in the Congo and what daily life is like for an aid worker in one of the most violent places on earth, check her out.

Best YA series ever (IMHO): The Hunger Games

Some of you have heard me wax eloquently (ok, fangirl-y) about my love for The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins. As the third and final book in the trilogy is about to be released (tonight at midnight! squeee!), I thought it would be fitting to write a review of the first two books. Only I don’t know how to write a proper book review, so I’ll just tell you what I thought of it and hope that’s good enough to convince you to sprint to your nearest online, independent or large corporate bookseller and buy these books in all their hardcover glory.

The first time I heard of The Hunger Games was at the Surrey International Writer’s Conference in October 2008. I was trying to chat up a literary agent from New York, and he was so obviously not engaged in the conversation that I had to ask if there was somewhere he needed to be. He had the good grace to look slightly abashed, and then admitted that he was just dying to get back to his hotel room to finish what was in his opinion one of the best books he’d ever read. He confessed he had stayed up most of the night reading it and was hoping to nip upstairs to finish it before the next session.

Ok, I thought. That’s a book I have to read. (more…)

Blogging vs writing

Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated. The past couple of weeks have found me caught up in a wonderful whirlwind of family-related activity, namely my brother-in-law’s wedding, a visit from my sister-in-law from Australia, and a two-week visit from my parents from New Brunswick. Throw lots and lots of work into the mix (‘tis the season for fall direct mail campaigns) and hopefully you can understand why I’ve found it difficult to find time to shower, let alone blog.

In truth, however, I’ve also been struggling with the idea of blogging. I love it, and I do believe it’s helped me to sit down and just write without agonizing over every single word or comma (which is why there are probably lots of grammatical errors sprinkled throughout these pages). But I read an article by author Sherman Alexie, and one of his top ten pieces of writing advice was “Every word on your blog is a word not in your book.” Ouch. For someone who loves blogging, it’s a hard thing to hear – but it’s true. As a working mother, my free time is limited – and my desire/need to write has to do battle with other needs and desires such as exercise, prayer, reading and those oh-so-elusive eight hours of sleep. So I wonder if I am trying to do too much – that is, write a novel and blog at the same time. Maybe if I’m really honest, blogging just a sophisticated procrastination technique. But if I don’t blog, where will I rant about misplaced commas, princesses and ill-advised attempts to help the world’s poor? Perhaps my novel’s protagonist should be the feminist editor of an international economics magazine and I can kill two birds with one stone. (more…)

Chapters’ environmental hypocrisy

In the most recent issue of Writer’s Digest, Bill O’Hanlon writes about using frustration, hurt and anger to fuel your writing. One of the sections of his article is called “Write From Being Righteously Indignant.”

I’m righteously indignant. About a lot of things. My cause-du-jour? Plastic bags.

Don’t get too excited, environmentalists. I’m not going to wax eloquent on the virtues of re-usable canvas bags. I use them, of course (so you can put down the pitchforks), but my beef right now is not with the evils of overconsumption. It’s with businesses that like to pose as environmentalists because it’s good PR, but pass on the costs of their good will to me, the customer.

Last week I was in Chapters, one of my favourite places in the whole world. I bought a book for myself (The Constant Gardener by John Le Carré) and a pile of birthday gifts. While checking out, the lovely girl behind the counter asked me if I wanted a bag for my purchases. With an armful of books, two kids in tow, rain outside, and more errands yet to run, I said, “Yes,” mystified as to why she would even ask me that question.

“That will be an extra 6¢, then,” she said.

There was, I admit, a long and dramatic pause on my part, followed by some seriously raised eyebrows and a slightly opened mouth for effect.

“All of the proceeds are being donated to the World Wildlife Fund,” she quickly added.

Unfortunately for her, this didn’t make things better. In fact, it made them worse, and I proceeded to embarrass my shopping companion by ranting loudly about the hypocrisy of businesses that pretend to be charitable but really just compel the consumer to donate to the business’ cause of choice. (I made sure the girl knew I wasn’t upset at her personally, of course, and she made sure I knew it was Ontario’s fault. Of course.)

In case I am being misunderstood, let me be clear (I’m still afraid of those pitchforks): I don’t have a problem paying for plastic bags. And yes, it’s only 6¢. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. If Chapters wants to donate to the World Wildlife Fund, why don’t they do so out of their profits? Instead, they’re charging me the 6¢ and then passing that along to the WWF (after taking their cut to pay for the bags, of course). That would be the equivalent of me raising my copywriting rates by 10% and then bragging, “10% of all fees are donated to charity.” It’s just a smokescreen. In essence, all Chapters is doing is creating more bureaucracy – they’ve set themselves up as the middleman between the WWF and unwilling/unsuspecting donors. And if there’s anything the world of charitable giving needs less of, it’s middlemen.

So really, Chapters and friends (I’m looking at you, IKEA and Shoppers Drug Mart). If you want to charge me for the plastic bags, just charge me. If you want to support the WWF, send them a cheque from your profits. And if you want me to donate to the WWF, put a jar on the counter, and I’ll decide whether or not to contribute (even more impressive would be if you offered to match my donation). But stop trying to pose as great supporters of the environment when it’s not costing you a penny, and when you’re really just passing the buck on to me.

Have map, will travel (actually, the map is optional)

My parents are slowly but surely making their way from my childhood home in Fredericton, New Brunswick to my current home in Vancouver, British Columbia. By car. For them, this is the trip of a lifetime, one they’ve wanted to do for years. It will take them two weeks to get here and two weeks to drive back (by a different route each time of course), with only two weeks in between.

I think my mom must have some gypsy blood in her (is it ok to say that?), because she’s never wanted to stay put for very long. My dad was a trucker when they met and started courting, and their “dates” consisted of him stopping in her town with his truck and taking her with him to deliver his load. They would even take turns driving, although she wasn’t licensed for a big rig (which I guess is why she could drive our Suburban with her eyes closed).

When my brother and I were kids we were on the road almost every weekend in the winter, traveling to speed skating competitions and training camps all over the Maritimes, Ontario and Quebec, and once or twice a year somewhere far flung for Nationals and North Americans. And if we had a rare weekend off, chances are we’d find someplace to go just for the heck of it. For us, staying home was for people with no imagination. (more…)