Category: Writing

For the past two days, a cold front has caused the weather (with windchill) to dip to -40 degrees. Luckily, it started on Friday and I only had to commute to work that one day, but even so, during the ten minute walk home that I had to take, most of my toes got frostnip. Nothing serious of course — frostnip is easily treated at home and won’t turn into frostbite as long as you can warm up the affected area quickly enough. Still, it was enough to convince me to stay firmly inside for the entirety of Saturday. On my way home Friday, I’d actually been considering volunteering to lead a Saturday shift at work. Ha! I changed my mind real quick during that walk in the cold.

The fact I’d been considering at all was mainly due to the fact that I was off at the beginning of the week to take care of Scout who, it turns out, has asthma brought on by seasonal allergies (and dust, most likely). I came to realize that some things I’d considered “normal” for a long time were actually symptoms, and a sudden worsening of what he had been experiencing warranted a trip to the vet. He was diagnosed, he was an incredibly good boy during the trip to and from the vet, and he’s doing okay now. Though… our apartment is old, dusty, and stuffy by nature, so I’ve got some trial and error cleaning to do to make it more comfortable for him and by extension, me (because I have seasonal allergies too).

One of the things that the vet prescribed (aside from some stronger measures during peak seasons), was… regular bathing! Ordinarily this isn’t something a cat needs, but given the dust and allergens that settle on his long fur, bathing and shampooing is going to be necessary, it turns out, as long as he’s experiencing symptoms. He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about his first bath earlier this week, but he was surprisingly calm about it. He’s already very fond of watching the tub fill with water when it comes to my baths, so this was just taking things a step further. He tried to jump out several times, but he didn’t try to scratch or bite me. And afterwards, he did seem to be breathing easier and feeling better!

The more dust I manage to root out of this apartment of ours, the better he’ll feel after each bath, and the better our air purifier will work.

One incredible thing that happened after getting home from the vet and giving him a bath: he’s been biting and swiping at me less. I’m thinking this has something to do with the act of me bathing him being both an assertive act and a caring one, but also that going to the vet and coming home was reassuring. He belongs here. He has a home. He isn’t being abandoned. He handled the whole experience extremely well and it built some more trust between us. I felt so proud of him. He was completely unbothered by the presence of another cat, and just as unbothered by the presence of several dogs passing through the office. I don’t know how he would be around children, but he’s friendly towards adults and seems comfortable being around other cats and dogs. The more I teach him to express himself by meowing and licking and using soft paws instead of biting or holding human limbs with his claws out (slowly but surely), the more confident I feel that he might be okay around children too, with time.

He’s a very intelligent, brave, protective, and affectionate cat.

Not to mention, a real beauty, a truly handsome boy!

To summarize: I’m glad I adopted Scout, and I’m also glad I decided not to freeze my butt off going in to work yesterday.

I woke up this morning (Sunday), to a leisurely snowfall, which was a sign that the extreme cold had passed… and a particularly beautiful way to start my morning of writing in that it nudged me into just the right sort of headspace for it.

When I write, I imagine the details of scenes as stills, as photographs, and play interactions like short movie clips in my head. Inner thoughts, monologue, and dialogue aren’t enough for me — I need tactile details and textures to anchor my mind and senses into what I’m writing. It doesn’t quite feel like a cerebral process. It feels more like trying to experience a moment bodily. What does it feel like to be in the scene, in physical space? How can I place myself and the reader in the moment I’m penning (typing)? I don’t want us to observe from a safe, mental distance. I want us to be there. I want us to experience the physical, the emotional, the spiritual space and all the thoughts that come with it, both the character’s and ours.

It’s a lofty goal.

I sure as hell fall short on it a lot of the time — but that’s what I reach for.

The fact that humans can share their imagined, inner landscapes (and through so many mediums, besides) never fails to awe me.

I am as awed by the romantic, the fantastic, the imagined as I am with the minutiae of everyday existence. That’s likely also why I’m prone to depression. You can’t have awe without going through moments and periods of despair. But awe is the constant. There is always awe to be shored up in times of despair, even when it’s small, even when it’s just a grain. A grain of hope is enough to turn that tide.

It’s been snowing since I got up this morning so after brewing myself my pot of Sunday coffee, I sat down to write at my desk by the window, Scout curling up in the bed at the top of his cat tree behind me.

When I write fiction, I generally write and edit at the same time. Very rarely do I ever write a draft and then go back to edit it — those manuscripts end up being one and the same. As I’m writing a line for the first time, I highlight or demarcate (in brackets, for instance) parts that I feel will need to be edited. That way, every time I open my document to continue, my gaze immediately catches on all the highlighted sections one by one, and I can quickly make changes if I can think of how to edit them with my fresh perspective. In this way, my newest sections of text are always streaked with tons of colour and annotations, and fully edited sections of text look plain. In short: the colourful sections are for my eyes, and once the text has been made plain, it’s ready to be read by someone else.

As I write, I also like to worldbuild on a larger scale, and make little references to other WIPs or completed pieces, so on days like today, I end up opening other projects or manuscripts and cross-referencing. It’s such a pleasure to solve a problem or a plothole in one WIP with another (whether directly, or just because your subconscious happened upon the solution while you were busy focusing on the current WIP). Which is to say, in writing TE10, I’m solving a huge issue that I otherwise would have had with the opening chapters of my novel!

Once the pot of coffee ran dry, and the words that had been flowing so readily in the chapter did too, I decided to switch to doing a general clean-up in the apartment (…not my favourite activity in the world, but it needs doing) as well as the laundry, both of which gave me a good excuse to get a bit of exercise and pop outside for a bit of fresh air. And to admire the icicles and falling snow.

Scout was only too happy to try and help me change the bed sheets once the other set came out of the dryer… the operative word being try. His idea of helping of course, was to hide under the covers and swat at my hands as I tucked the fitted sheet over the mattress.

I have also begun considering the idea of adding a sign that says The Scouthouse above the litter box, but considering the fact that I have already put a sticker of a peach above it, I feel the pun might be overdoing it.

I’m open to feedback.

On an unrelated but equally-weird note, Scout is finally starting to drink in front of me after nearly a year of coming to live with me. Before then, I’d only witnessed him drinking from his bowl two or three times, even though the water level would go down a little bit each day after refilling it.

You know what this adorable little weirdo does?

He dips the tip of his forepaw in the bowl first, and then he starts drinking.

Leaves a little wet partial pawprint on his placemat.

I have absolutely no idea why, but he does that every single time.