Anyone who writes knows that a big part of writing is - not writing. Avoiding that blank page. People have cleaned kitchens, sculpted a wicked French manicure, and raised entire families in the pursuit of not writing.

Here's an article

sympathetic to the dilemma.
Now if you'll excuse me I'll get back to work...just as soon as I fix my hair...recheck the showtimes for Slumdog Millionaire...plant looks like it needs water...

(Image: www.inspirationonline.com.)

This blog isn't about politics - who cares what I think about politics? And it certainly isn't about American politics - because, same deal. But something happened on the bus a while ago that I just can't get out of my mind. It was the Saturday before the inauguration and I was en route to a movie matinee and the bus was about half full. The driver had one of the local radio stations on, playing quietly, and between the Top 40 hits came a news break, and the the news announcer mentioned something about Barack Obama. And people on the bus clapped. People on the #10 Metrobus on their way to the mall in St. John's, NL, far, far away from Washington D. C., they heard this man's name and they applauded.

(Image: geocities.com.)

Last night I was about to turn off CBC Radio's Night Time Review to watch a dvd but the feature was so intriguing I ended up standing next to the radio for the next ten minutes until the piece finished. It was a discussion about John Geiger's new book, The Third Man Factor - nothing to do with the classic film - here's an article from the Globe - stories of people who have survived quite dramatic and traumatic situations with the help of a mysterious other.

(Image: compassfishing.com.)

Been doing some research into

Karel Appel, came across the piece Questioning Children (relief, 1949) and some stories collected by the Tate,
i sweetly e.:

Eric, age 4, from USA
Tuesday 11 September 2007

It reminds me of a school. They are worried. The little one is saying something. The little one is saying, “Thank you. ” It reminds me of people in a yoga class. It reminds me of people playing together. They have square and rounds heads and little heads. It reminds me of a red dog with black eyes.

We're test-driving a new office laptop. Very exciting possibilities here, in terms of housekeeping/logistics ie. creating a portable database. But it also means that I can now partake of the time-honoured practice of writing in cafes, or, as David Mamet prefers, Writing In Restaurants. (Do I need a black turtleneck? A working knowledge of existentialism? Best to be sure.)

(Image: The Night Cafe, mikiaboomfiles.wordpress.com.)

I walked out of the house this morning into a bright day with big fluffy snowflakes sparkling in the air, and four steps later I was in a gale-fueled whiteout. It was like a movie special effect: cue the blizzard! What you might call your average snow squall I guess. I managed to traverse Rawlin's Cross and stagger along Hayward Avenue when a kind friend salvaged my mascara-streaked, weather-shocked self.

(Image: www.clevercrow.com.)

Don't know if you're into the Oscars; me, I'm hoping the nominations will at last bring Milk to our cinemas (Frost/Nixon starts this Friday!)

(Image: AtTheMovies.)

Got any chocolates left over from Christmas? Me neither. No form of candy enjoys a long lifespan at our house. However some of you may have approached the holidays with more restraint and some sense of decorum and have some treats still around. If so, here's a nice recipe for leftover Hershey's kisses, and another for fruitcake or pudding.

(Image: dkimages.com.)

Inauguration Day

...and we're all watching, we're all listening...

(Image: wordpress.com.)

Got a spare poem?

Script that maybe you're bringing along? An essay you've whipped into tiptop shape, or a painting that deserves an airing? The NL Arts and Letters Competition is underway, now under the stewardship of the fabulous

Elayne Greeley (a past prize winner herself). Deadline is Feb. 6 so you still have time to polish your gems.

(image: arttherapy-uk.co.)

On cold mornings I catch the #15 bus to campus. (Overhead this morning: Young Man on cell phone: "Dude, are you up? Dude - are you up? This is not a trick question.") Across from the bus station is Knight Street, one of those little cul de sacs that run off Military Road. 8:30 or so on a bright January morning, the light slants sharp and silver against the upper clapboard siding on the row housing, so strong it almost bleeds out the colour, spot-focused, molten. Like a painting by Laurie Leehane, maybe.

(Image: artists.robertgenn.com.)

A Winter Poem

Emily Dickinson

There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons — That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes — Heavenly Hurt, it gives us — We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are — None may teach it — Any — ’Tis the Seal Despair — An imperial affliction Sent us of the Air — When it comes, the Landscape listens — Shadows — hold their breath — When it goes, ’tis like the Distance On the look of Death — (Image: poetryfoundation.org.)

Radio That's Good Enough to Eat

I tend to have local CBC AM Radio on constantly, so I'm working away here now - well, I'm distracted a bit by the lovely sunshine outside, and watching its shifting spills on the Southside Hills - but mainly I am writing/editing, with Radio Noon broadcasting away. And they just said the nicest words: homemade Jam Jams. You just have to say "Jam Jams" and I'm ready to eat two rows of Purity Jam Jams - but homemade Jam Jams? Ambrosia. If you're like me, and if you're a Newfoundland then you are genetically oriented towards Jam Jams, you might like this recipe and this column (very good to read while eating Jam Jams no doubt).

(Image: eastcoastcatalogue.com.)

Caught a cool opening at Eastern Edge on Saturday, complete with mascots, Star Wars riffs and werebears in artistic conversation.

(Image from Jennifer Barrett's online comic.)

Did you notice the light, around 4:30 yesterday evening? The sky was extraordinary, pure 17th century Dutch school with vivid bands of topaz and apricot lit by a low winter sun, and some Grant Boland touches of sky-reflected-on-wet-streets and halo pops from streetlights thrown in.

(Image: artpictures.co.uk.)

What a tale of woe our grocery list tells:

1. Advil
2. Motrin
3. Buckley's. Yes, entire household has been felled by sore throats, choking coughs, general crankiness, etc. But I couldn't leave things looks so dire, and added:
4. Champagne (two bottles). One for friends who have had beautiful baby daughter, one for us to keep in the fridge, because everyone should always have a bottle of champagne in the fridge, because you just never know.

(Images: teamsugar.com.)

It is Old Christmas Day

or the Feast of the Epiphany, when the Three Kings, also called Wise Men or Persian Priests, Balthasar, Melchoir and Gaspar, followed that yonder star. Hope you celebrate the day in your chosen fashion.

(Image: The Magi, by He Qi, China.)

"Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general

all over Ireland..." if you recognize that quote you'll know it's from James Joyce's The Dead, one of the most haunting love stories ever written. And you'll also be happy to learn that tomorrow night, January 6th, there will be a reading of this text by Bryan Hennessey at Commissariat House, 7pm, admission $10. (Full disclosure: Mr. Hennessey made an honest woman of me seven years ago.) January 6th is also, of course, Old Christmas Day, or the Feast of the Epiphany, the night The Dead is set on. Perfect timing to experience the lovely, lovely writing: "...It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills...the snow falling faintly through the universe..."

(Image: barnesandnoble.com.)