I was looking out my bedroom window this morning at the chickadees flitting from branch to branch in the nearby ravine trees, wondering why they haven’t yet found (or are ignoring) the two new birdfeeders we put up earlier this week. Then, something caught my eye in the middle of one of the larger cedar trees, and I spied these guys:

(Four of them)

It seems that all I ever have time for these days is a quick haiku. Here’s one from yesterday, when four eagles pulled me out of the fatigue and cold I was experiencing at the end of a tiring day:

waiting for the bus
cold stone step is a hard bench
above, eagles soar

I snapped a quick photo as the bus pulled up, but all I managed to get was blue sky (which was, itself, amazing) and one blurry eagle:

Meanwhile, unpacking and setting up my office/studio space continues:

Exciting to wake up to sunshine instead of rain again this morning (that’s two days in a row here on the wet coast!). The view from my kitchen window inspired a quick haiku:

mist weaves through tree trunks

as houses warm this morning

sunlight holds last leaves

And another image from this morning:

I have yet to see a coyote since we moved beside the ravine, but I’m keeping my eyes open (especially late at night when I let the dog out to pee before bed — and hoping the dog won’t give chase if we spy one).

As for writing, I’m actually back working on my neglected novel (yeah! I was getting a bit worried I’d forgotten how to write), but progress on unpacking boxes and setting up my office seems to have stalled.

waves of home-bound crows

crest over tops of fir trees

struggling in the wind

The sky is still orange as I type this, so these may be the most immediate images I’ve ever posted! I was concerned that my sunset view might not be as good at my new place as it was at my old. I needn’t have worried. (By the way, it was the crows that were struggling in the wind, not the trees.)

In the spring (just short of our first anniversary in our new place) our landlord dropped the bombshell that he was putting our house up for sale. After the initial shock and depression (we liked where we lived and were not looking forward to having to move for a third time in one year), we began to get excited about the possibility of actually being able to buy a house of our own (thanks to low interest rates) and finally break free of the whims of landlords. It turns out that looking for a house is all consuming (hence the neglect of this blog –and my other writing). We looked seriously at over thirty houses, put unsuccessful offers on five, and just when we were losing optomism… we found the perfect house. At first we thought it was more than we could afford, and with so much competition for houses in our neighbourhood and so many unsuccessful tries at other houses, we didn’t think it would be possible for us to get the house we liked more than all the others. But somehow circumstances, the planets, karma…everything aligned, and here we are in our wonderful new house!

We’re in the middle of the city, but here is the view from my bedroom window:

Perhaps other buyers were scared off by the closeness of the neighbouring ravine (our old landlord said we’d made a mistake buying a house so close to a “jungle”). Of course, we love it!

Here is the my first haiku written at the new house:

yellow autumn leaves
light a glowing pathway
through rain darkened trees

This morning I listened to an interview with author/illustrator Lee Edward Fodi in which he mentioned that his interest in writing and illustrating books goes back to when he first picked up a crayon. He also said that, for him, the visual images always came first. I was thinking that, although I loved to draw as a kid, the written story always came before the visual image for me. Then I remembered the pictures I drew for my grandma.

For most of my childhood, my grandma lived several hundred miles away, and I only saw her a couple times a year. We used to write letters back and forth, and for a brief period, we also did something special. I would send my grandma a drawing, and she would send me back a story to go with the drawing. The story she created from the picture would be a total surprise, and I always waited for it with great anticipation. (I still have at least two of those drawings and their accompanying stories –perhaps I’ll post one here when I find it.)

My grandma always encouraged my interest in being a writer, but I’d forgotten how much she modelled storytelling herself and inspired creativity by her approach to life and the things she had around her. There was always a mood of fun around my grandmother. She had a big encompassing laugh, sang lively French songs, made paper dolls with us, played cards, and always had a lazy-Susan tray of Bugles, Cheezies, chips and dip at the ready. She loved Hawaii, dressed in a bright floral muu muu at home, played Hawaiian music on her stereo, called her grandchildren by Hawaiianified names, and always had little shells and tiny toys hidden in her flower pots. And, there was the story-telling shell.

My brothers, sister and I loved to curl up next to my grandma while she held the storytelling shell on her lap (like a mother-of-pearl bowl), traced lines and patterns with her finger, and told stories about children who sailed the sea and had encounters with pirates. It wasn’t so much the content of the stories that made the stories great, it was the personality, warmth and love with which my grandma told them.

So, some stories begin with pictures, some with words, and if your’e lucky, some begin with a storytelling shell.

hundreds flew over

when my father was a boy

twelve nighthawks tonight

We’ve been experiencing a heat wave here in Vancouver, which has left everyone in my house (people, dog and cats) lying around sweating (or panting), unable to move or think. Today, the temperature has dropped just enough to give us a bit of a reprieve and allow me to stay for more than a few minutes in my sauna of an office as well as muster up enough energy to record some of the haiku that emerged out of the heat.

First, here’s one I wrote back in early June:

early summer heat
unwelcome guest in our house
the dog pants all night

And during this week’s  heat:

so many windows
open in the summer heat
spilling people’s lives

empty yellow grass
splashed by blue-winged Steller’s jay
beak full of peanut

heavy summer heat
no breeze through open windows
the night train’s whistle

fat slice of orange moon
behind smog and forest fire smoke
terrible beauty

And here’s the surrealistically orange sunset from the night the heat wave started:

I seem to be devoting more time to tweeting than to blogging lately. Perhaps because it’s so quick and easy to tweet, and so far (still novel) I’m finding it fun and challenging to put as much as possible in as few words as possible (kind of like haiku). In fact, one of the appeals of Twitter is that tweets are the perfect size for haiku, as many haiku addicts have discovered. Hashtags like #haiku and #haikuchallenge also enable people to share haiku and challenge eachother to create haiku on specific topics (somewhat kindred to the original Japanese tradition of haiku as socially created linked verse).  Here are some Twitter haiku samples:

Note: reading from the bottom up, the first challenge was to write a haiku using the words 1. crow 2. hole 3. roof, while the second challenge was to use the word “wolfish.” Fun, I thought (the Internet once again distracting me from work on my novel). Btw, my Twitter moniker: Jacquieink

air conditioning
chills me until I step out
into a warm hug

(it’s like summer today!)

At my last book club meeting the conversation went from discussing A Year in Provence to sharing humorous travel stories (book club tangents are often more interesting than the actual book discussions). After hearing about several hilarious mishaps, inadvertent cultural faux pas, and near-disasters (most, funny only from the safety of hindsight and home), it occurred to me that problem-free trips do not make for very interesting travel anecdotes.

Both my trips to Japan were so well choreographed and shepherded by friends, that there was little opportunity for me to get lost, botch anything up, or encounter any risks or pitfalls. The funniest things to happen on my latest trip was having to ask a male friend to help me decipher the Japanese on feminine hygiene products (he was unable to offer any enlightenment as to the reason for the pictures of rabbits and flying pigs). The only other funny thing was, apparently, my pronunciation of Japanese words, which baffled some people and highly entertained others. Also, running out of money 2/3 the way through the trip did lead to some unexpected challenges and suspense.

So, if no problems means no stories, than I’m relieved to say I have no real stories to tell about my trip. However, that doesn’t mean I have no stories to tell. They just wont be about me.

Some of my favourite places and things experienced on my recent trip:

- stopping to eat a box lunch overlooking the Oi River and the lush green mountainside of Arashiyama (storm mountain), Kyoto

- hearing uguisu, the Japanese nightingale, call in the bamboo forest beside an old inari shrine

- shopping for kimono fabric and antiques at Kitano Tenmangu market, Kyoto (and escaping from the rain in a tiny tofu hot pot restaurant)

- eating a delicious lunch of fresh vegetables, rice and grilled tofu braised with miso sauce (if you scoff at the idea of tofu tasting good, then you’ve never eaten in Japan!), followed by exploring a school for samurai, a castle, and a ninja house

- enjoying the view from Kiyumizu Temple in Kyoto and Roppongi Tower in Tokyo

- following the beckoning cats signs to Gotokuji temple, the home of the first maneki-neko (lucky cat)

- experiencing Kabuki

- soaking in a natural hotspring beside a river in Wakayama

- walking down ancient stones stairs to the base of Nachi Falls

- following a crow through the huge tori gate at Kumano Taisha, the shrine of the three-legged crow

- walking on the old Tokaido hwy through the historic town of Seki-cho and sitting in a 370 year old shop interviewing the 13^th and 14^th generation wagashi-makers (who may or may not be related to ninjas)

- meeting highschool and university students, and chatting with people at my talks

- basking in the hospitality and kindness of friends and acquaintances (old and new)

 
I came away with two notebooks full of notes and ideas, as well as over 2000 photos (mostly for research and to help jog my memory), so look for a future story — possibly involving a 17^th century girl, a wagashi shop, ninjas, a fire, and a trip on the old Tokaido hwy.… (that is, after the maneki-neko story).

Want a glimpse into my working holiday in Japan? Here is a link to the album I posted on Facebook (you’re supposed to be able to look at it even if you’re not signed up to Facebook):

Album

(I hope it works)

I couldn’t manage to connect to WordPress from internet cafes while I was in Japan, so now that I’m back home, I’ll post some thoughts and images from the trip. I didn’t expect to have time to write any haiku while I was there, but I actually found that in the middle of seeing and doing so many things, composing a haiku could sometimes be a good way of focusing in on a single experience (at least for a few minutes).

My first night in Japan I fell asleep to the creaking of frogs from a nearby rice paddy and woke up to the chattering of birds. I went for a morning walk and watched rice being planted, then composed my first haiku of the trip as I sat in the back seat of a friend’s car on my way to lunch (at a French restaurant, of all places, where my first meal in Japan was vegetarian quiche). We drove past recently flooded rice fields where rows of new plants bent and twitched in the wind, while white egrets stood erect and motionless.

newly planted rice
green fingers tap in the wind
three patient egrets

(I don’t know if this comes across, but the contrast between the two, reminded me of the impatient eagerness of youth vs the knowing resignation of old age…??)

In Kyoto a couple days later, I walked through a bamboo forest and stopped by a basho (bannana leaf) plant (the plant for which the poet Basho took his name) near an old house once frequented by Basho (in the 17th c.). It seemed an appropriate spot to stop for a rest and a haiku moment.

in the bamboo grove
stripes of light and shadow
a nightingale sings

I heard the uguisu (Japanese nightingale) near a spooky old inari (fox messanger) shrine in the middle of the bamboo forest in an area called Sagano, near the Togetsukyo Bridge over the River Oi, which is the last stage on the old Tokaido Highway, a place that has been visited by pilgrims and other travellers for perhaps a thousand years (being used to Canada’s west coast, where recorded history is very recent, this thought blew me away).

On our last day in Kyoto, my friend and I walked down Pontocho Road (one of the traditional geisha areas). The street was so narrow, two people barely had room to pass.

rain drips from roof tops
along Pontocho Road
two umbrellas touch

Further along the road, we discovered a tiny temple and garden honouring thirty-something women and children killed and buried near the spot in the 16th c. after the male leader of their household fell out of favour with his uncle (Hideyoshi, the samurai lord who controlled power at the time) and was forced to commit seppuko. Kyoto is full of magnificant temples, shrines, castles, etc., but to me, history never felt as poignantly close as at this modest, easy-to-miss spot. My friend and I stopped to ring the temple bell and make an offering in memory of the murdered women and children, and I tried to put the experience into words as we sat on the train that night, returning to Suzuka.

beside the canal
in a small temple garden
the names of children

This may be a mistake, given that the Internet already eats up too much of my writing time/stamina, but I’ve just joined Twitter.

If I can find a computer and figure out how to switch it to English characters, I’ll try to post some updates (here and on twitter) during my trip to Japan. Will probably have to wait until I get home to attempt to add photos, though.

I’m experiencing my usual pre-flight anxiety today, but should be okay once I’m on the plane tomorrow… I’ll be landing in Japan on Earth Day and feeling guilty about my contribution to global warming. Will need to plant some trees once I’m home again… In the meantime, here’s the link to the “Earth Day Novels”  list I posted on the Chapters/Indigo site last year (with some new suggestions added in the comments).

In honour of poetry month, I’ve been asked to start off the skateboard haiku challenge over at the blog of Darby Speaks.

I haven’t had a lot of time for writing anything this month, as I’m busy preparing for a trip to Japan. I leave in a few days. Once there, I’ll be talking about my books and Canada to five different groups, plus touring around and doing research for a possible future book. I hope I wont be too distracted and full of new ideas to start back in on finishing off my current novel when I get home again.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to post photos while I’m away, but I’ll try to at least post a few updates.

In the mean time, the cherry blossoms are finally out here (about a month behind)! I’ve got to enjoy them while I can, as they’ll already be finished in Japan.

pigeons scatter

above the Metrotown Mall

an eagle soars

(Huge birds of prey circling over the city never seize to amaze me, and their presence seems to add a special significance to the day. Yet, I seldom see anyone else stop and look up)

I just discovered that April is National Poetry Month in Canada and the United States. Great timing for me, a lover of haiku, as in April I will be journeying to the birthplace of Basho, the 17th c. Japanese poet known as the “saint of haiku.”

Here are two spring haiku by Basho (and a photo I took at Vancouver’s English Bay this morning):

many things

they bring to mind –

cherry blossoms!

patter patter

petals of of tiny flowers drop

a waterfall of sound

Check out GottaBook blog for a new poem every day in April by various authors who write for children.

I was recently tagged by Juliet at Crafty Green Poet to list 25 writers who have influenced me. I always have trouble with the word “meme,” so I’m going to assume that others might too and define it. My dictionary says a meme is “an element of culture that is passed from one individual to another by non-genetic means (eg. imitation).” In the context of the Internet, “meme” has come to refer to almost anything (a file, joke, hoax, challenge, etc) that is passed on from person to person (often through blogs).

So, my passed on task (kind of makes me think of the Olympic Torch, which is currently making its way through our area, passing from person to person and group to group, in preparation for the 2010 Winter Olympics here in Vancouver) is to list 25 authors who have influenced me in some way (influential does not necessarily mean favourite, though in some cases it may be both). I have to start with the authors who had the biggest impact on me when I was about 11-13 years old, since it was their books that inspired me to become a writer and nurtured my growing interest in the world and its possibilities.

1. Lucy Maud Montgomery (her novels, set on Canada’s Prince Edward Island, inspired me to write and affirmed my love of nature — I wanted to write about my part of the country the way she wrote about hers) 

2. C.S. Lewis (The Narnia Chronicles, my first intro to fantasy, were a big influence when I was a kid newly hooked on reading and writing — I didn’t like the didactic style when I re-read them later, but it didn’t bother me - or went over my head- when I read them as a kid)

3. Ray Bradbury (his short story “All Summer in a Day” had a big impact when I read it in grade 7 – showed the power of a short story and also the possibilities within the science fiction genere)

4. Madeline L’Engle (I loved the way her novels “The Young Unicorns” and “Ring of Endless Light” brough a feeling of magic into the everyday world)

5. Phyllis A. Whitney (her series of mysteries for kids, which were set in different countries, nurtured my interest in other countries and cultures, and introduced me to issues such as Apartheid)

6. Christie Harris (her novel, “Secret in the Stlalakum Wild,” was the first I read that was set on Canada’s west coast and in which the fantasy was based on westcoast First Nations’ mythology — affirming that my own personal interests and home could be a legitimate topic/setting about which to write)

7. Ruth Nichols (another of the few Canadian authors for kids that I came across when I was a kid. I found her fantasy novel “The Marrow of the World”  riveting and reread it to study how it was written, finding the fresh and contemporary style a bit of a revelation compared to the old-fashioned styles of many of the other novels I’d read at the time)

Now, to go through the rest of the list a bit faster:

8. Keats and Wordsworth (opened up a love of poetry when I was in university)

9. D. H. Lawrence (for the natural imagery and metaphorical language in his novels –especially “The Rainbow”)

10. Jane Austen (for the characters, language and humour in her novels – the glimpse they afforded into an aspect of early 19th C. English life nurtured my interest in the past and the history of everyday life)

11. Frank Herbert and Anne McCaffrey (while I think Herbert’s writing is the better of the two, both authors created vividly imagined science fiction worlds –Dune and Pern– which inspired me to want to create an alternative world of my own — although this is something I haven’t actually done yet)

12. Ursula Le Guin (for thought-provoking novels of speculative fiction, such as “The Dispossessed,” “The Left Hand of Darkness,” and “The Eye of the Heron,” which use an imagined future world to explore questions and themes relevant to today) 

13. Annie Dillard (for nature writing about her home place)

14. Joseph Campbell (for his ideas about cultures, religions and ways of understanding the world)

15. John Livingston and Neil Evernden (for nonficiton writing that challenged my thinking regarding human perceptions and relationships to non-human nature)

16. Elizabeth Dodson Gray (for her articulation of connections between women and nature)

17. Emily Carr (for her personally engaging autobiographical writing  and its reflection of her love of art and the wild westcoast forests)

18. Barbara Kingsolver (for the way in which an awareness of the natural world enriches her novels — especially “Prodigal Summer”)

19. Lorna Crozier (for the natural imagery in her poetry, which both informs and reflects the human experiences in the poems)

20. Basho (for his timeless and resonating haiku, which continues to inspire and challenge me)

21-25. Any BC CWILL authors (members of the BC Children’s Writers and Illustrators organization have been a wonderful support, example, and inspiration to me since I joined with the publication of my first novel in 2002)

Well, this list has been a bit of a journey into my forgotten intellectual past (probably more than anyone bargained for). Interesting how science fiction figures prominently on it, yet I haven’t written any science fiction (I like the term “speculative fiction” better) — although my very first piece of published creative writing (not including the poem which appeared in the local paper when I was 12) was a science fiction poem in the anthology “Tesseracts6″ (1997).

Anyway, if you’re still with me, as part of the meme, I’m supposed to tag 25 more people to take up the task of listing writers who influenced them, but I think I’ll just throw the torch into the air and let anyone who’s inspired catch it. Any CWILLers out there who want to take it up? (post your link in the comments)

To find out what this is about, check out author kc dyer’s blog and Darby Speaks, the blog of her new time-travelling character.

Here on Canada’s west coast, the end of February usually means we are moving into warmer days and spring flowers and away from cold and snow. Usually, we have a few days of snow in early January, and that’s it. But this year, some areas around the lower mainland have had snow on the ground continuously since December. This must be some kind of record for us. And every time I think we’re finally moving on, the temperatures drop again. Even my daughter, who normally loves snow, was dismayed to see snow flakes falling again last night and another soccer practice cancelled.
 
I woke up this morning to ground covered yet again by a white blanket. However, the sun was out, and after working on my novel for awhile (yes, slow progress is still being made), I braved the lower than normal temperature and went for a walk to visit my favourite tree in my old neighbourhood, a big old sycamore.

The sun had already melted most of the snow on that side of the street, and snowdrops and crocuses spread out around the base of the tree as if they’d spilled from it.

Afterwards, I took the bus downtown to see the “Legacies of Impressionism in Canada” exhibit at the Vancouver Art Gallery. There, deeply snowy Quebec landscapes entitled “March” made me feel a little better about our little bit of February snow.