Ebb & Flow (Writing)

Being a writer is never boring.

You are constantly learning and figuring things out. It is like being an archeologist, brushing away layers until you hit something solid and make a discovery.

And I am one of those few people who believe that writing is fun. I mean, why else would you do it – go through the rejection, the uncertainty, the staggered paychecks that arrive after publication (one piece I did late last year isn't being publishd until 2008!).

But it is not always easy.

Each day I go through tremendous ups and downs. Every morning, emails arrive saying that my work wasn’t accepted here, an editor wanting a whole piece changed despite instructing me otherwise, all the while going through computer glitches, email server problems and other daily life occurrences.

But in the same inbox, I might receive an acceptance to a publication that I have been wanting to get into for the last couple of years or that a piece that I wrote 4 years ago and forgot about just got published, without me having to lift a finger.

Over the years, I have become used to this daily ebb and flow of yeses and nos. And living with a television writer, having a father who is a film extra and a good friend who is an actor, I know that this is not exclusive to those who write. Thanks all of these people, including my own experiences, I have learned that:

- The work always comes in at once
- There will be times where you consider whether you should take a “real” job, just to get you through the quiet periods
- You are always striving to get one more piece or move up to something better
- There are days where you feel like you are the best at what you do and then there are days when you want to do anything but.

I am grateful each day for these experiences, for I am learning so much.

Yesterday I found out three pieces I have worked harder on than anything else may not get used at all, as the editor has left and the whole project has fallen apart. But today I got accepted to a publication that I am excited to be writing for and I handed in a big magazine piece a day early, which feels great. So the ebb and flow continues.

Each day brings interesting challenges. I am grateful for all of them. Even the nos.

Sometimes it takes me a day or two, but I get there.

And so will you.

The Name Game (Observation)

I get called Jennifer a lot. An unbelievable amount, especially when you consider that it doesn't sound like my name - hell, it doesn't even rhyme.

My name is S-t-e-p-h-a-n-i-e. When I was go-go dancing my heart out in clubs during the nineties, the roar of the crowd would often interfere during introductions and I ended up with being Tiffany, Melanie, and sometimes even Annie , which while I was at a club, I didn't mind. I was wearing silver pants and could be anyone I wanted to be. Why not Tiffany? But in the real outside world, I couldn't have let it go uncorrected.

I spent my dreamy teenage years wishing with eyes tightly shut for someone to use my name in a song. There were lots about girls, so I kept hoping. 'Amanda' by Boston and 'Sherry' by Steve Perry stand out. Then there’s Kiss’ ‘Beth.’ Sigh. I felt like my time would never come. I looked to stars. Maybe there were some famous Stephanie’s that could show me the way. Stephanie Zimbalist. Stefani Powers. No offense, but not the most inspiring list.

There were years of whiling away time in stationary stores, spinning racks of pens and pads of paper that were emblazoned with the first names of seemingly everyone in America but Stephanie. They now make the items with my name but the Stephanie slot is always surreptitiously empty, showing only Steve, Stephen and sometimes even Stella.

Everyone has name horror stories. Scott can’t stand the Scott Paper dispensers in public bathrooms. They bring up bad memories of public school. So much so that when we moved in together, he made me swear to steer clear of any Scott Paper product. And Chris’ isn’t so much a horror story as giggle-inducing: His mom named him Chris back in 1960 because she thought it was a truly original name. Yeah, like Mary, Tom or Sara. Poor Chris, but at least he doesn’t hate his name.

I have tried to understand why people think Jennifer when they see me. Is it something in the name Stephanie that is innocuously a proponent? Maybe I just look like a Jennifer. When I tell the story of being constantly called Jennifer, people say that I could be a Jennifer. I sincerely hope not (no offense to all the Jennifer’s out there). It’s not the name Jennifer that I object to; it’s that I feel very much like a Stephanie. I don’t want to be anyone else. Ever.

I didn’t always love it. Because after all, most people don’t make the effort to call me by my full name, so to most people, I am Steph. My parents have never called me Stephanie – I am only known by the short form. So, in my dreamy teens I wanted to be called what I considered to be ‘sophisticated’ names like Ashley or Marilyn. I also wanted to be a famous rock drummer. You can see how that all worked out.

Now that I am embedded into my early thirties, I love my name. There are rarely more than one of me at a party. I like that it’s nine letters long. It shows a real permanence, a dedication to my moniker. I think it’s pretty. And the love of my life always calls me by my full name. I am finally the person I’ve always wanted to be, partially thanks to him. I wouldn’t change it for anything.

I knew a guy named Gord Henning. He was a relative of former magician and Green Party Leader Doug Henning. Even if he just introduced himself as Gord and the person was unaware of his last name, they would undoubtedly call him Doug later. Even though there was no apparent family resemblance, something was compelling people, a lot of people, to call him Doug. Maybe it’s because Doug backwards is practically Gord? It’s a stretch, but what else could it be?

There are crazyass names these days. There’s Jayden/Jaden, Addison and Caden/Kaden for boys and Madison, Riley, Mackenzie and Cadence for the little ladies. Not only are these names crackerjack crazy, they are from the top 20 names from 2004 compiled at the BabyNames.com website, so now they’re popular as well.

Spellings, as you can see, have become insane. Take Rachel, for example. It seems like a fairly innocuous name. Not much you can do to it, right? Wrong.

Rachael, Racheal, Raechel, Rachell/Raychel

And it gets bad. Really bad, after this. Check these out:

Kaylee, Kailey, Kayleigh, Kali, Kaylie, Kaleigh, Kailee, Kaley, Kayley, Kayli, Kalie, Cali, Caleigh, Cailey, Caylee, Kayle, Kalee, Kaylea, Kaeli, Caley, Kalei, Kaili, Kaily, Cailee, Kaeleigh, Cayleigh/Caylie, Kaeley, Kaelee/Kaylei, Kaely, Calie, Kaelie, Keilea, Caeley, Keily/Keylee, Keile, Cayli

and

Jacqueline, Jacquelyn, Jaclyn, Jaqueline, Jacklyn, Jackeline, Jacquelin, Jackelyn, Jacquelynn, Jaqueline, Jaquelyn, Jacklynn, Jaclynn, Jacquelyne, Yacquelin, Jakelin, Jacquline, Jacqulyn, Jackelin, Jacalyn.

Even my own name is not immune:

Stephanie, Stephaney, Stefanie, Stefani, Stefany, Stephani, Steffany, Stephenie, Stephaine.

Then the not so crazy - I know a singer called Aruna, which I think is pretty and evocative. A long time ago I fell in love with a sexy guitarist named Basil, but he was ‘Baz’ to everyone who knew him. It summed him up perfectly – different, edgy and artistic. And I think Roshanda is one of the most beautiful names E-V-E-R.

As a result of my research, I recently discovered that Lou Reed has a song called 'Stephanie Says.' And then I remembered kick ass drumming mama for Kid Rock, Stefanie Eulinberg.

It was worth the wait.

Sincerely,

Stephanie Dickison

Lights Out (Books)

I am currently reading 7 books for review. I thought it would be a lot of pressure and it is, but it’s a good thing.I used to read 10 books a month. That’s when I was single and I read before going to bed and a lot of evenings after finishing writing for the night. Now I am lucky to read 2 or 3 a month. It’s changed because now I read more magazines and am online more – due to my work – and now it takes me a much longer time to get through a book because I usually only get a couple of pages read before falling asleep or Cosmo, my cat, curling up on it, letting me know it’s time to go to bed.

This bothered me for a long time. It’s like reading is oxygen to my blood and for awhile there, I felt sapped of energy, depleted from not getting my reading in. I even started to feel less intelligent.

I know I am not the only one. My friend Victoria listens to books-on-tape during her long drive into the city for work and I’m sure they help to quell her road rage and need for speed. You should see this girl in traffic.

My Mom too, listens to books-on-tape. Something to have on while she’s ironing or sewing, cleaning or cooking. It relaxes her, like a warm oil massage. A couple of months ago, her little ghetto blaster that she takes room to room with her while she works broke and it was about 10 days before she had a chance to get a new one.

The poor lady was on edge and didn’t know why. She couldn’t relax and was all fidgety. It was like she was a whole different person.

10 days later she got another tape player and all was right with the world. I guess the same thing happens to me when I don’t have time to read.

Now I am reading like a demon, just trying to keep up, taking notes as I go along. But it’s different when they’re for review. It’s like I can’t quite ease into it, I have to pay attention.

But it’s great. I get to read a lot of books I wouldn’t read otherwise and I have found some incredible writers along the way. Not every book I review is something that I would highly recommend, but lately, I have been really excited about the writing talent that is emerging. It makes me want to write – except I can’t. I must go read.

So, I now read a lot, but it isn’t like the old days where I read to escape and learn. Now I am reading for work. But it is still reading and for that I am grateful. And I still manage to squeeze in a couple pages of my own choices before bed. That is, before Cosmo flops down and it’s time to turn out the light.

Food Chain (Food)

There is a pervasive notion about being cool. There are certain rules that you must adhere to, like:

- Jazz is the coolest music you can have in your collection. It shows your maturity and depth.
- Pesto, like George Costanza duly noted, is forever the class choice for pasta.
- Reading Paris 1919 is a must. If you don’t, you simply can’t call yourself a reader or a writer.
- Getting rid of your television shows how serious you are about life’s passions.
- The pointier the toe on your shoe or boot and the smaller your purse, the cooler you are.

And I agree with almost none of them.

Except when it comes to food. Then it’s oven mitts off and if you can’t see how great paella is, I can’t help you.

Nah, just kidding, but its funny how in the world of food and cooking, it’s quickly revealed how much of a food elitist you are, just by where you shop and what your pantry must-haves are. Take my friend Chris, for example. He only buys organic, free-run eggs. 5 bucks a carton. Are you insane? I mean, I admire the guy, but I do think it’s a hefty price to pay. However, we all have our own little food idiosyncrasies.

Take me for instance. I cannot get enough of Sunflower Kitchen’s Spicy Hummus. All hummus pales in comparison. And up until one month ago, I hated hummus. The dry texture, the pasty consistency… It wasn’t until this product that I came over to the hummus side. And that’s just the beginning.

We all have the products we can’t live without. For Victoria, it’s canned chicken broth and Alissa likes her hot sauce. But it’s the quality of the product and how expensive it is that gets you higher on the food(ie) chain.

If you are buying no name, God help you. If you are shopping at The Big Carrot, you are edging closer to Godliness. And if you are getting a box of organic shipped to your door every week, get down and prostrate – we’ve found our new leader.

Now, I know that you think I’m exaggerating, but this is the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Here’s an example:

I am all about the canned bean. I know the difference in taste and texture when you take the time to soak lentils or yellow peas, and I love a good lentilles du Puy, but for cooking on a daily basis, I love to crack open a can of some kinda bean and make a meal happen. Now, I know that a lot of you reading this might never want to speak to me again. I understand. That’s how it is in the food world. And I have to admit, that sometimes upon learning about a friend’s cooking methods or contents of their pantry, I think, can I still be friends with you?

Of course I can. It’s just a momentary lapse into 1990 mindset, when Belgian endive, stuffed olives and gin martinis were where it was at, and if you weren’t there, you’d get left behind.

And the food world isn’t that harsh really. I mean, we have Rachel Ray cooking up 30 minute meals and every women’s magazine has a page of a pictures that include a spaghetti package, a tray of boneless chicken breast and a jar or can of some kinda sauce and voila – dinner in a hurry. So let’s not get all Nigella and think that everything must be just so - or robin’s egg blue.

Nah. I eat pepperoni and bacon pizza off the cardboard pie just like the rest of you. It’s just that the whole time I dream of adding hearts of palm, shredded pork, leeks and Portobello mushrooms.

But that’s just me.

Pacific Mind (Observation)

Last night I went to Pacific Mall, a walk simultaneously forwards and back in time.

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to move to Japan – the only place where everything is not as it seems, and not as it should be. A country filled with dichotomies – shrines filled with storey-tall wood penises and stores dedicated to one little white cat, Ms. Hello Kitty.

Pacific Mall was no different and that’s what I was looking for.

Upon entering, friends took us to a Pan-Asian department store that offered beautiful dining pottery, three aisles of house slippers and pens and markers that practically went into the negative, they were so fine. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary, but such fun!

On our way to the major part of the mall, walking by kiosk after kiosk, it soon became apparent that I would not be disappointed – the weird was everywhere!

How have you been living this long without a mosquito bat? It is for your family’s health and wellness, after all. And what about some refreshing arctic surf clam? Nothing says refreshing on a hot summer day like clam!

There was that kind of stuff everywhere, too much to simply write about here. Vinegar drinks, fish tofu (“New idea!”) and infrared blood circulation massagers. It is an endless giggle from the moment you enter to the moment you let the mall door close behind you and read “Crocodile Profusion” on a little kid’s t-shirt.

But let’s talk about what really important. The food and the food court. The one thing that Asian society has smartly claimed is the picture menu. Everywhere you look, you can see what you will be eating – and unlike consumer packaging in Canada and the U.S., what you get highly resembles the picture. This is always helpful, though it will not be of service in trying to distinguish whether that is indeed chicken or eel on your dish.

Because I write about and live food, I like to think that I know most things that cross my plate. When sitting down with friends in the food court that resembled a Chinese Square with red-lacquered peaked roofs and gold trim, I sat beside a couple most definitely experiencing young love. They shared curry fish balls and smiled and laughed the entire meal, touching hands whenever they could. On a plate of what looked like fava-size baked beans, lay grey-green artichoke hearts. Or, at least that’s what I would have said, had I not been in an Asian food court. The other thing that tipped me off was the stench of urine emanating from it. I didn’t have a chance to ask them what it was, as that’s when our platter of sushi and maki arrived. It was some of the best we’d ever had and we kept remarking about how fresh it was. Pretty inexpensive too. It was worth sitting next to urine.

Having been there for a couple of hours, we didn’t see anywhere near the entire place. The streets, as they are deemed by the signs above – Washington and 125th – intersect, yes, but it is hard to simply traverse up one and go down another. It is of course, much more complicated and takes a real mall pro to circumvent the gridlike system in place.

So, I will go back. I may not see the whole thing, but it will be fun to try. Maybe I will play Dance Dance Revolution or go to the supermarket and stock up on lemongrass or get those wonky boots that I saw with military stripes up one side and fringe down the other. One thing is certain though.

I’m going to get me some urine soaked beans.

Looks Like Hell With the Lid Off (Observation)

There is currently a pervasive notion that our society has sunk to the very lowest of the low. This is apparently because of reality television, celebrity culture and obesity taking over our streets.

While I do agree that we’ve had our embarrassments and that it doesn’t seem to be going away (Britney’s still procreating, there’s a new Hooter’s MasterCard, and both Teri Hatcher and Eva Longoria will soon be deemed “authors” along with “sexy,” “pretty,” and “way too thin”), there is a lot to be grateful for right now.

The “information overload” as it is now known is not simply an influx of useless data and trivial matters. Some of it is not only informative, but engaging.

Every day before I begin work, I read the headlines. Not just the daily newspaper headlines, but those of specialists – the internet, science, librarians, et al. I feel like I’ve learned more staying at home and working on the computer than I did all those years at the office. Some days, I feel overloaded, yes, but in a good way. Many times, the sexy man whom I love comes home and I unfurl a list of fascinating things I learned that day - poor guy!

This can be a problem for someone like me, though - a writer. Sure, there is a plethora of information from which to extract an idea and write about, but there is so much that it can be overwhelming.

This week, I met a fellow writer for lunch and we talked about having various notebooks filled and yet, not enough time to either flesh out or research the idea (4 notebooks of varying sizes lay before me, and that’s just what I have brought out here at the kitchen table). That’s what people forget about – it’s not just sitting down and writing about it off the top of your head. Unless you are lucky to have a column (and I am lucky enough to have a couple), your ideas must be flush with other content, not just your own opinion.

So, while everyone is complaining about their inboxes overflowing, having a nightstand full of books that they’ll never get to and generally moaning about the state of the world – 200 channels and nothing on – I continue to scour the globe for ideas and then write about them.

For me, this is the best time of our lives. Just look around and you’ll see. You may have to look past things like Dan Brown, So You Think You Can Dance? and this week’s top movies which included Nacho Libre, The Lake House, The Break-Up, and Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties, but television that has you leaving in the middle of conversations like The Sopranos, The Wire and Entourage; books that you email your friends about (see previous blog for titles) and a world of information that will have us writing about, discoursing on and arguing about for the rest of our days.

To me, it doesn’t get any better than that.

So, moan all you want to about the digression of society. I'll be over there, lapping up the information of all of the good stuff because really, there is a ton of good stuff.

I guess you just have to be willing to see it.

Stories of My Life (Books)

Lately, I have been reading the best books.

Usually, when the warm weather arrives, people default to choosing “light reads” which usually translates to something pithy and almost always something that they are slightly embarrassed to possess, but blame it on the weather – “You know, just something fluffy for the cottage.”

I have never understood this. Just because it is hot doesn’t mean I don’t want to dive into a 320 page account of the oyster (The Big Oyster: History on the Half Shell) or read an in-depth study of someone (Mockingbird: A Portrait of Harper Lee) or somewhere (A Year in Japan). But everyone is different, so I continue to read what interests me and not what drives the best seller lists.

This month, I savoured Susan Orlean’s My Kind of Place: Travel Stories from a Woman Who's Been Everywhere, one of the best reads of my life. Susan is one of my writing heroes and this book is an excellent example of why – from cover to cover, Susan tells us about ordinary people or places but in an extraordinary fashion. I come away from her essays wanting to do nothing else but observe people, write and travel. A similar book, The Bullfighter Checks Her Makeup is also incredibly inspiring and so well written, it should be an English textbook.

Another I-can’t-put-it-down-I-don’t-care-that-it’s-dinnertime book that I just finished is Last Chance to Eat: The Fate of Taste in a Fast Food World by Gina Mallet. And not only did I take pages of notes and discuss egg preparation methods with anyone who would listen (the first chapter is all about eggs), but somehow it made me a better breakfast cook. Soon after reading this book, my omelets were almost perfect. I have always loved to cook, but never been interested in baking or any breakfast fare and here I am, making good to great omelets. I swear Gina had something to do with this…

I have been reading Jay McInerney since I was 13 – 1984, that’s when Bright Lights, Big City came out! And since that time, there have been many misses and a couple of hits (Story of My Life, for one). So, it is with great interest that I picked up The Good Life. You never know what Jay is going to throw your way, which is why I enjoy at least giving it a whirl. It is the same with his contemporary Tama Janowitz (Slaves of New York), though I haven’t liked anything she has done as much since then, which either means I am stuck in the Eighties or she is. The Good Life has been great right from the beginning, but it is still early yet. I still don’t know where it’s going. I’ll let you know.

On tap I have a pile of books for review and then a couple of treasures that I am waiting to celebrate with after I’m done. I’ll tell you all about those then, but I can say this – I am so excited to have so many amazing books awaiting my attention!

In the meantime, don’t think that you have to read “light fare” just because it’s hot outside. Sometimes the best thing for a foggy mind on a hot day is something you have to really lose yourself in. That and a hot cuppa tea. It really does the trick.

Time for a New Kettle (Writing)

Yesterday I bought a new kettle. It is fantastic! It’s not high end and is almost exactly like my old one, except its black instead of white and it actually boils the water.

See, my old one wasn’t broken and it hadn’t stopped working. It had, however, stopped boiling the water in a reasonable amount of time. It also had a yellow build up around the spout that no amount of cleaning could remove. This could not be adding to the nutritional values of my bancha green tea. But nothing was broken so I kept using it.

It was while I was buying some undies that I wondered if the store would have a kettle (I have been known to go into a department store only twice). See, to make an extra trip for an item that didn’t necessarily need replacing seemed ludicrous. But if was already in the store…

As you can see, I have trouble with rationalization. And it’s not just with small appliances either. Now that I am writing at home full-time, I don’t get up from my desk unless it’s to eat, pee or make a cuppa tea. I also don’t go out during “work hours” unless it’s for a meeting, it’s work-related or I’ve run out of vegetables (Emergency! Emergency!).

It’s a common occurrence that my guy comes home at 6 or 7, after a full day of writing himself, and see me still at my desk, head down, keys tapping out an article about Meyer lemons or the new installation at Magic Pony.

Yes I am disciplined when it comes to working at home. Sometimes too much so.

And this brings me back to the kettle. I should have replaced it a long time ago. My cups of tea since have been heavenly – more timely and way hotter than I ever remember a cup at home being. And I must keep this in mind when I am hard at work at my desk, pitching and writing, editing and polishing. Just because I can keep on going doesn’t mean I should.

Every kettle needs to be refreshed from time to time. It’s time I take that advice and use it on myself.