Shhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuttttt up. This ain’t no running thang!
This is a NOVEL WRITING MARATHON. Word count, not footfalls. We don’t move forward at this marathon. We plot onward, but we stay in place. We do not plod onward.
The real official absolute definitive list of the things that one should carry into the Muskoka Novel Marathon>>>>>>>
1. Laptop (with the cord! And the mouse if it is detachable!) —don’t drive 3 hours to the marathon and THEN realize your laptop cord is plugged in at home. Don’t. Do. It. You will regret it.
2. Licorice (you laugh, but try doing a novel writing marathon without your Thinking Licorice! Every angry chew unlocks a plot-twist or saves you from writing yourself into a corner.) PACK. LICORICE. PS: Only red will do. Twizzlers, obviously.
3. COMFORTABLE CLOTHING – This here is a must. Don’t dress for fashion or to impress. What do you like to wear around the house when you’re giving yourself a ME day for writing? sweat pants? Ratty old Cure concert t-shirt from 1982 with a twisted cater-cater-cater-cater-cater-pill-at-ar running across its front? Housecoat? Fluffy Bigfoot slippers and PJs? Wig, tights and espadrilles? Sure, why not? It’s your life. Wear what you would like to be found dead in. Something you could imagine your biographers one day describing as the most perfect WRITER attire. Sure, you can bring something fashion forward (or backward, if the faux pas fits) for those escapism moments when you and a flock of fellow writers fly the coop and land in one of the trendy bars in downtown Huntsville where you will fling slings and arrows at unsuspecting local drunkards gunning for a melee. But think comfort when it comes to clothes. You’re going to be sitting around for 72 hours slamming away at your laptop. You don’t want anything riding, twisting, tugging, pulling, ripping, tearing or itching at your mojo. You need a comfy mojo for this ride. Be kind to yourself. Pack for comfort. And bring changes of clothes. And a towel. You will have access to the showers at the facility. PS: They feed us REALLY WELL at these marathons. Don’t be afraid of elastic waistbands. You can get back to the gym after the marathon.
4. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, soap, hand cream.
5. FIDGET ESCAPISM GADGETS. The flying monkeys and the yellow felt mustaches are no longer allowed. Thanks Marty and Dale!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
6. Bring LOVE. You will discover your people at the Muskoka Novel Marathon. In a world full of people, only some want to fly…Isn’t that crazy? You may find that quite a few of the fliers will be found at the marathon.
7. Bring a ONE-PAGE outline of what you hope to write at the marathon. This is not mandatory…but it IS all that you’re allowed to bring. Do not write in advance, but write out a one-page description of what you wish to write while there.
8. Bring COURAGE. You’re a writer. You know courage. You’ve faced the insurmountable odds of a blank white screen. You’ve taken a kernel of an idea and watched in amazement as it took flight and became something bigger. Do that again. Do that at the marathon. Be fearless. ALSO—bring just enough more courage to join the other writers somewhere around the halfway mark for a gather-round and a reading. Let us celebrate the words we write at the marathon by sharing them with each other while they’re still fresh and raw. Bring that much courage…enough not only to write with fierce determination, but also to read your words aloud and watch them come to life.
9. Bring any old thing you want except for booze, drugs and guns. Don’t listen to me, I’m just a bag-lady with the lifelong dream of living in a commune…a baglady who gets to see that dream come true but once a year in Huntsville, Ontario! Bring a guitar…Kumbaya has always been a favourite of mine. And the stars in Huntsville at the Muskoka Novel Marathon?! Whoa and wow! We can always just sit by the dock at night–just outside the venue–and watch the constellations reveal themselves…
Yep. That’s where the magic button will appear at precisely 7pm. And if writers aren’t fast enough in clicking it and getting through the registration process, it’ll be the equivalent of having elephantine feet when the prince comes to your door to get you to try on the petite glass slipper. You see… the Muskoka Novel Marathon is an AMAZING opportunity for writers. They get to check out of the rat race for 72hrs and do nothing but write. BUT—-there’s only room for 40 writers. THAT’S ONLY 40 GLASS SLIPPERS! Everyone wants to be there. Or, at least anyone who’s already experienced the opportunity or anyone who can imagine getting that much writing time in one solid block.
Yes, the MNM is also a crucial fundraiser for area literacy programs in Muskoka and Simcoe County in Ontario, Canada…but at a time like this when the starting pistol on registration is about to go off, it’s easy to forget that part. Once all the writers have their spots nailed down, though…you can bet each and every one of them do their level best to collect the much needed funds to keep the literacy programs going. In the history of the marathon, we’ve managed to raise over $200,000.00 thus far. No small potatoes!
But today? The focus is on getting one of those coveted spots!
The room where the yearly magic happens!
I’m not even certain I’m going to attempt to register this year. But… last year I was certain I was NOT going to go. And when 8pm came around on the registration day and I noticed that my ‘usual’ spot in the writing room was still available…I took it as a sign. I registered and I went to the marathon and I wrote. Whenever I think of NOT going, I get this feeling in my stomach. It’s a feeling of deep regret, that I am not giving my writing self this humongous gift. And then I panic and think, ‘HOW CAN I NOT GO!?’
One of the alternative writing spaces one can use at the marathon!
We’ll see.
If you’re a writer in Ontario (or willing to travel to Ontario for a long weekend in July) you really should do yourself the great service of securing a seat for the marathon. It’s definitely changed my life getting these amazing weekends of non-stop writing in. It changed the way I approach the novel, really. I probably write more at the Muskoka Novel Marathon than I write during the other 362 days of the year. Let’s just keep that part between you and I, though… I wouldn’t want that to get out!
Every September there’s an after-marathon wrap party where there are awards handed out for Best Novel in different categories, as well as a slew of awards that are peer nominated.
One thing is certain… if I do register and attend the marathon this year, it’ll be another year where I will be unable to attend the wrap party in September. Michael and I will be busy making our way to Santiago de Compostela in September. We’ll be walking the Camino during the wrap party. This has never stopped me from attending the marathon in the past, though. Hmmmmmm?
Today marks what would have been the 80th birthday of my mother, Davida Cecilia (nee Creamer) Craig. Everyone called her Dee. She liked milestone birthdays and she would have loved this one. 80. I always thought there was something magical about her birth year because it was 1939. The same year as The Wizard of Oz. I always remembered that odd fact, for some reason.
A couple of weeks ago, I took out the recipe box my mother used to keep. To be honest, there was a time when we kept it together. We once began a project together of organizing that box and re-writing all the recipes on index cards. We bought the alphabetical dividers and everything. It was going to be a perfectly appointed collection to pass down. As I scrolled through the chaos of cards, pamphlets, magazines, magazine clippings and scrap pieces of paper with faded recipes scrawled on them, it became obvious that the project was a complete failure. We hadn’t even made it halfway through the reorganization process, and it seems to have declined back to chaos in the ensuing years. This recipe box is the Miss Havisham of recipe boxes. Hope lost.
But perhaps this is the way recipe collections should be, no? Fully loved and used and faded and worn and torn and in shambles. Maybe that’s the sign of a good recipe collection. Maybe our little project was where we went wrong. It was, come to think of it, my idea. Sure, Mom always said, “One day I should sit down and sort this mess out.” But I wonder now if everyone who loves to bake and cook says that occasionally when they open up their fragile elastic-reinforced recipe collections to get to work.
What I also realized as I flipped through all the beloved baking recipes from my childhood is that we must have began that project when I was no more than 10 years old. All the rewritten recipes on index cards were in my childhood eerily perfect and meticulous left-handed scrawl. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with her and going through the recipes and being cautious to the point of insanity while I carefully wrote them out. All the 1/2s and 1/4s and 1/3s had to be 100% correct. Not a single word could be omitted. Baking is, after all, an exact science.
Our most baked recipe had to be peanut butter cookies (molasses cookies would take a quick second place…but they were harder to make and took more time). That’s the recipe I looked for while I took my nostalgic dip back into the recipe box. It was only after 3 thorough trips down memory lane that I finally found the recipe in a spiral notebook. I never did find the index card. And almost nothing was filed in alphabetical order in the filing system.
The peanut butter cookie recipe that I did finally find, after much panic, was in my mother’s gorgeous swirling curlicue handwriting. I always thought she had the most magical handwriting of them all. I remember watching her make words come to life on the page, knowing I’d never be able to come close to that kind of fancy. But I followed each and every swirl when I made my first post-Mom batch of peanut butter cookies.
What I realized when I made a batch of these cookies was that my mother was always baking for an army. The batch was ENDLESS. But, as memory serves, a batch would last no more than a day in my childhood home. Her cookies often served the purpose of pied piper in our neighbourhood.
In retrospect, maybe the bomb that went off inside the recipe box that we never quite got a handle on is an allegory for the bomb that went off between us. No matter. Things happened. They won’t take away the time we spent together, though. We had a few things together. One was definitely baking. One was photo albums. The two of us were the official curators of our family photo albums. A third was puzzles. I can’t even begin to count the hours we spent together working on puzzles at the dining room table. One picture appeared after the other, seemingly out of nowhere. We never seemed to tire of that one.
Mom, Manny, Me, Dave, Dad. Not in this pic is baby brother George. He wasn’t quite here yet. This was early 1971…George arrived in 1972.
Rest in peace, Mom. I’m glad that all the good memories eventually came bubbling back up to the surface. They never go away, do they? Not really. I just have to close my eyes and I remember being elbows deep in batter, helping you make your own birthday cake and trying DESPERATELY not to ask you for any help…because nobody should have to make their own birthday cake. Not now, not ever. Happy Birthday.
This pic has nothing to do with anything I’m writing today. I’m using it only as a subject divider, because I’m all over the place today. As usual. This is me following Michael on foot for the last mile or so into Nepal, from India. It was really the only way for us to cross from one country to the other in any reasonable amount of time last September.
I have a book out on submission right now and I’d probably trade all my other publications combined to see it to market. I just finished a reread. This is something I sometimes do when a book is out in the hands of publishers. It’s on my list of thing I do to second guess myself and question my abilities as a writer. I still love this book, though. I still hope it finds a home. It’s not often that I feel this good about something I wrote. So, fingers crossed. I’m kind of at a standstill at the moment, because I’m thinking so much about this novel finding a home that it stops me from diving into the next and the next. I’m sure it won’t be an excuse forever. It will either happen or it won’t.
This subject divider makes a little more sense. This is one of soooo many shrouds to shoes one finds on the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route in Spain. Shoes literally play out their entire lives on this path. I’ll be returning there in September, but I hope to leave my shoes at home.
The countdown to the beginning of Our Camino Adventure is now 181 days. As much as I love spring and summer, I have never wished them to speed by as much as I am wishing them to do so now. On September 10th we are boarding a plane that will take us to Madrid, by way of Lisbon, and I cannot wait. The Camino de Santiago is constantly percolating in the back of my mind. I daydream about the day my feet will once again touchdown on its sacred path. Like Frank N. Furter realizing he’s about to get the opportunity to return to his home planet of Transsexual in the galaxy of Transylvania, I am beside myself with excitement.
Unlike Frank N. Furter, I’m not going to find out at the last second that I’ll be lasered to death just before take-off. At least I hope that’s not in the cards for me.
We now have our entire itinerary mapped out. We managed, through trial and error, to come up with it all by ourselves. We’re hoping we aced the journey and gave ourselves enough but not too much time for each day’s trek. It’s such a fine balance when figuring out in advance how far you’re going to walk each day. And with the throngs growing each and every year on the Camino**, we didn’t want to take our chances with not booking our nightly stays in advance. So, it’s all locked and loaded…even though we still have 181 days to go.
**In 2017 the Pilgrim’s Office in Santiago de Compostela received 301,006 pilgrims, up from 237,882 in 2014…which is the year I first walked the Camino. Last year, there was an even greater amount of pilgrims. More are expected to walk in 2019.
Not only was my first Camino experience a mostly WET AND RAINY one, but the cathedral was also undergoing a massive exterior refurbishing. The front was covered in scaffolding. I’m told that the scaffolding is now gone. I’m excited to see the polished new exterior. Unfortunately, this means the interior is now under restoration. I’m told the Botafumeiro will not swing.
I will be attempting a BAREFOOT walk this coming Camino. I went barefoot for a few portions of my last Camino. Hopefully, I can do it all the way…only slipping into footwear to enter places that won’t allow bare feet. That’s the goal, anyway. We shall see.
THE SIX DEGREES OF SEPARATION FOR THE TOPICS OF THIS POST
Not really six degrees.
Mom’s Birthday – The Book I have on Submission Takes Place on the Camino de Santiago – I’m walking the Camino. I’m dedicating this pilgrimage to the memory of my mother. Full circle.
Anyway…a lot on my mind today. I find getting it out helps. Happy Birthday, Mom…wherever you happen to be in the universe. Imagine me baking you a cake and I’ll imagine you being impressed by my cake decorating abilities.
KEVIN CRAIG 