June 19, 2006

TUCKING IN …

Some folk just can’t get enough …. skiing, that is. Every time I run on the West Side, I see this ‘older dude’ (wonder what he’d think of the tag?) giving it his all. He skate-skis for miles along the Valley Trail, breathing hard, breaking a sweat … and he takes the gravelly downhills of Alta Lake Road, tucking into those turns, as if he were racing on snow. This picture is not a good one, and my camera has a way of flattening out inclines … but I heard him coming today …. and was ready for him :). I mention The Skier because he intrigues me, and I dearly love so see people play, even as they get older. So very damn good for the soul. Reminds me to lighten up, to breathe deep, and run in the moment. Live in the moment. – Even as I tuck in to meet my own deadlines this week.

I’ve signed up for the Weekly Writing Challenge (WWC) put on from time to time by the Vancouver RWA chapter. It started at the crack of dawn today, and I’m whipping myself to meet my goals by Sunday. I will let you know how it goes, but I am afraid I will be scarce in cyberspace and around the blogosphere this week. Please forgive me. But I hope it will pay off.

Hmmmn …. now I’m wondering how many people would refer to me as that ‘older woman’ running … er … trundling … along the trails?

And don’t forget to sign up for my Contest. Time’s almost up ….

June 18, 2006

ANTIPODAL WINTER

And since they’re in the future  …

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DOWN UNDER BROTHER! Here he is, chasing his passion, and the winter swells off Western Australia. Don’t they just LOOK cold?

And doing the fish thing. Guess it really does run in the family ….

Luv ya, boet

My Path: 23 and a bit kilometers

My Time: We don’t talk about time on the long runs — not YET :).

My Beat: Ibhola Lethu - Juluka

June 17, 2006

SLINKY

This is my other guy, Lincoln. And no, this is not evidence of cat torture — my boys have a thing for buckets and boxes … and they like to help with the laundry. Lincoln – named after President Abe — is long, dark, angular and smart — SUPER smart. He also has the softest, sleekest fur I’ve ever had the pleasure to stroke. He’s a polydactyl cat (a la Hemingway’s famous feline), camera shy, and something of an empath. And he sure as hell knows how to frame Brunswick

And unlike predecessor, Chaos — my wild grey muse, my writing cat – the boys are BANNED from my office!! Not writing cats these. These guys eat homework.

And thanks for the well-wishes. I think I should have this bug fully knocked by tomorrow.

June 16, 2006

You want me to do WHAT!

Meet Lord Muck Brunswick. Sitting on the chair he is so not allowed to sit on. It’s not mine — I’m looking after it for my mum, which means Brunswick is, of course, DETERMINED to shred it!

I’d introduce the orange monster properly, but I feel sick today, sorry guys :(. Figure my immune system took a bit of knock when I upped the intensity of my training this past week. Will post again when I’m back in ship shape.

Going to take some time away from the computer now ….

Later …

June 15, 2006

EVERYDAY IS A WINDING ROAD

The little twists keep it interesting :). More copy edits arrived today … so another little turn as I go back to juggling the new project with the one coming out in December.

My Path: Tenderhook (above)

My Distance: 84:02 minutes — these weekday runs are just getting loonger and looooonger  … sooo, I console myself thinking about those 2 000 odd folk running the Comrades ultramathron — right now, as I type — almost 90 kilometres up monstrous hills through the heart of Shaka Zulu country. It’s a grueling race that grips my imagination … and its a little seed that niggles

My Beat: Take it Easy — Desmond Decker.

Contest

June 14, 2006

THE PURPLE SHALL GOVERN

How many people can boast a photo taken on the exact day the faint germ of an idea of writing a romance first ever entered their head?

This is mine.

I took it in 1990 from the 10th floor window of my office in Adderly Street, Cape Town on one of those heady, pulsing, volatile days leading up to the release of Nelson Mandela. The street below was usually filled with city traffic, but on this day it was a mass of humanity that had flowed in from outlying suburbs and townships since the dark hours of dawn and seethed up Adderly Street toward the parliament buildings with the most spine-tingling chanting and singing and toy-toying you can ever imagine. They were demanding the release of Mandela. The scent of the crowd was strong in the heat. The tension thick. Helicopters circled above with snipers. Armed police paced nervously behind monstrous coils of razor wire, water cannons at their side.

And from an office base on the fourth floor of ‘my’ building, foreign correspondents from around the world swarmed out with monstrous cameras and flak jackets, their excitement as palpable as the pulsing anger of the crowd. 

I’d been down there, part of the crowd, on previous protest marches, but on this occassion,as soon as things started getting too heated, our building was locked down  – we were trapped. And, strangely enough, as the hot hours ticked interminably by, and chants of ‘Amandla!‘ reverberated below, and the helos chopped above, one of the reporters in our newsroom looked up suddenly and said: “Hey, do you know how much money you can make writing a Mills and Boon?”

Well, blow me down, I didn’t. None of us did. But as a lark, we started brainstorming what we believed was a romance plot, then, we all sat down, banged out a version of the first chapter, and laughed hysterically while comparing notes.

Buuuut, …. the seed had been sewn, and it niggled away at me. In the next few weeks I  bought a few Mills and Boons (all there was available in S.A. at the time), read them, and life went on. I got pregnant again, busy, and we started the process of relocating to Canada. Once here, subsequent years were spent settling, raising kids, earning a living, and just … living. Until one day I sat up, saw the big Four Oh on the horizon and my mind flashed right back to 1990. I wanted to give it a try — a romance novel. So I set about investigating, learning … writing. And I quite simply fell in love — with the books, the business, the people. All of it.

And it’s no coincidence that my heroine in MELTING THE ICE, my first romance novel for Silhouette, was … yep, you got it, a foreign correspondent. There was just something about those folk on the fourth floor

And as an aside …  for the next march, those police filled the water canons with purple dye. If the force of the jets didn’t shove you up against the razor coils, shredding clothes and flesh … you ran off stained purple. And then they came looking. All day long armed men scoured the city in search of purple people. Throughout Cape Town the walls of washrooms, hotels, restaurants, pubs and department stores were smeared purple from those trying to hide the wrath of the minority government. And the slogan was born: The Purple Shall Govern.  And so it came to pass … Mandela was released in 1990 after being imprisoned for my entire lifetime.

Purple Rain being spewed from that yellow van, just off Green Market Square outside St George’s Cathedral. I still get an involuntary shudder whenever I see a yellow van.

But hey … my book covers have a purple streak … :)  And before you open your mouth about purple prose … fuhggeddaboud it!

Do you remember when the idea of penning a romance struck — the very first time? Do you recall where you were when you picked up your first romance novel?