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Showing posts from January, 2019

100 Days of Writing - 29

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Thinking about the stories we make up as kids.  When I was 3 years old, I was at the kitchen sink looking out at the yard and Toucan Sam descended from the sky to surprise my brother and sister who were sitting at the picnic table outside.  They seemed to have a really great exchange and then he must have left because that's the extent of my memory.  My very real, very vivid memory of this happening, only confirmed by my older siblings later on. I couldn't sleep one night, my tummy was hurting me.  Probably around the same age - 3 or 4, and I walked into my parent's room to wake them up for help and just then I felt the pain in my belly surge.  I looked down and there was a bug coming out of my belly button.  (Sorry, that was gross.)  It looked like a green worm, I know, gross right?  No one believed me.  These things still to this day feel like very real, very lived experiences, but common sense tells me.. nah they probably didn't happen. Fixations, kid thought

100 Days of Writing - 28

Trying to nail down human dialogue these days.  Paying attention to people talking to each other is quite an education!  It's super tangential.  Ugh.  Script-writing.

100 Days of Writing - 27

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It snowed today.  A lot.  It snowed so much that we might get a snow day tomorrow and I get to stay home from school.  As an adult, that feels extra cool. Snow days were the best growing up.  Pure freedom awaited.  My dad would often sculpt the best slides for us to tackle and keep ourselves entertained.  I had a long driveway so when the snow plow came, we had a naturally huge mountain.  The kids from my street would all pile onto it with their crazy carpets and GT snow racers like bad asses.  Occasionally he would put a snow bump down the slope to make it extra exciting.  Hours upon hours of entertainment, followed by the occasional hot chocolate, made from real cocoa... the best kind.  As I was walking to the streetcar, completely covered in scarves and feeling icy bits of snow hit my eyes, a man took a break from shoveling to chat with his neighbour.  After a brief complaint, his neighbour went "yeah but it's Winter!"  It's true for me that it feels like a p

100 Days of Writing - 26

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Beginning, middle and end.  That's a story.  Protagonist, want, antagonist, conflict, climax, end.  Once upon a time there was a very small but mighty pebble.  This small but mighty pebble had been tossed into the bush by the side of the road after a speedy kid biked over it with his 1985 Raleigh Special.  The pebble had spent his whole life surrounded by his pebble pals, and this was the first time he'd been on his own.  He was the size and shape of a kidney bean, tiny enough to go unnoticed but strong enough to survive the worst of climates.  Small, but mighty. He looked around him.  He was in the thick of the grass that lined the road.  He could hear his pals calling his name, "Pablo!" over and over again.  The impact of the fall had damaged his ability to respond.  A line of ants were transporting grains of sand to strengthen their home just a few centimetres away but they didn't notice this misplaced pebble and went about their business. Suddenly, it

100 Days of Writing - 25

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Managing expectations - an important lesson in life, and something I'm always obsessing over. When I started this blog 8 years ago, I was on a high.  I had just begun to discover the joy of whole foods and the satisfaction that writing and eating healthy brought me was unlike anything that I had previously experienced.  It felt as though I had finally found the secret to happiness, and that I would never again have to look down a dark path.  I was nourishing body, mind and soul.  It felt great. As stress began creeping in, and the blog entries grew more sporadic, so too did my health-conscious meals.  Eventually I was sinking into old habits and fueling my stress rather than my health, and that became a nasty habit for a long time.  Long enough until I was too broke to do so, and suddenly this slimmer body emerged and I felt as attractive as I did at 22, which was over a decade before at that point.  When the scale spoke to me, it whispered loving encouragement as I was losin

100 Days of Writing - 24

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Rose are red Violets are purple I'm going to name my cat Nermal Nermal Nermal. *** My friend told me a story yesterday and I think it's really cute. Her sister was visiting from Chile with her 3 kids and husband.  Her two oldest, ages 5 and 3, have grown up there and this was their first time in Canada. One day when they tasted a banana, they noticed it tasted very differently than the ones they eat in Chile, for reasons you and I can ascertain.  Grampa Bear told the kids, "these are Canadian bananas.  They grow only during the Winter and we have to eat them right away."  And the next morning, Grampa Bear got up very early and used fishing wire to tie a bunch of bananas to a tree in their backyard for the kids to discover. "Canadian bananas!" the 5 year old cheered. The family went outside to "pick them" and then Gramma made banana bread. Canadian bananas!  It's so silly. hehe Katie

100 Days of Writing - 23

I'm taking this one class on publishing children's books and I cry every class.  Inevitably.  I'm not sure if it's my teacher's soft-spoken voice or the fact that I'm finally in a place to figure out how to do something I've always dreamed of doing, but it's an emotional process. It's conjuring up some interesting stuff, some tough topics that are hard to address with kids, like loneliness and death.  We did this one exercise where you write about an object from the POV of a 5, 10 and 15 year old. When I hit ten, and I was writing openly, the death of a little boy I once had at a school came up.  I found myself writing from the perspective of one of his broken-hearted friends, and the simplicity of the language contradicted the complexity of the emotion that was behind it. Kids are resilient, it's an incredible thing to see in action, and as I expanded on that 10 year old's inner monologue, I was reminded of just how much strength they

100 Days of Writing - 22

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I pitched 3 shows in a class today and each one started with the letter S.  I wonder what that says about me?  Here's something stupid: If your favourite letter is ___, then... A- you feel a lot of inner conflict, but you're always trying to do what's right. B- you're a cheerful person who appreciates pop art C- you're reclusive and tend to keep to yourself D- you make an entrance and tend to dominate conversation E- you're fragile and a people-pleaser F- you're a go-getter and a leader G- you read a lot and enjoy the company of others H- you're a gifted mediator I- bit self-explanatory?  (self-centered?) J- very loyal and friendly K- you have traditional roots but a creative exterior L- very diplomatic M- you bring a calm to those around you, great listener N- goal-oriented, willing to cut corners O- you focus on self-fulfillment P- you spend too much time with your thoughts Q- you are one groovy human, super unique R- direct, but e

100 Days of Writing - 21

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One fifth of the way there!  When I was five, my mom ask me to tell her a story and she wrote it out and I drew the pictures.  I have no memory of making it except for a vague satisfaction over drawing a mirror and an old lady reflection.  Like I really thought I nailed it. I used crayons, naturally, and my mom hand wrote the story I dictated.  It made no sense and involved a house burning down but it's my earliest work- the spark of my potential. In about grade 6 I was invited to attend this young authors conference and I was so flattered to go, still to this day I think about how that impacted my desire to write stories and reignited the little spark in me to keep at it. But high school was different.  Writing was harder, there were more distractions and tough teachers, but I found a zest for public speaking and enjoyed the opportunity (any opportunity, really) for performance.  I'll never forget going to the regional public speaking "championships" and show

100 Days of Writing - 20

Ideas.. They wrestle with your ego Turn fat into fit They distill the most important Just when you're gonna call it quits It's all so confusing When you think you've got a good'un The doubt becomes a laughter And it's all so quite confusin S'pose I'll go one way Til another comes around Ideas are callin shots Like they're the best that's ever been

100 Days of Writing - 19

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I finally finished Stephen King's On Writing tonight.  Took me 20 days to get through it, which, by my standards, is a pretty short amount of time.  I'm happy, proud even, that I finished it. Some great tools are found in the book, and the thing that will stay with me is how important reading is- you've got to read more to write more. It's making me think about my reading habits; how I tend to lean on non-fiction and self-help books, or at least I have for the bulk of my adulthood.  I'm someone who ruminates about the meaning of life and how to achieve happiness.  I feel validated when I read about others' struggles and feel inspired when they move past their shortcomings. I suppose there are enough stories out there that I could find the same sense of satisfaction among some fiction titles, but this worry-wart doesn't seek it out enough.  I often feel I can't concentrate or forget pretty quickly when I attempt to read a book outside my comfort zon

100 Days of Writing - 18

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My dog gets all freaked out when I sit down to write.  I'm not sure if it's because I have my back to the room or if it's she can sense A GENIUS AT WORK. Ha. I'm finding this 100 Day Challenge I've given myself to be super helpful in terms of practice.  I rarely exercise the creative writer in me and enjoy the comfort zone of journaling and putting personal essays online.  Look I'm doing it again. I've written a lot of monologues and a couple of scripts, but generally tend to avoid ensemble writing, or multiple points of view.  I also get intimidated by trying to advance a story based on everybody's wants and forget about acts.  Basically I have no idea what I'm doing but it feels great to work through this awkwardness and let the creative writer in me grow. *** Margaret stared at her reflection in the mirror.  Her face was covered in a Moroccan mud mask, imported on a whim after reading about it in Glamour magazine.  It smelled like roses an

100 Days of Writing - 17

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Lorraine was digging through old photos when she came across the perfect image to post as part of the #10yearchallenge.  Something of a humble relic from her past, this photograph from 2009 had all the fixings for the post: great lighting, the right side of her face, straight teeth and most importantly, a defined chin. See, Lorraine had put on a few pounds since then, and gravity being the skin-sucking beast that it is, had contributed to a, well... looser neck area.  She often contemplated liposuction and jaw enhancement, but she could barely afford to feed her cat on her meagre teacher's salary. She practiced chin exercises, like Jim Carey had around the time that photo was taken, where he reemerged an apparent "new man" after a stint in the shadows of Hollywood.  Were she a man, she would have a well-loved beard to cover up her insecurity. Lorraine watched what she ate, and eventually came to determine her neck glands would swell at the very sight of gluten so af

100 Days of Writing - 16

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Dear Diary, It's my "Sweet 16" and everybody bailed on my party last minute.  It's Friday night and I'm literally home alone in bed.  This sucks.  I keep waiting to get a Snap that actually makes me smile but so far it's been lazy "HBs" and heart emojis. What did I do?  Seriously.  What did I do?  School was boring AF as usual today and when I got to my locker to go home there was just this one sad balloon tied to my lock.  I'm pretty sure Kristy took it from Cassandra B's locker, it had clearly been slowly deflating and her birthday was Monday.  FML.   I get it- everybody's got their own shit happening but like... isn't today supposed to be about me?  I fucking baked a cake for Kristy's sweet 16 last month, the least she could do was like, post on my wall, tag me on Insta... SOMETHING. I don't even think people are capable of caring anymore.  Not just about me but about life in general.  It's like there

100 Days of Writing - 15

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Janice took her dog Beatrice, a spunky 7 year old Maltese, for a walk one Saturday afternoon.  It was January, and cold, so she was surprised to hear birds chirping in the distance.  She followed the joyful sounds along the street until they quieted down as she approached the evergreen tree they had gathered in.  Beatrice, a naturally curious pup, sniffed out their presence and quieted down to assess.  For a city sidewalk, it was fairly quiet save for the random chirps coming from the little brown birds in the tree. Janice stood there and admired the sounds as the chirping grew louder and louder. "What the heck are they chirping about?" She wondered to herself.  There must have been two dozen brown chickadees having the gab of their life in that tree that Saturday afternoon.  Each one sounded joyful and energized.  Janice admired their beautiful song but was stumped.  There were lots of trees on the street, so why had they chosen that one to hang out in?  And what i

100 Days of Writing - 14

Stuck.  Completely. No burst of inspiration tonight, just lots of self-doubt and irritability.  Going to sleep. Goodnight moon, Katie

100 Days of Writing - 13

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I wrote 7 pages tonight but not much worth posting online.  Lots of feelings. I also, however, met and chatted with someone I felt like I'd known for a long time though, that was something I haven't experienced in a while.  He came into the grocery store I work at to kill some time and we got to chatting.  After a while and after enough eye contact, it became evident that there was some sort of weird and very random chemistry happening, which totally freaked me out. In the past, I've entertained the notion of past lives and soulmates and season/reason/lifetime people and I guess I was stumped by what transpired at the counter.  I left work feeling both anxious and energized and wondered if I would see him again. Very aware right now that I have a tendency to write about love and so I think I'll put a button on this one and try to return to a more creative storytelling route for the next week.  Or maybe not, I don't dictate these things, my fingers do the writi

100 Days of Writing - 12

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I stopped listening to music for some stupid reason.  I imagine it has something to do with moving to a foreign place and up-heaving my life but I am making serious efforts to fix this and it feels good. I put on an old album that I love ( Winter Tale by Bobby Long ) and it's taken me back to 2011 so I looked for a matching journal for that year and found my purple padded diary and when I flipped it open I found a list of crushes.  From 8 years ago, haha. A real, live, grown woman wrote a list of crushes in her diary at almost 30.  I guess the dreamer in us doesn't always grow up eh? First, a number is assigned.  Then their name, in full and finally, as if an afterthought, or me trying to find the algorithm behind the mystery of my singleness, is an adjective to describe them.  They range from sporty, to spiritual, cute, to "all of the above." Wrote that last one about my then-crush, a balding actor that I handed a hand-written poem to one night in a dark alley.

100 Days of Writing - 11

I was discussing dreams with a few classmates earlier this week, so I can’t be sure if that’s what prompted this reoccurring dream or not, but I dreamed I died last night.  How terrifying.   They say that dreams about death are positive, and reflect a new beginning.  It certainly doesn’t feel that way when you realize you’re about to slip off the window sill of a high rise and fall to your certain death.  I’m willing to accept a new beginning is ahead. Pals, broken up writes, Convenience Stores and Von Bugle. Spotify, Katie

100 Days of Writing - 10

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I read Smile by Raina Telgemeier today and I was reminded of when I broke my two front teeth after riding my brother's bicycle into a parked car when I was 11.  Here's the transcript from my diary entry on this most life-changing incident: *** June 27, 1994 I'm getting treatment for those discusting warts on my feet.  It's the fourth time I get it done to me (I mean, I had to go back every week.) every Tuesday.  Next week's the last one. And I cracked chipped my 2 front teeth!  In other words, I rammed into a parked car!!  One of them are is dead, and the other still has a chance of living.  I told Mom that I'm gonna hold a funeral for my dead tooth.  Oh ya, I hafta get a Root Canal !!! I told "ma" that I'd much rather die!! Anyway, Dr. Lamarche gave me some toothpaste called Sensodyne-F.  I hafta rub it all over my two teeth and IT IS DICUSTING !!  Mom says it's good.  I don't agree with her at all.   Plus, I had

100 Days of Writing - 09

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Well I've successfully completed a week of this self-induced challenge.  I'm into it!  It's been really helpful to feel motivated to write and the accountability that goes into posting it online is offering a much-needed structure for this ole' master of procrastination. Tonight I ate freezer-burned perogies for dinner.  Not even fried perogies with onion and sour cream, just gross, boiled perogies.  No accompaniment either, just.. gross, freezer burned, boiled perogies.  Not exciting, and not exciting to read about I'm sure.  Okay pretend the formatting is correct: Actual thoughts tonight. EXT. DUNDAS WEST STATION - NIGHT KATIE LEGGITT, a disheveled mature student stands idly in the cold, waiting for the bus. KATIE I think I'll pick up some groceries on my way home. Geez, that's third out of service bus, this is annoying. Gracie's got to go out, but No Frills is on the way, and I can just dip in there real quick and pick up like, something f

100 Days of Writing - 08

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I came up with a really easy anti-depression aid last night after writing about Jeff Buckley.  It was one of those rants that came from the left side of the brain and it wrote itself faster than my hand could and as such I thought I could share some of the highlights. Here it is... we can't see into the future (or at least most of us can't), so why do we let ourselves feel so shitty for something that doesn't even exist? I spent the bulk of my life feeling sad about things I didn't have in it.  The right number on a scale, a boyfriend, a turquoise 1956 Chevy Bel Air, whatever.  So much time was spent on mourning something that didn't even exist in my reality.  It caused a lot of grief, especially in the relationship department. Prone to crushes, a lot of my free energy was spent on wanting a boyfriend, being sad I didn't have one, and wondering what was wrong with me because I didn't.  Birthday cake after birthday cake, I've wished for a boyfri

100 Days of Writing - 07

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Taking a prompt tonight: "Describe the most beautiful sound you have ever heard." It was probably late 1997 and I was enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon, watching MusiquePlus (Much) videos.  I had just left the couch to get a drink from the kitchen and a commercial for an upcoming episode of Concert Plus came on and the shrill of Jeff Buckley's voice hit me somewhere so deep, it stopped me in my tracks.  I rushed back to the TV to see what or WHO the hell that was, because his voice was unlike anything I'd ever heard before.  It was guttural, then high pitched, and the melody told a story that instantly made me want more. I made a note of the time it would be airing, and remember kids this was before YouTube and SVOD so you got what you got when you got it.  But I was prepared.  Equipped with a VCR, I recorded the Live In Chicago concert and so began my lifelong love affair with Jeff Buckley (and his music). This would make for interesting debate, but I do

100 Days of Writing - 06

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"There," Margaret thought to herself as she glued the last piece into her vision board, a signed cheque to herself in the amount of $15,000. She set the foamcore collage aside while she made herself the usual spaghetti and daydreamed of paying off her modest debt and travelling to Europe for a few weeks in the summer.  She assumed the money would come to her in the form of a winning lottery ticket, an unexpected inheritance of some sort or heck, even a small business loan or a grant that would finally allow her fern-growing business to take off. She certainly didn't suspect that, after 3 years of yearning for a fat sum of money to appear out of thin air that she would suddenly be entertaining the idea of immigration fraud, but there she was, one April night in a dive bar at Landsdowne and Bloor, sitting across from Carlos, a hard-working Brazilian man proposing marriage. "We'd only have to see each other at the holidays, take a few pictures like a happy cou

100 Days of Writing - 05

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My favourite bar in Montreal is Honey Martin's.  A small, dimly lit drinking hole on Sherbrooke street West, I spent many nights in my mid-to-late twenties there, drinking lagers and speaking to friends and new acquaintances loudly over the live music. The narrow walls are covered in large paintings of boxers- the fighting kind.  There is ample dark, smooth wood surrounding the benches and bar, creating a warmth that makes this place so inviting.  More often than not, there would be old timers sitting at the bar, greeting each other with open arms and pats on the back.  There's a narrow staircase that leads to the basement off to the right, a place that must be dusty and cold.  On the opposite end of the bar, there is a door that sometimes swings open and a few times I've witnessed a husky or two run in- the dog kind, that is. There is ornamental stained glass throughout, a snake pattern with golden tones and red ruby like stones breaking up the panes that adorns the to

100 Days of Writing - Day 04

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Time is going by quickly.  I've never been so conscious of days rolling by.  I decided to set myself an alarm to make sure I don't forget to post.  I've already snoozed it twice.  I don't have too much to say other than I got the news today that my brother's Great Dane, Dexter, has a terminal illness and doesn't have long to live.  Absolutely heartbreaking news, and I can only imagine how hard it must be on Jon to know this about his companion of 3 years.  News travels fast, especially bad news.  When I got the text and called him immediately, Gracie, my black lab, perked up and positioned herself close to me because I guess my tone was grave and concerned.  She could tell something was wrong and that there was a sadness in my voice as I spoke to my brother.  Dogs! Goddamnit!  DOGS! Gracie was like, "I'm here for you, human.  Pet me so as to alleviate your stress." And it totally helped, me... but my heart was and is breaking for m

100 Days of Writing - 03

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Sniff sniff, goes the nose Tap tap, go the fingers Broom broom, goes the heat Sighhhhhhhh, goes the dog. Sitting, silent. Grumble, grumble, grumble, goes the shoulder and ughhhhhhhhhh goes the tummy. Primus, Katie

100 Days of Writing - 02

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Mornings.  I love them and hate them too.  They're for rolling around in bed, sipping coffee, rushing to work.  It's a magical time and some people even manage to eat their breakfast before leaving their home. I am not one of those people.  I am a snooze-til-the-last-minute, rush to get ready, take my dog for a brisk walk and run for the bus/hop on my bike and book it type of person.  I like the energy that mornings bring, seeing people on their way to work or to mysterious places.  I love spotting people in cafes with their laptops open, looking out the window for inspiration.  I love seeing all the dogs happy to be outside, the cat skirting across the street to avoid the car and even the occasional plump raccoon caught red-handed, munching on something surely gross. Tranquil mornings are lovely.  This is one of those mornings, although I'm approaching noon quite quickly.  I have yet to make breakfast, but I will as soon as I'm done writing.  I have a cold cup o

100 Days of Writing - 01

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Hello. I cannot be sure I will be successful in this commitment, but I am sure that if I am, 100 Days of Writing will do me some real good as a creator.  So here goes nothing. I never felt very comfortable calling myself a writer.  I thought to be a writer, I have to have works published, eyes on my lines, an income of some kind that pointed to a success, but tonight after searching for a little tape, I spilled my box of journals and notebooks out and nearly 100 books came out.  "Goddamn," I thought to myself.  "Why am I always doubting myself?" It's a new year and a new me and I'm sitting at my new writing nook hoping that 2019 brings more vastness than I've previously known, that I accomplish big dreams on a small scale and that I continue taking steps to the big "What If" of my heart. I didn't think I'd be in school, that's a sure thing.  It was an idea I'd been toying with for a few years, something that other people