Category Archives: About Writing

Paying Writers with thanks to the Canada Council for the Arts and St. Michael’s Hospital

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Our book, Impact: The Lives of Women After Concussion has received funding from two sources: the first is St. Michael’s Hospital and the second is the Canada Council for the Arts. I had the great good fortune of distributing the Canada Council funds to our contributors today. We (E.D. Morin and I, and all of our contributors) are so grateful to the Canada Council for the Arts for supporting our work and enabling us to pay creators.

It is hard to overstate how difficult it is for writers to get paid these days. This could be a whole post in and of itself. But let’s stick to anthologies. Here’s something most people don’t realize: typically with anthologies, contributors don’t get paid. Royalties can be shared among contributors, but the math doesn’t make it worthwhile. So the editor gets paid royalties by the publisher and the rest do not.

How much money are we (not) talking about?

I don’t want to brag or anything, but E.D. Morin and I split just over $1000 in royalties for the last anthology we did together, Writing Menopause. I know. You’re underwhelmed. Remember, that represents several YEARS of work. We had over fifty contributors for that book. I give you the numbers so you see the problem. We can’t blame publishers for not wanting to get into this level of paperwork for such small sums. What happens instead is that most writers get paid in copies of the book. Two is typical. Three or more is considered a good deal. It’s better than nothing. But we all know, we can’t trade our books for groceries at the local market.

So when E.D. Morin and I started work on this anthology, we vowed we would find money somewhere to pay the writers. And the quest began. Databases were searched. We consulted with colleagues like Rona Altrows who is on a similar quest to pay anthology contributors and has been successful.

We were turned down by lots of people. It’s hard to get a grant without an organization behind you. There is a process of proving oneself (over and over again) that is difficult and sometimes even demoralizing. It’s the same as looking for a job, and maybe not quite as bad as looking for a bathing suit. At least I didn’t have to do it half-naked and in bad lighting. Anyway, we had to have a lot of stamina. But we get it. There’s no free lunch and anyone giving money out has to know that we can follow through and deliver on our promises. Our success on our last anthology (earnings notwithstanding) helped us to find funding with this project. We had a track record.

And then we found success. First, because of the content of the anthology, we got interest from St. Michael’s Hospital, who have a wonderful and renowned head injury clinic in Toronto and are an important centre for research. They recognized that our contributors were breaking new ground and as a result, they created a research project based on our anthology. And, as part of their funding, they included money to pay our writers as participants in the project. To know that our anthology will impact (pun intended) the treatment of women with concussion is an incredibly positive outcome and we thank, in particular, Dr. Shree Bhalerao and his team for their enthusiasm and support.

Then came the Canada Council for the Arts. Their grant officer was so helpful as I navigated their forms and process. Remember, I’ve got a concussion too, and about the hardest thing for me to do is use websites and fill in forms. When we received notification that the grant had been approved and awarded, we felt not only relief about being able to offer our writers a significant payment, but also gratitude for the recognition that what we are doing has artistic and literary merit. Thank you, Canada Council for the Arts.

It’s not easy, but it can be done. Writers must be paid. Not every project is this content specific. We had avenues of funding that were unique to us and would not be available to others. But we thought about our project in new ways to get where we are today. In the hard times ahead, we are going to have to be even more dedicated to supporting creators.

We can’t wait to share the results of this work with you.

Concussions and Writing: Impact

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My long neglected website. Given the lack of attention it receives, a person might be forgiven for thinking I was dead. In the immortal words of Monty Python, I’m not dead yet. But I’ve had to make hard choices about where I spend my writing time. You see, as I started working harder on the concussion book, the concussion symptoms returned. The irony is not lost on me.

My neuropsychologist suggested I did too much. Clearly she’s right. But for the record, I waited three years to take on a project in which others depended on me and deadlines mattered. I did what I was told. I rationed my screen time and my reading time. I added to it slowly. I was careful. I now know that I will never again be able to work long hours. I will never enjoy the satisfaction of working obsessively. I loved working obsessively.

The book is so worth it. No regrets. What I’ve learned from the women contributing to “Impact: The Lives of Women After Concussion” in the last few months has been so consoling. Their insight into our condition (concussion, post concussion syndrome and various levels of traumatic brain injury) exceeds anything I’ve learned from doctors or other health professionals in the last three years. I’m so grateful to them.

I have also had to confront my internalized ableism. Why is it that I have been so very reluctant to classify myself as disabled? Am I entitled to such a classification? Does what happened to me count?

Usually, I pass as a person with a normally functioning brain. (I’m trying not to insert an ableist joke here.) Mostly, I’m glad about passing. It’s easier. For one thing. I don’t want to talk about my issues all the time, although I’m sure some people think I do. Then, I start stuttering again, or wince at a loud noise that no one else notices, or have to flee from a store or busy restaurant, and I feel I need to explain myself.

Why do I think I need to explain myself? I see the difference in myself more than anyone else does. I’m the one who notices. When I had cancer, I could also pass. That is, I could pass until my hair fell out. Once my hair fell out, there was no hiding the fact I was seriously ill. I could wear a wig or a hat, but that was a disguise. With post concussion syndrome, even when I’m doing well, I’m always waiting for the wig to slip. Because my symptoms appear unexpectedly, I am suddenly exposed. I can’t pass anymore. It’s disconcerting. And it happens at the very worst times–times when I’m already stressed and busy. Of course.

So I tried an experiment. I talked about the surge in symptoms. A lot. I was very frank with people. I tried to be as frank as the women whose work I am reading. I tried to get comfortable with it. I can’t say it has worked. Not yet.

***

Impact: The Lives of Women After Concussion is coming mid 2021.*

Addendum: The title of the work changed to Impact: Women Writing After Concussion

New Project: “Impact: The Lives of Women After Concussion”

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Elaine Morin and I are co-editing a new anthology tentatively called, “Impact: The Lives of Women After Concussion.” Is there anything more optimistic than starting a new writing project?

The enthusiasm from the writers we have invited to contribute is so encouraging. It’s an important topic, and a hot topic. There are all kinds of reasons to focus on women’s experience of concussion. A recent article in the New York Times offers a few insights into why. And our book will offer more.

Elaine and I have been sharing concussion stories for a long time, tinkering with the idea of an anthology. It’s a lot to take on. We know this because we’ve done it before. Speaking for myself, it will be slow and hard work, but I’m ready. Knowing everyone involved “gets it,” knows that there are good and bad days and times the return of an email might be a bit slow is a big stress reducer.

It’s strange how when you begin to put something “out there,” it can get reinforced in so many interesting ways. I don’t mean to sound flaky, but this is exactly what is happening to us. There is a quote often misattributed to Goethe,

Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.

All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.

Indeed. We have met and spoken with so many concussed women writers and they all have such profound things to say. We can’t wait to show you the results of our work.

Concussions and Confined Settings

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I’m reading concussion stories, and my colleague Elaine Morin pointed out Lauren Groff’s excellent story in the New Yorker, The Midnight Zone. It’s full of truth and suspense and fractured thoughts and a fractured head and it took me, inevitably, to the reading of an interview with Groff, which was (sadly, for my purposes) more about motherhood than concussions, although both topics are writerly obsessions of mine, the former being a thirty-year obsession and the latter much newer.

(I read that last sentence three times, by the way, and it is technically grammatically correct. It is representative of the tangential way my mind works these days, and I’m keeping it as is. Welcome to the inside of my head.)

In the interview, Groff makes a great point about setting. The setting of the story is confined to a small cabin. Danger lurks outside, but also liberation. Asked about this, she says, “it’s psychologically easier to live if you believe you have an exit plan. It’s easier to run ten miles if you tell yourself that you can walk when you get to eight; it’s easier to work for four hours without a break if you keep the door to your office open; it’s easier to live with how we’re killing the planet if you believe the completely insane notion that humans will colonize Mars.”

She’s so right. And I love the way she extends the situation of the story to the much larger world. But back to concussions. Three years (plus) into this brain injury, I am still keeping the door open. It’s easier to live that way. It’s behind me, back there somewhere, even as I stare down the very real possibility that this is as good as it gets for me. Concussion and confinement go together. Concussed people avoid light and sound and people and life. I wonder if Groff made that connection? Do you ever wish you could talk to a writer and ask these questions, go deeper into something you find fascinating in their work?

Suffice it to say, I am now a Groff fan. Maybe one day I will get to talk to her about how she knows so much about brain injuries. Until then, I’ll keep reading concussion stories.

This writing prompt is for the birds

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The last few weeks of winter have been hard. The snow piles that became ice piles finally begin to melt. A relief. But with the melt comes the revelation of how much garbage is on the ground. So many coffee lids, cigarette butts, fast food wrappers, bits of blue plastic twine, (why is there so much blue plastic twine and where does it come from?) a rubber glove, a ruined pink toque now dark with grime.

The birds are back, and that is something. They fly in and out of the Bulk Barn sign, nesting in the curve of the “u” and the “a”. Then I see a sparrow flit to the sidewalk, pick up some blue plastic twine and take it to the nest.

This bird is making its nest with garbage.

Is this awful or not? I can’t decide, but the image sticks. It is a metaphor for everything. I can make it optimistic or pessimistic or both simultaneously.

Use it. Write.

 

 

 

Snow Day!

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Is there anything better than a snow day? Is there any better story prompt than SNOW DAY! I don’t think so.

Go outside. Stand in the cold. Kick your feet through the snow. Is it powdery? Sticky? Does it squeak underfoot? Let the cold get to you. Let your nose turn red and start to run. Remember sledding, that time you just missed that tree, or that time you fell off and the sled went into the river and you stopped just short, scrabbling at the snow going by with frozen hands inside of gloves so big they might as well have been oven mitts. How does it feel? Remember the feel of snow in the gap between your pants, socks and boots, how snow could build up in there and give you a rash on the back of your legs. What is happening to your fingertips? Is snow getting inside your collar? Shovel a bit. How heavy is the snow?

What are the animals doing? Where do the squirrels go when it snows? Where are the birds? How does it sound out there? Is snow falling from tree branches? Has it piled up high on the fences? Is it blowing from roofs? Is it drifting? Are there other people around? Describe how they are bundled up. Can you see their eyes? Are they squinting against the snow and wind? What are they thinking?

When you get inside again, read that Jack London classic, “To Build a Fire.” Not many people will ever experience something like that. But plenty among us are homeless, struggling to survive in the city, sheltering wherever possible, trying to stay alive. What’s the conflict in a story like that? Human against nature, certainly. But isn’t it also human against capitalism? Neoliberalism? Pull-yrself-up-by-yr-bootstrapism? Recently in Toronto, a woman died because she was trapped in a clothing donation bin. She was looking for dry clothes.

Or, stay sheltered with pen and paper in hand. What do you see from your vantage point? How does the warmth feel? Do you feel gratitude to have your shelter? Are you annoyed that your are stuck and that the roads are too bad to drive on and the buses are trapped on icy hills? If you stay home from work, do you lose a day of pay? Is there somewhere else you need to be? Are you anxious? Is it terrible to feel the loss of control?

Or does it fill you with joy and wonder? Snow. Snow day!

Think about all of it. Think about whatever this makes you think about. And write.