TORCHING THE TOWN

There are downsides in being a writer: rejection, isolation, writer’s block, self-doubt, lack of regular pay, a printer that devours ink cartridges. Still, there is so much on the upside that I dream of this becoming my year-round, full-time career. One of the many perks is having a flexible schedule, something that never existed during my years as an educator where bells and timetables ruled.

That flexibility allows me to take in special events when they arise. Today, the Olympic torch came to the Sunshine Coast. How could I not take a break to partake in the festivities?

Before the big event, I relocated my writing venue to the Gibsons Library. I plugged away on my laptop while glimpsing the increasing activity at the park and marina as people of all ages congregated in anticipation of the torch’s arrival. While this was a proudly Canadian event, it seemed to take on an “American Idol” atmosphere. A guy in a moose costume intrigued a standard poodle that kept lunging at the antlered beast. I spotted clowns, one of whom sported a gigantic Nerf camera around his neck. A woman made a dress out of Canada flags. I got to feeling like the silly one, daring to show up in jeans and a plain black jacket.

Everything came together perfectly as the torch made its way through town. It was as quaint and breathtaking a scene as one would find anywhere in Canada. The temperature hit a balmy 10˚C and the sun shone. Boats slumbered in the marina while Keats Island maintained its rustic, forested persona a short water taxi ride away. Beyond it, snow dusted the North Shore Mountains, not enough for the upcoming Olympic events at the Cypress Bowl, but a sight to stop and behold nonetheless.

Indeed, it was a day for stopping and beholding. I got so caught up in the moment that I raced toward home to catch more of the torch relay near the ferry terminal. As a result, I’ll be writing late into the evening, but I am privileged to do so.

Letting It Be

I met a friend in Vancouver for lunch today and figured it would be a productive writing day. I’d have forty minutes each way on the ferry. There are “Business Work Stations” (a row of study carrels) on board to allow me to plug in the laptop and write. The bus trip to downtown would be slightly longer. For that leg, I packed two writing magazines and a book I’m using to research a historical setting for a new novel.

As I readied to leave the house, I had a feeling my plans might not happen. The sun was blazing and I knew I wouldn’t hit a patch of shade on the walk down to the terminal. I also knew the bus wouldn’t be air conditioned. Lugging around my bulky, outdated laptop was the first idea I nixed.

On the ship, I was a sticky mess. I’ve never been a person who does well in heat. (How I lasted eleven years in Texas is beyond me. Of course, the constant gusts from fully cranked A/Cs helped.) I stepped onto a shaded outside deck, begging the sea breeze to cool me. In no time, I was captivated by the views: sparsely-cottaged islands, the odd log drifting in the water, the mountains in the distance with the last tufts of snow now gone. Postcards at every angle. (My neglected camera remained at home on the kitchen counter.) I stood there and took it all in. No writing. The evolving scene reminded my why I moved to the Sunshine Coast and gave up the daily perks of urban life.

When temperatures pass 30˚ Celsius, you’re never cool for long. The queue to board the bus—seven minutes in that relentless sunshine—got me sweaty again. (So glad I tossed an extra shirt in the backpack to change into for lunch!) The crammed bus didn’t help matters. I gave up my seat, in part to be chivalrous—something most of the comfortably seated men knew nothing about or consciously chose to ignore. Admittedly, I also thought standing might feel better than sticking to vinyl seating.

The opportunity to research was lost. I people watched (and people listened) instead. That fellow with the shorts pulled up too high? He gave me a detail for Nester, a character in an upcoming novel.

Even in Horseshoe Bay for 30-40 minutes while waiting for the return ferry, I passed on going to my favorite café to sit down and write. The trend of being in the moment continued. I got my coffee to go and sat in the park by the water, taking in small details of everyday life: the Basenji who beat out the lab to scarf down a dropped fried fish stick from a distracted child, the father who kept tabs on his developmentally delayed teen son with a leash, the woman idly breastfeeding her infant in the most central (and public) spot in the park, the sea gull digging for any remaining flesh in a mussel shell abandoned by a previous diner.

Sometimes plans push me and make me accountable. Other times they represent noble intentions that need to be strayed from, delayed or, as in this case, abandoned altogether. Still, today was a productive day for writing. I just don’t have anything in my notebook or on my laptop to show for it.

And I’m okay with that.