Salt Spring Island Crystals

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Salt Spring Island is known for its crystals, maybe it is the salt springs themselves, and because of this the island has a reputation for being a healing place.

With my back being so sore from the fall last August and it being slow to heal, I hired someone to come and help me with my roof. He seemed older than he may have been, for he had experienced a rough life, and talked about the varying shelters he had stayed in across the country. Somehow he has landed on Salt Spring where rentals are hard to come by. He asked me if I would take him to the food bank as he had no vehicle. I wanted to take him to the grocery store thinking I could help him out, but he said all of his funds needed to go to pay the expensive rent. 

While he worked on my roof, I went through my cupboards. I could see he had tinned food, a loaf of bread, and eggs from the food bank, but no fresh food. I reasoned he was a hard worker and would land on his feet soon, but at the moment giving him a hand to bridge the gap would help. He did a good job and as I drove him home, he told me that during his walks on the island, he had found crystals. With all the rain we have been having, they were eroding out of the roadsides where there were mud slides.

A man who finds crystals? With this, I realized then this man was supposed to be here, that being here was part of his healing. I said that the crystals would help sleep as he was suffering from nightmares. When I dropped him off, I gave him the food. He said if ever I needed help again he would drop everything to come. As I drove away along the seashore, I wept. I am not sure why. Maybe it is for all of the heart break in this world. 

Fog

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Endurance. This week it is fog. It curls around the house and makes me feel like staying in bed, and after days of it, saps the spirit. Yesterday, I bravely went into it and crossed the great water to get some supplies. The little ferry's horn went off every few minutes. It was worth it. When I made it to the wool shop, the sun shone. It was so warm I wanted to take my sweater off and seeing the blue sky was so heart-warming! As I returned to the ferry the embankment of gray once again surrounded the landscape. The little shop was selling a drink called "Crofton Fog", so I had one. It was a delicious - Earl Gray flavoured with lavender.  Sadly, although I was half an hour early, there were so many cars that it would be another two and a half hours before I could fit onto the ferry and return home in the dark. It's all a question of endurance. This morning I can hear the horns again. I think I will make cookies. A bit of cheer. 

Love You Dad

 By Maryanna Gabriel

I have been smoothing over words of the book I am writing. They jump out of place so, like dropped stitches of knitting. I pick up the stitches wondering how the words fell out of their rows. I am writing about my father and is it a coincidence? I am realizing it is his birthday? I have lit a candle and it feels very much like I am with him.

I have declared today a special day as the gloomy grey fog rolls in. I am not going to give in and have bought flowers, made bread, and now I am making cookies. Soon I will go for a walk. Oh, and I shan't look at the news either because I need my sleep at night. Take that oh, gloom and doom. 

Love you, Dad. 

On The Question Of Book Agents

My Agent Dilemma

 By Maryanna Gabriel

The last thing the editor I spoke to said was, "Get an agent." It seemed like I needed to be preparing for... well, I do not want to jinx anything. After the unhappy experience last week with an agent, I got to thinking about a fellow I once contacted after producing my book, Memento; A Coastal Recipe Treasure. He had boasted he was Ann Murray's agent and it all seemed on the up-and-up. He happily accepted the $800 he demanded and read the riot act about working with anyone else. Months passed. Then a year. When I wrote, he was vague. Then I knew. I'd been had. Really, Maryanna. It is the worst feeling. 

Now of course I know better. An agent never takes money up front. They take it after they have negotiated
a contract. I have been sitting here thinking...with my trust levels already down from both agent experiences, I am realizing I do not believe anyone else would work as hard on my behalf. Nobody cares about my business as much as I do. 

As it turned out, my book has done well locally and that has been enough. This picture of my grandson's, sums up the situation. It is kind of a Rudolph dragon. I am not sure if it represents me or how I feel about this dilemma vis-à-vis the question of agents, but it is awfully apropos and I am going to use it. 

Pitching My Book

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Hard to believe after all the snow, there is a crown of rhubarb showing in the garden here on Salt Spring Island. It is so hopeful. I have just finished an intense residency session for my Masters in Creative Nonfiction (now in the closing stretch) at Kings College, of Dalhousie University and a walk in the garden feels like a foreign exercise. What are legs anyway? 

We had to do a grueling pitch to prospective editors and agents. I cannot tell you how many pieces of paper ended up on the floor in preparation. A lot. I used everything I knew from my theatre days to try and keep calm for opening night. I kept saying to myself by lunch it would all be over.

The first editor was charming and it was a fantasy interview come true. So maybe this will go somewhere. I am to forward three chapters to her. The second was more like being crushed under a high and mighty heel, a someone much snobbier than I will ever be, and too busy watching her phone to listen. I am happy to report that some things in life are very clear and by mutual agreement she will not be my agent. 

Tonight I will start a fire and burn all the papers I have accumulated to the reassuring sound of crackling wood, while the rhubarb grows ever bolder in the garden beyond. 

Nice Weather We're Having

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

“There are three rules for writing the novel.

Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”

- W. Somerset Maugham

The first order of the day was filling the hummingbird feeder. This weather is so hard for them. I am madly preparing for an intense week at school. Yesterday, I stepped out the door to a good day and scampered to the store knowing the white

stuff was coming. The last time I shopped, the soy milk was sold out, and this time there was no spinach. A friend of mine said she got the last cabbage. Social distancing at the register was challenging. Salt Spring Islanders were stocking up.

It seems like there has been more of everything. More sun, more drought, more rain, more cold, more snow. My power is fluctuating this morning. Then there is more of that, you know, that thing about people getting sick as I get news of outbreaks on the island. Not that we are seeing much of one another. That would be the less part. Less interaction, definitely less swimming, less walking (ice).

Am making soup today and working on an assignment that is important. I have two interviews with book agents next week. Yikes. 

Keeping The Sparkle

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

"There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo,
and it's worth fighting for."

- JRR Tolkien

It is the last vestiges of the holidays... and I felt it a question of courage as I twice boarded crammed flights to visit family, wondering if I was going to get sick or pass something on to the ones I love. As it was, it was fine. I had a lovely Christmas and did not get sick, nor did my family. Calgary was into the minus forties centigrade and coming home to Salt Spring Island with subzero temperatures was a question. Snow had fallen, and while for most of Canada this is normal, for our island it is not. I had no idea if my car would make it or if I would even have water. Rather than risking black ice, I spent the night on the big island and waited until the temperature rose a little and so I could return in the daylight. 

As it turned out Lady Luck rode with me. I only just made it up the hill to the house. All was well and there was water. The first thing I did was light a roaring fire. 

Christmas Rose Before The Snow

I have been busy processing about 20 pounds of potatoes that froze in the shed and watching "Lord Of The Rings" while I knit a new sweater by the fire. It is a simple but peaceful time. Maybe I have been watching too much Tolkien (is there such a thing?) but it seems a Grinch walks the land.

The trick is to not let it take away one's sparkle and to pass on kindness whenever possible. It makes a difference and ripples outward in the most unexpected ways.