Hello ink splAters.

Here’s the news:

My store is shutting down on Sunday. Morley Walker wrote a very good article in the Winnipeg Free Press about it if you’d like the details. 

But let’s talk memories (be warned: now that I am, effectively, laid-off from the store that I helped build, I’m developing a syndrome that allows me to only remember what was great about it and my job).

When former-boss Kris interviewed me in February 2008, one thing always stuck with me (though I admit I may be paraphrasing; time and nerves alter memories of course). “Let’s be honest,” he said. “Working at a book store is the best retail job you can get.”

And he wasn’t kidding.

I’ve probably mentioned it before - mentioned the loveliness that is book store retail - but I will wax poetic on the subject once more for your reading pleasure. 

There’s something about a book store, or maybe just McNally Robinson, that has a calming influence on people. The word haven comes to mind. There’s a quality in a giant room of books. It demands a measure of peacefulness, a moment of reflection, a slight unclenching of the over-stressed muscles of holiday shoppers. For readers, walking into a book store, library, room of a fellow bookworm, is an invitation to breathe, browse, and gain a brief respite from realities beyond the smell of new paper, the sight of fresh black type against crisp white  sheets, and the gleeful discovery of an author’s signature on the inside cover.

It’s the same quality that encourages customers to speak to booksellers like people instead of servants (which does result, occasionally, in them sharing too much). It’s the same quality, too, which encouraged customers to pay all in dimes, nickles, and pennies because there was no rush.

The customers were great overall (and occasionally completely horrible) and I’ll miss the special mix of people that I had the chance to meet, help, and from whom I’ve gained innumerable stories - bad, good, and bizarre.

But I’m truly torn-up inside about having only five more days (and for me, three more shifts) with the brilliant, crazy, wonderful, weird, gorgeous, awe-inspiring booksellers with whom I’ve fell in love over the last two years.  Never have you seen a stranger, more dsyfunctional, or more fantastic work family than the one to which I belong at McNally. A deep, aching hole inside me widens every time I think that a week from now I will be poorer not monetarily (well, that too) but in friendships. It’s not to say that I will lose all of these phenomenal people as my friends, but rather that we will no longer have a unifying purpose, an opportunity to create stories and jokes, a chance to be a family, as readily as before.

I have one last Saturday evening at the book store - an idea that is…surreal, at the least - and I’m struggling to imagine what I could possibly do to make it the best…

There is much more I wanted to say. About how I can no longer meet with Pav and Thom in Prairie Ink to discuss our writing. About my favorite customers. About McNally Robinson trading cards, and the first time Jen picked me to do the bestseller table, and the disaster of a gardening offsite that “Cisely” and I did together, and the day I determined that “Bruce” didn’t hate me, and the time Kate and Taryn flirted me into the bar for a work party when I had forgotten my ID, and the first ever Saturday night drinks, and the first shift I ever got through without having to ask how to do something and… so so so much more.

But instead, ink splAters, why don’t you share your stories? Comment, or if you’d like a bit more space let me know and I’ll add you as a writer so you can do a real post.

Love you all.

inksplAt bookworm

Sarah E. Lund

I’ve been lax in updating. So here’s a rundown of my week:

I chose not to post on Thursday because, well, it was the day after Harry Potter Day and I didn’t want to end up writing an extended post about HP6, complete with detailed descriptions and spoilers. It’s been several days since I’ve seen it so I’ll just comment that it was great, the trio can actually act, the boys are funny (who knew?), Emma Watson learned a new expression, I’m slightly sad that the end wasn’t more of a battle, and that I’m already super jazzed for the next movie. Moving on.

One driving lesson left, running more regularly again (found mapmyrun.com  which actually let’s me track how far I’m going; 11km on Friday, woowoo), taught JT some golfing basics Saturday (’cause accountants need to be able to hit a ball), worked several times, and fell behind on writing.

There are very many things I could tell you which would be more entertaining than my random list, but I’ll put that off for another day. Hopefully I can catch up on my writing today, since I’m having coffee with V and working tomorrow which won’t leave a whole lot of time for story creation. Otherwise it’ll be some makeupless days for me this week, which I don’t particularly relish, as shallow as that may be.

Pav, Thom, and I are discussing my work (exclusively?) tonight which I’m not looking forward to. As much as I want and appreciate their help and input, a couple hours of trying to defend my work is not my idea of a good time. I was much more comfortable with spreading the criticism around a bit. It could be good though…maybe…it’s possible, isn’t it? I’ll try not to be too much of a whiner when I blog about this later.

Can’t wait for the cabin weekend at… wait… I haven’t given her a pseudonym yet. Umm. Oh! I’ve got it. Idina. Can’t wait for the weekend at Idina’s cabin. It’ll hopefully be as rollicking of a good time as last summer.

I’m out.

inksplAt bookworm

I’m not going to lie. I’ve fallen behind. By now I was supposed to have finished 46-48 pages. Yikes. I don’t have that many. In fact, I’m not very close.

I’ve consulted with the majority of my six readers and they agree that me working out the major plot hurdle I’ve been struggling with - as well as creating a detailed timeline and plot outline - counts toward my overall page count. This is fair, I think, since I’ve reached a point in the story where it’s necessary to have a firm grasp on everything that has happened in the past of my alternate universe. My timeline for the novel is pretty impressive; it goes from 1967 to present day. Certainly that leaves out some important pre-1967 faerie history, but the point is that I triumphantly finally figured out all the “Why”s is the book.

See? SEE? That’s why it counts for pages. But only two pages. So I still have a lot to make up for.

I know what you’d like (don’t be coy, we’re much too close for that). You’d like me to explain to you why I don’t have all of my pages done. Here you go:

Thursday (the last time I posted) I was quite sleepy. You can likely tell since it’s the post that contains the most unintentional repetition, and grammar and spelling errors. Oops. I was happy with myself though. I was completely caught up on pages, I had sent my work to my writer’s groupmates, Pav and Thom, with a reminder that they should be sending their work along too, I was going to get a whole night’s sleep; the world seemed shining and golden mostly because I was doing everything I said I would, and well.

So Friday rolls around. My plan to write my two pages before work was ruined by the appearance of Harvey in my driveway for a driving lesson I had only a hazy memory of planning. Oh well, I thought, I only work until 9:30p.m. tonight, I will have time later.

The lesson went well, though there were more than a few suggestive jokes from Harvey that made me slightly uncomfortable. I found myself laughing off and ignoring comments about getting distracted for a good reason. Oh well, he’s a good teacher, I’ll put up with his particular brand of humour.

To finish off the lesson I drove myself to work which was an empowering act, despite that Harvey’s threat to bring me a cane has been upped to a walker. Side-note: I’m fairly certain that he thinks I’m dumb. This is a strange experience for me, as I’m, well, quite intelligent. Anyway, he speaks in slow, basic words as if I might not understand when he explains things, and repeats often. I could be paranoid…

Work was great actually. Last week was really nice in that:

1)   Store hours were extended so I’m back to virtually full-time

2)   My shifts went quickly and customers have been slightly less crazy

3)   I was asked to cover several sections for other employees who need help/are going on holidays

4)   I found a jacket that I lost there in Jan/Feb

5)   Everything is nicer when you’re in a good mood

anyway, back to my excuse-ing.

So JT called me at work on Friday. He was at his cousin’s stag and what I didn’t know (though suspected at the time) was heading to a strip club and then a couple of bars to round out the night. Great. My exciting Friday night plans involved walking home after work then sitting in the computer room with  a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and writing about faeries until I passed out or got bored. Screw that, I wanted to do something after work. Something unproductive and fun. Writing could wait until Saturday. 

Most unluckily, many, actually all, of my friends were busy or far away on Friday night so I decided to ask AJ, a slightly nerdy but very lovable co-worker to get together. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a last resort to invite AJ over, I’m just not very good at stepping from colleague to friend and so asking anyone from work to get together is always an uncomfortable experience for me. Don’t ask me why, I couldn’t tell you. Thankfully, AJ was more than happy to hang out with me, talk, drink, and perhaps watch a few episodes of Buffy Season 2. What a good guy.

Work on Saturday was great. I suppose I was bolstered by my not-quite disastrous night with AJ, and so I invited the real C and Cisely over to take part in a board game night. Did I put board games in my Guilty Pleasures page? I should have if I didn’t.

Every once in a while me JT, Britt, and Ken Jennings (the Nice Guy I mentioned in a previous post) get together and play games. The four-person group is ideal for our favorite card and most mutually agreeable board games.

I met the three of them about five years ago. They are my curling boys and I love them dearly. Sometimes, however, I get tired of being the only female in attendance. That’s why the real C and Cisely coming over was a big deal. It would mark the first equal ratio game night. It would also mark the first attempt I have ever made to bridge the gap between work and curling friends.

I was feeling the pressure once 7:30 came around but it turns out that I needn’t have worried. The boys were on their best behaviour, the girls were ebullient and gorgeous as always, and I was a surprisingly good hostess (I say “surprisingly” because I did not inherit the entertaining gene that is so dominant on my mother’s side of the family. She throws a dinner party that Donna Reid would be jealous of). I also won Scattergories thanks, in part, to Britt’s efforts to restrain some of his more questionable answers in the presence of the two ladies.

By the time I cleared everyone out of my house, and made a slight effort to tidy (by consolidating the mess into one room), I was able to write one paragraph before falling asleep.

Sunday I worked again, a shorter shift that I hoped would allow me the time to make up some of the several pages I should have completed. The shift was good, due to my abiding cheery demeanor and the fact that AJ, the real C, and Cisely were all working.

Sunday night was not as productive as I might have hoped, pages-wise, but ridiculously wonderful, plot-details-wise, as I explained above. What I didn’t mention above is that it was JT, with his practical, realistic, “the simplest answer is the right one” view on the world, who finally allowed me to figure out the “Why?”s in the book. We talked about faeries for hours (apparently he remembers everything I’ve ever mentioned about them, even things I don’t recall ever saying aloud), which probably means he is deserving of some sort of medal.

After he went home I wrote a little, but mostly worked out the timeline (including research into federal elections, passing legislation, faerie rings, and Kitsune [thanks Pav for that last one]). And then bed, thinking about Neil Gaiman’s challenge to independent bookstores, the upcoming HP movie (tomorrow!!!), cookbooks, and were-foxes as I drifted off to sleep.

So what does this mean? If I don’t catch up on pages before Wednesday, I will be waiting in line and seeing HP6 wearing two very different shoes. Ack!

Expect not to hear from me for the next couple of days ink splAt-ers, though I’ll try to throw out a Tweet or two so you know I haven’t suffocated under the piles of words I’m going to be writing.

Peace.

inksplAt bookworm