Tag Archives: william crow

A Little Bit Pregnant

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Posted: August 27, 2015 at 3:30 pm

 

Writing a book is like being pregnant.

I’m the first one to say that pregnancy is MUCH more difficult than writing – I say that not because it’s politically correct but because I believe it. I’ve seen two babies being born and it’s a good thing the guys aren’t the ones shouldering THAT responsibility. Still, there are several similarities between pregnancy and my current occupation of rewriting my complete book, the book I thought was finished last November.

I feel like I’m 9 months pregnant. I know there’s something really amazing growing inside me and I just want the thing to come out.

The exact moment of a baby’s conception is fun!  It may have seemed like a great idea at the time, but months later the woman balks at the enormity of the undertaking and wonders if she even likes children. When I conceived my book, I had no idea that all the fun stuff was also right at the beginning. After that it’s just editing and difficulties and frustration. Why did I think I would like writing?

Both types of conception usually get going around the fourth glass of wine.

A guy should never ask a woman if she’s pregnant. Because if she isn’t, watch out. Don’t ask me why it’s taking me so long to finish my book. I can be just as testy.

A woman in pregancy’s later stages is asked every day on the telephone if she’s had the baby yet. “Of COURSE I haven’t had it yet. Don’t you think I’d call my own mother if I had a baby?” Don’t ask me if I’ve finished my book yet. Believe me, if I had, you’d know. I would have twisted your arm to buy one already.

The birth of a child and the birth of a book, while not equal in importance or energy required, are both beautiful events (and a great relief!).

Life Before GPS

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Posted: August 18, 2015 at 5:07 pm

 

We were four new residents of Aix-en-Provence, with mobility issues.

We walked down the twisting path from la Pistache to catch the bus to an industrial park in the suburbs of Aix. Big box stores, factory outlets and 10 car dealerships side by side by side. We needed a car while in Aix, and I planned to drive away with one that day. I didn’t think it would be a difficult decision to make as 99% of all French cars were the same: compact, diesel, and ready to get scraped.

“You can’t buy this car,” said Sophie, pointing at a saucy blue number which looked like every other car we saw that day. We stood in the heat of the Peugeot dealership parking lot, trying to decipher the French acronyms posted in the window of the car we had decided to buy. “I don’t like the color.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “It’s blue. What’s wrong with that?”

“It doesn’t even have a GPS,” said Devon, squinting through the driver’s side window. “Let’s buy a different car.”

“It doesn’t have a GPS. So what?” I asked. “Do you know what life was like before there was GPS? We managed.”

“I know you’re joking,” said Devon. “There was always GPS.”

“Nice try, dad,” said Sophie. “Mom?”

“This is one of those rare occurrences when your father isn’t exaggerating.”

“Thank you, Carol, I guess. Anyway, your mom has heard this one, but there was no GPS when I went to Czechoslovakia with Nickipedia about 20 years ago. It was when I was a tour guide.”

“You were a tour guide in Czecho-whatever-you-said?” asked Devon.

“Not exactly. I was hired to check out the country for bike routes. Get it? Check out?”

“Brutal, dad,” said Sophie.

“They wanted me to bike around, taste the food, find all the good routes, and map it out for a future bike tour.  I didn’t want to go alone, and the Internet hadn’t been invented yet, so I took Nickipedia. But when we got there, we found out that communist Czechoslovakia, you know what communism is, don’t you? Anyway, the communists had no maps for sale. The lady at the tourist bureau told us, “maps are in deficit.” It may have been less of a printing problem and more that the Russians, who were ruling the country, decided that, “hey, if you don’t know how to get to a place, you have no business going there anyway.”

“Why were the Russians in charge of Czechoslovakia?” asked Sophie.

“Well, that’s a big question,” I said. “Let’s just say they were in charge of most of Eastern Europe when I was a kid. But when I was about 10, the Czechs were free and ran things for a while, but then the Russians decided to come back. The Czechs were so upset when the Russians invaded, they removed all the road signs in the country so the Russians would get lost. When Nickipedia and I got there 18 years later, they still hadn’t replaced the signs.”

“That doesn’t make sense, dad,” said Sophie. “If there weren’t any maps and no road signs, how could you plan the trip?”

“Nickipedia and I figured that out. Every train station, and these were tiny stations in the countryside, mostly falling apart, every train station had a framed map of the area around the station. So we’d bike from station to station, and at each stop I’d draw the map into my journal. That would give us enough information to bike to the next station.”

“That can’t be true, daddy,” said Devon. “You had a GPS, and you just don’t want to admit it.”

“No joke. And it was much more fun without a GPS.”

“If you stop this made-up story right now, we’ll let you buy the car,” said Devon.

A Funny Thing Happened……..

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Posted: July 30, 2015 at 11:03 am

A funny thing happened on my way to becoming a professional writer. I became a professional cartoonist instead. Hopefully not “instead,” rather, “as well.”

I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but The Advocate, the quarterly magazine which is mailed to all 10,000 lawyers in British Columbia, is paying (!) me for an ongoing comic strip I’ve written called Bluster. It looks like this:

 

bluster final 42-15

More cartoons to come!

Bill

Ten Steps to Becoming a Published Author

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Posted: July 9, 2015 at 9:38 pm

 

1.  You hate your job so much you spend your day pulling out precious tufts of your already-thinning hair (if you could just rip out the grey ones, that would be okay, but it doesn’t work that way).
2.  People say you should write a book but their ideas for the subject of said book are terrible.
3.  You read 50 Shades of Grey, puke, pull out what hair you have left, and despair for the fate of literature and the English language. Secretly, you are insanely jealous.
4.  You spend months researching the publishing industry and discover that writing literature has little to do with book sales; it’s all Facebook and Twitter and LinkedIn and Instagram and Snapchat and blogging and writing conferences and author websites and establishing your social media platform and your “personal brand.” You delay starting your book so you can do all that stuff.
5.  You quit your job and spend two years writing in a coffee shop, spending more on coffee than you could possibly earn if your book becomes a best seller.
6.  You hire an editor whose notes of things wrong with the manuscript are longer than the manuscript. You do nothing for a month, wallowing in depression. Then you re-write your entire book.
7.  You hire another editor to review the second draft. The second editor provides less guidance than the first editor, but charges more. You spend several months writing draft three.
8.  For six months you send query letters to potential agents. You learn that memoirs were hot three years ago, but now if a book isn’t pornographic or have “Chicken Soup for the……..” in its title, it won’t sell.
9.  Random House won’t take your calls. You find a small publisher in a Surrey strip mall, squeezed between a pawnshop and Payday Loans.
10.  Your publisher’s advance is $500, for three years’ work. You’re one of the lucky ones.

Author’s Note:
Don’t despair, dear reader. It doesn’t have to turn out like this. I’m still writing draft number two, so who knows what will happen next? As I said in a previous post, I don’t doubt for one minute my choice to become a writer. I rejoice in my decision to discard my old, ill-suited profession and embrace this artsy world of creativity and uncertainty. Knowing what I know now, I’d do it all over again.

New Age Reflections On My Sabbatical

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Posted: May 21, 2015 at 9:52 am

A year living in France. That’s bound to affect a person, right? All it did was lead me to the blindingly obvious conclusion that I couldn’t continue with my profession of 25 years. So I quit law to write a book. I should have figured all this out a LONG time ago. Or dared to do it…..it wasn’t a money thing, although money is important (if you don’t have any). What held me back was fear, insecurity, depression. And now to make this a happy ending, I just have to finish my book! At the risk of sounding all Deepak Chopra, here’s a list, in no particular order, of all the positives that came from my “year in provence”:

I avoided talking to any lawyers for a year.

I lived happily without a smartphone interrupting me while I was doing something more fun than speaking on the phone (which is everything).

I travelled across Europe with kids old enough to appreciate it.

I learned how to break into a public phone in Amsterdam (faithful blog readers will know about this one).

I walked everywhere, slowed down, reflected.

I gave my kids a real education, and gave them huge confidence.

I became more relaxed, not so anal, a bit more patient.

I cleared our North Van home of clutter, pared down our possessions, learned to let go.

I learned a lot about Canada by living in France (I already knew about the substandard bread).

I think about and appreciate food much more.

I happily lived with less, lived more simply.

I realized that I don’t care about possessions.

I spent a whole year driving my Peugeot in a huge video game without getting killed.

I perfected the art of doing nothing.

I learned to give FULL attention to every task.

I solidified an already solid marriage.

I avoided working until 75 (the average retirement age of British Columbia lawyers).

I decided what my perfect life would be, and then made it (to learn how to monetize it is a different story…but then I don’t want to travel in circles where people use the word “monetize”).

I realized WHY the law wasn’t right for me (part of it was being a big-picture guy in a world of weasel words and exclusionary clauses).

I learned not to care what others thought (but I want you to like my website and read it every day!).

I learned what was important in my life, what I valued.

I sat for a year on my terrasse, looking at a Provençal valley, listening to birds and cigales, and thinking.

I found the courage to completely change my life.

I learned to not be afraid to think big.

I learned to just let go.

I became comfortable with embracing change.

I learned to look forward, with no regrets.

I became brave enough to choose the non-paying or low-paying career path (that bravery has a direct relationship to the level of my wife’s patience).

I think I’ve found my passion….but maybe I haven’t, and that is still OK.

I don’t have to pretend anymore.

I have an “examined life” (in fact, I’ve examined the hell out of it).

I better appreciate my friends who support me (emotionally, not financially, although contributions are welcome).

I better appreciate what I have.

I went to France a lawyer…..and came back a person. At least something more closely resembling the person I want to be. The jury is still out on how that’s going to work out.