Veronique Darwin

Random Number Generator

In Literary Events on January 30, 2018 at 10:07 pm

Every morning I wake up and randomly choose, using an intricate alphabet-patterning system, one article of clothing around which I must create an outfit. If the outfit allows me to wear leggings, I have been successful. If every day I keep running into that green blouse, I must eventually give it away. Randomizing my wardrobe allows me to lose control, and give up a choice, which have been known to be hard for me to make in the morning.

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I’ve also started randomizing my circulation around the classroom as a teacher. I try to get to everybody instead of always to the kids who are falling off their chairs, either because they can’t sit still or because their hands are so high in the air and their chests so stretched outwards that their position no longer fits it. I feel this brings a balance to my practice, and along with removing choice, offers moments of great synchronicity: the next three kids I flip through are the last three that asked me questions, and that kid falls off his chair at the exact moment after I pick his name.

I am also trying it in writing. Once I’m knee-deep in the novel, once it’s living and I’m wanting to sink deeper, I open the random number generator. I pull a page number and attack it, from anywhere I can. It could be one word, one theme, one sentence: I use that as a jumping board into the deeper places of the story, as though they’re already there but just need careful mining. This randomized approach does nothing inherently better than a linear–all that matters is that it convinces me of some magic and relieves me of some choice.

The move away from linear thinking helps me connect elements in a different way. I would never have put the green blouse with the red pants, or that kid with this one, unless told to by my bossy system. I also wouldn’t have created a flashback on page 38 to recall what happened on page 14 if not made to see what was happening in each part side by side. Randomizing comes from a place of privilege, a place where what one does next doesn’t matter to anyone but you, and that’s writing, and that’s the clothes I wear, but it’s also not always that. Randomization allows the speed and depth and care with which I need to touch base with each of my students several times a day. What should be different in a novel? I need to keep all the parts in my head, the balls in the air, the storylines jumping and crossing so that by the end of this I’ll have something that’s a novel, a cohesive, breathing thing, and not a bunch of words I’ve piled up in a line. Randomization is silly, but it’s the heart of what I’m doing, and what we’re all doing when we’re creating, being creative, or creating relationships.

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45 Minutes is All

In Literary Events on November 9, 2017 at 7:53 pm

45 minutes is all it takes me to be a writer. 45 minutes a day in my study lets me live those other parts of the day with a calming secret, a persona I can revert to when the job and the stress become too much. I am that, I can say, pointing to the study. That I go to it every day makes it live on in me. Do I live on in it?

All day, does my ghost sit typing at the keyboard, the cat reaching for my fingertips, wanting to gnaw on them to clean me? Does the dog play with the bone behind, do the autumn piano sonatas ring out, even when I am not there? Does the voice whisper quietly, the wine slowly empty, the day get checked off on the index card, over and over again, every 45 minutes, while I am not there? Because it certainly feels that way when I return.

There is meant to be something special about places. Everyone knows but isn’t there probably a moment where you discovered it, too? I am trying to teach through place-based education, allowing children to learn about their world through the place where they are, and all that comes with that: care for nature, for community, wonder and connection and exploration. But do I really write through place? More than I meant to. More than I thought I could.

I keep writing Rossland. I thought when I left Vancouver I could write Vancouver, but is it that a heart dwells somewhere and you move to that place to pick it up and take it with you somewhere new? Because I’ve found a writer here in Rossland, in my study, and she seems to be me.

45 minutes a day, 100 days. A combination of a challenge given and a challenge taken, a house bought and a house lived in, a dream set and a dream set upon. I’m doing it. I’m doing it every day.

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Follow Me Down

In Literary Events on April 26, 2017 at 5:51 pm

Follow me down the rabbit hole, in which I write half a sentence of this new novel then emerge for air. Follow me as I ask questions like “Can she speak to seagulls?” and “What’s new on Facebook?” Follow me down the rabbit hole as I get sucked up in a world I am unfurling out of the thinnest recesses of my privacy. Follow me down!

What is exciting about this novel project is that I have a blog called A Novel Journal and my large fan base has been missing me desperately since I moved to the more doable and likeable craft of short story writing. They have been asking themselves where I have gone and my answer is nowhere! I am still dwelling in the doubts and whimsies of the artistic process as a useful avoidance of the creative process itself!

Follow me down as I illuminate for myself the joys and tribulations of sitting on a couch or armchair and pecking mainly at the middle line of my keyboard, expecting greatness. Follow me down.

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