The Measure of Success

There is probably one thing I’m always going to be misunderstood for, and that’s my attitude towards success, and what really makes a person successful. Is it awards? Because Britney Spears has won her share of those. Is it fame? We all know who Kevin Federline is, and I wish I didn’t. Is it money? I could throw out a long list of people with plenty of money that I would never want to trade places with.

Yet for some reason I can’t seem to make people understand that to me, success is being read. Success is the chance to do more with your work. Success is having the opportunity to grow through your work.

I have heard some say that if they didn’t have a publishing deal they’d likely never write another book. Me, I can’t imagine that. Writing has always been a part of my life – it’s just that my fiction has only been public in the past few years.

Success is being able to keep doing what I love.

That’s why I’m thrilled my name will be in the first issue of Out of the Gutter. Another chance for me to try something new, and in that case twisted. I’m sure you all know now that Killer Year sold the anthology, and that’s another golden opportunity to do what I love.

And I’m working on something else that, if pulled off, will be the coup d’État – my biggest personal achievement.

It’s a good thing to stop sometimes, and appreciate how far you’ve come, but I’m more inclined to make the pause short and keep my eyes on the road and think more about where I’m going.

I know I’ve said it before, but when I took down the book that ultimately set me on this course years ago, I didn’t know anything about the author, and I didn’t care. I didn’t know if he sold 10,000 copies of each book, 30,000 or half a million. I didn’t know if the author lived in a small flat or an enormous house, or if he could afford a car or not. It made no difference to me, or my appreciation of his work. All that mattered was that I read that book and thought, If I could write half as well I’d be happy.

Great authors are about more than money and sales. They’re about the art of writing. They live for it. If I had a day job outside the house I know I’d write less. But I also know I’d never stop.

I can blame SW Vaughn for tagging me with the Six Weird Things About Me meme. As though my blog isn’t proof of enough weirdness…

1. I have been hit by a car twice. On each occasion I was hit while riding a bike. I have technically been in three car vs bicycle scenarios, but in the last incident the car pulled out in front of me, so I hit it. They failed to stop at a stop sign (and it was in a parking lot, so they were obstructed from my view by a dumpster). On one previous incident I was hit by a drunk driver who failed to stop. The first accident happened when I was 8 years old, and it was the worst incident. I was sent flying through the air and cut my head on landing, requiring stitches. The man who hit me had just turned 80. His birthday cake also flew through the air.

I was not at fault in any of these accidents, btw. That should count for double weirdness.

2. My right foot was partially severed just before I turned 9. As a result, my right leg is a touch longer than my left leg, and I had to learn how to walk again. The main muscle was only nicked enough to require dissolving stitches, or I wouldn’t have been able to walk again.

It is true that the doctor who stitched my foot threatened to cut it off if I didn’t stop screaming. I would have suggested he had issues with children, but then, I went to school with his son so I could sympathize…

3. I dressed up as a pregnant woman in a human scavenger hunt once. It was so convincing that when I dropped something in the mall, people came over to help me.

4. I hate – absolutely hate, with a passion – being called Sandy. For some reason, Sandra is a tough name. I do not mind people pronouncing it Saundra. I do not mind the shortened Sara, which some children I worked with used, because they couldn’t pronounce the blended consonants. Some friends do call me Sam, which I also do not mind. But I hate Sandy.

5. The names for my male protagonists in the two different series were chosen based on male names I liked that my husband would never have let me pick for a child, if we’d had one. Jack is a name with family and personal history. I worked with a child named Tymen, and was exceptionally fond of him.

6. I don’t know if it counts as weird, but it definitely fits with stupid. I have kissed the Blarney Stone. And if it doesn’t count as weird, I’ll give you a bonus fact. I don’t like the name Ian. I knew this real jerk named Ian as a kid… I’m sure I’m not the only person whose impression of a name is tainted by association.

Speaking of weird, it’s official. Calgary law bans spitting, swearing and urinating in public. Fuck. I’d better start going to Edmonton. And if they’re going to start being so anal, why couldn’t they ban farting in public?


And in other news…

As long as there are idiots handing down light sentences for serious offenses there will always be room for the social and political commentary that crime fiction is. I have to say that I’m disgusted by the Lack Of Justice System operating in this country. I’m surprised they didn’t call these young girls into court and tell them it was their fault they got raped, because a sentence of two years time served for one participant pretty much translates into that sentiment. It’s more than an insult – it’s a tragedy.

Did you know that the province of Alberta is rat free? An Edmonton cop is in hot water for wanting the police department to live up to the provincial standard.

The possibility of parole in 7 years? What does it take to get locked up for a significant amount of time in this country?