Writing my life — Chatham, Black River, Montreal, Halifax

“Writing is the only thing that when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else.” — Gloria Steinem

There are people in my life who feel this way and I admit, it resonates with me too. In fact, I started Each New Day to encourage myself to write, if not every day, at least regularly. I noted that I was spending a lot of time commenting on other people's Facebook posts and thus, in effect, losing my observations some of which, I said in that first post, "were researched, others that were well-thought-out and carefully written."

So I wanted to keep track of what I was thinking but also, I wanted to write almost every day. We were still living in our house on Duncan St. and although I sometimes suggested that I was in a rut, I was really just keeping to a carefully maintained routine. I'm a night owl and I always wrote my blog posts late at night. It seemed natural then. I wrote about the issues of the day or something wonderful I'd cooked that day or a short reminiscence about a recent trip we'd taken.

We moved in October, partly because I wanted a change in routine — which I happily got. I'm still a night owl but for some reason, writing blog posts at midnight doesn't come naturally to me that way it did last year. Who knows why? Don't mind me; I'm just thinking out loud.

Something else happened. I discovered I liked writing about my past life, memoir-style writing. It turns out that my readers like those pieces too. My most-read piece — by far — is a little story about a lake in the woods near Chatham, NB, where I grew up. Close behind are stories about things I lost when our house in Black River Bridge burned; a sweet story about the legendary ball-player, Billy Daley; and a three-part love story about the boy who disappeared.

My problem is, I have a lot of stories partly written but I'm out of the habit of getting my writing done and published every day. I'm confessing this because I want to change my behaviour and it's a well-known fact that if your confession is public, you pretty much have to follow through.

Meanwhile, one of the small but interesting projects we began in our new place is that we take a photo at the same time and place every day, just to watch the world change around us. Because I often tried to be at the window at noon anyway, to see the puff of smoke when they fire the Noon Gun (and hear the boom, which takes a second or so to get here), we decided to take our photo at noon. We started the photo series on March 20, the Spring Equinox. We haven't missed a day yet.

The photos I'm showing you here are one month apart, the last one being June 21, the Summer Equinox. When we started, we took the photos from inside, through the window. The weather is now beautiful and we take it from outside on the balcony.

March 20

April 20

May 20

June 21

We would definitely be aware how our scenery changes even without the photos. It's rather nice to watch it happen consciously and intentionally though. I'll be sure to show you more photos, as time goes by. You wouldn't want to miss the ones when we're so socked in by fog you can't even see the hotel.

Happy anniversary to Each New Day

I missed the first anniversary of Each New Day. My first post here was called Welcome to my day and it was published on September 8, 2015. I don't even have to say, "Wow, time flies!" because everyone knows that already.

In that first post, I explained briefly why I was starting this project.

One day back in the spring, I noticed that I was spending a lot of time taking part in discussions on Facebook. I was commenting here and there, leaving behind observations, some of which were researched, others that were well-thought-out and carefully written.

A few days later, I wanted to take another look at some of the things I'd written and I had no idea where to go to find them, so random was my commenting history. I was suddenly struck by how easily misplaced some of our thoughts are when they're part of just one of thousands of discussions by millions of people on Facebook.

That’s when I decided to start this space so that when I have something I think is worth saying, I’ll say it here and then I’ll always know where to find it!

I still leave comments on Facebook because I like to have conversations with friends but I'm more likely to avoid getting into discussions on serious issues with people I don't know very well. I do feel better about that.

The second reason I started this space was for self-improvement:

The other reason I’ve started Each New Day is that I plan to write here often (I almost said “every day” but that puts a lot of pressure on me) so it’s a way for me to practice self-discipline. I preach self-discipline a lot so it’s good for me to practice what I preach.

This is a good time to start a new project. The second most popular day in the calendar year for fresh starts is the day after Labour Day.

I've done quite well. I haven't written every day but I've come pretty close. I've written quite a lot more than every second day, for example.

I'm a night owl and I often write here late at night. I usually know what I'm going to write about and I sometimes start it earlier in the day but writing late at night has become a habit.

I do notice that my subject matter and style have changed over the year. When I started, I was often content with two or three paragraphs about something I had done or cooked or seen during the day. As time went on though, I feel I reverted to my days as a columnist. My pieces became longer and were often — not always but often — more serious and issue-oriented.

I also went back to memoir-style posts, stories of my childhood and youth which — is this surprising or not? — always attract the greatest number of readers.

The most-read post in the past year is one I wrote on June 8 and shared again a few days ago. It's called A secret lake — and a walk in the woods. It created a lot of Facebook conversation when it was first published and it continues to attract readers.

A runner-up is A little addition to our family — and how it happened, the story of how we adopted William when he was two days old.

William has been working and attending Community College since he graduated from high school but this month, he headed off to university where he's studying political science — an appropriate choice.

We're very proud of William for knowing when the time was right for him.

You readers also liked the story about things lost in the fire at the old house in Black River, Leaving our lives behind while the chaos continues; the recent story, A sweet romance in the summer of '61; and especially, the love story in three parts called Love is the sweetest thing. . ..

I confess, I'm never sure which pieces are going to strike some kind of popularity chord. I think that's a good thing because although I'm always happy to have lots of readers, I don't want to become ratings-driven. I might stop being honest and start doing research into key-words and algorithms. I'll just stick with the old-fashioned rule, "Write what you know" — and I hope you'll stick with me as we enter Year Two of Each New Day.

Thanks so much for being here.

Put it in writing: Can you do that?

I started school at the White School in Chatham, NB.

I wrote about my earliest days there, right here. I was quite far advanced in most things by the time I started school but I think there was one thing I hadn't yet experienced: ink.

It was grade three where we were first trusted with the writing tools and the bottle of ink. To this day, I remember the feel of that bottle in my hand and I remember the smell of the ink.

This was it. In the tip, fill bottle. Waterman's blue black. We were not allowed to veer off that blue-black track. The pure blue ink was so pretty; the black was authoritative and important. (Don't even mention the gorgeous green or the purple. Those were still many years in our future.) The blue-black — an awful non-colour — was it for us. In retrospect, I suppose it had something to do with a standardized look across the classroom although why that should matter, I have no idea.

We used what were called straight pens with nibs. We got them — along with our bottle of ink — from The Gazette Stationery and Printing which is where we got all our school supplies.

The nibs were often scratchy, depending on their quality, and often, the point had divided so when you tried to write, you'd get a double image. It looked quite artistic but it was not appreciated by the teacher. It was when we began to use ink that we became aware of the problems faced by our left-handed classmates, whose hands often moved behind the inky writing and caused blotting and a blue-black hand.

We did a lot of work that looked like this:

And we did a great variety of lines and loops and OOOOO — all designed, I believe, to loosen the wrist and make for a relaxed writing experience. We had writing workbooks that were filled with exercises to be done and it was a regular part of our daily routine. Learning to write — well, it's one of the traditional big three, isn't it? Reading, writing, 'rithmatic.

I started to think about this after I read a discussion that took place on the page of one of my Facebook friends. My friend is young and she had never learned cursive writing in school. She wonders why everyone who's older thinks it's so important and should be brought back. My son never learned cursive either — when he has to sign something, it's mostly a printed signature.

I honestly don't know if it's important or not. Most people don't write letters or thank you notes or cheques or poetry or a daily diary. All of those tasks are taken care of on the computer or the phone. Is writing a bit like using two tin cans and a string to communicate instead of sending a text?

Even I don't use handwriting that much any more — the grocery list, maybe. A personal note on a sympathy card. It's too bad. I have pretty handwriting although I didn't always. Back in the days of the straight pens and nibs, my writing was execrable. I think it was grade five when I realized that all my friends had lovely writing and I decided I could do that too. I worked hard and trained myself and I succeeded in making my writing very presentable — which it is to this day.

I was at the Grammar School by grade five and we had graduated to fountain pens and we still weren't allowed to use green or purple ink but blue became permissible. Remember this, with the built-in well?

Fountain pens became much more than a writing tool: they were a status symbol. They became the go-to gift for retirement, for any scholastic achievement, for milestone birthdays, for Christmas. They came out of pocket or purse to sign important contracts or to pen love letters. So lovely.

Of course, they were also quite capable of leaking all over the inside of your purse or pocket and regularly, just as you were hitting your stride in writing something important, your pen would run out of ink.

We continued to use them though even after that new-fangled invention, the ball-point pen, made its appearance. Many of the experts said the ball-point would never amount to anything so if we were wise, we'd hang on to the fountain pen.

What can I say? Do you still have your fountain pen?

The art and soul of a writer: Nora Ephron, me, our mothers, and controlling the story

I've started writing this two or three times. I keep getting stuck and then bogged down.

I think my problem is that I'm confused about whether this is about Nora Ephron or me.

I watched the recent Nora Ephron documentary Everything is Copy. Nora was an essayist, columnist, novelist, movie director and screenwriter (When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, You've Got Mail, Julie & Julia, Heartburn, Silkwood. . .).

When Harry Met Sally

Her writing took her into the glamourous worlds of Esquire, The New Yorker and Hollywood — not to mention the worlds of "Tom Hanks, Rita Wilson, Steven Spielberg, Gay Talese, Rosie O’Donnell, Meg Ryan, Mike Nichols, and on and on. . .", all of whom show up in the documentary which was made by her son, Jacob Bernstein. Jacob is Nora's son with journalist Carl Bernstein.

Nora died in 2012 at the age of 71.

Both Nora's parents were screenwriters and they both drank too much. It was her mother – who died of cirrhosis – whose lifelong slogan was "everything is copy!" When you slip on a banana peel, her mother said, people laugh at you. But when you tell people you slipped on a banana peel, it becomes your joke. "You tell the story," Nora's Mom said, "so it doesn't tell you."

Nora took her mother's advice and used her own life — and the lives of everyone around her — to fuel her formidable writing machine, often to the detriment of relationships with close family members and friends. Her first novel, Heartburn, was the thinly disguised bitter and angry story of her divorce from Carl Bernstein. Nora was seven months pregnant with her second child when she discovered Carl was cheating on her.

I could tell you the whole story of Nora's life but I don't want to ruin the documentary for you. It's running on HBO Canada and if you can't see it there, I'm pretty sure it's available somewhere. Things always are.

Nora was a couple of years older than I am. I can't help thinking that while her alcoholic mother was telling her "everything is copy!", my teetotalling mother was telling me, "Don't ever put anything in writing that you don't want to see on the front page of the newspaper." (Years later, after I became editor of my hometown newspaper, it became a bit of a joke when I would tease her if she said something a little controversial and I'd threaten to put it on the front page of the paper.)

I've always known I'd never be a great writer — first of all, I suppose, because I'm not a great writer. But mostly, I think, because there's too much I simply can't write about. I have lived — and I continue to live — a very interesting life. I've known — and I know — fascinating people. I have stories galore circulating around in my brain and I know I'll never write them down.

There was a time I thought that after my mother was gone, I'd be free to write whatever I wanted but for me, it doesn't work that way. I know I'm not going to tell certain stories because if I did, there would always be someone who felt betrayed or who would be embarrassed/hurt/ashamed/angry. I don't want people to feel disappointed with me or let down or even surprised at something I've written.

So this is really all about me but it's also about everyone else. I realized at some point that the only way I could ever write openly and honestly and without a care is if everyone I've ever known is dead. That's probably not going to happen.

As for fiction — which people often ask me about — the answer is no, I could never write fiction. I mean that literally. I honestly could not write fiction. I don't have that fiction-writing gene. That makes it easy because the same personal restrictions would apply: there are things I simply couldn't write, even if it looked as if I'd made them up.

Besides, fiction writers are always telling me that their characters run the story anyway. They have to follow where their characters take them.

This is like a nightmare to me. I have enough trouble dealing with control issues in real life; I don't need a bunch of fictional characters doing their own thing and dragging me along with them.

Which brings me back to Nora. One of the things that Jacob tries to deal with in the doc and one of the things that different people speak of in connection with her death is that she kept her illness secret. Only a very few people knew and when she went into the hospital for the last time, her husband and sister and sons were the only ones with her at the end. For someone who had lived her life according to her Mom's dictum — everything is copy! — this was not only out of character but was, in the view of many people who felt close to her, insulting. Many of her friends were angry that she shut them out of her death.

When I watched the documentary, I wasn't looking to compare myself with Nora on any level. I'm way too humble for that.

But I understood this final act. In the doc, it was the veteran gossip columnist Liz Smith who said, on being asked why she thought Nora had kept her illness a secret, "She's a control freak!" When you look at Nora's life, her work, her relationships, that seems pretty obvious but maybe no one dared say it while she was still alive.

It looks like the other side of the same coin though: she used everything that happened to her and everyone around her throughout her life to control how her story unfolded. At the end, she shut everyone out for the same reason — to control her story and make sure it was told her way.

I can see that.

Love and s*x on TV: bringing the chemistry

This picture is of Alicia Florrick and Will Gardner (Julianna Margulies and Josh Charles) from The Good Wife. When these two were in a room together, the heat that was generated was so overpowering, it's a wonder the sprinklers didn't come on. I'm naming them the couple with the best chemistry in some of the recent television programs.

Where does that chemistry come from? Is it just great acting? Is it great writing? Does it depend on how the actors feel about each other and about the characters they're playing?

I have these questions because I've been watching a TV series where I find a lack of chemistry. It's a little disappointing because it's a character-driven show and without the chemistry, there's a let-down.

I chose Alicia and Will but there are other recent couples who sizzle when they're together. How about Noah and Alison (Dominic West and Ruth Wilson) from The Affair?

There's always a risk for a television program to allow the passionate couple to consummate their relationship too early because the theory is that once the sexual tension is gone, the viewers will lose interest.

It wasn't easy for Alicia and Will. They had gone to law school together and had feelings for each other back then. Somehow, things didn't work out and by the time they meet again, Will is a named partner in a big firm and he hires Alicia who has been home raising her two children and standing by her sleazy husband who is now in jail.

So Will is her boss, she has a husband (in prison) and two teenaged children. Although the sparks are evident, it takes 46 episodes to get to the scene that's depicted in the photo above.

The Affair is a little different although the barriers are no less daunting for the lovers. Noah and Alison are both married. Noah, an author with one published book and a teaching job, has four children. His family is mainly supported by his wife's wealthy father. Alison is married and struggling with the recent loss of her only child. She works in a restaurant which is where she meets Noah and his family when they come in for a meal.

The picture above is shortly after they met but look at them: you can see where this is headed. There's also the name of the program, of course, which is a pretty big hint.

But I still haven't answered my own question of where the chemistry comes from.

One of the series I watched is called Covert Affairs — (not that kind of affairs.) It's a CIA show and the main character is Annie Walker. Annie is an agent and her handler is Auggie Anderson. Auggie is blind — he lost his sight in an IED explosion in Iraq — but he knows everything technological and he has what one of the TV critics called "Super Blind Man Skillz." Here are Auggie and Annie (Christopher Gorham and Piper Perabo):

They had good chemistry and a really sweet affectionate relationship and it eventually became a romance. I'm assuming that the ratings went down because a few episodes later, they decided that it was better not to mix business with sex and they went back to being agent and handler. As the show went on, Annie became involved with another fellow and here, I found no chemistry at all. I kept saying, "Why are you with him?" No matter how many romantic things he did or how many times they ended up in the sack, it just didn't ring true.

I can see a lot of the problems with moving relationships along. There's so much more scope for drama in the leading-up-to, the anticipation of a passionate interlude. But really, after it happens, what then? In many of these shows, adding a domestic element wouldn't work so what do you do with them after that?

There are mixed reviews about what happened with one of the more popular romances in a comedy. Jim and Pam (John Krasinski and Jenna Fischer) in The Office shared a much-awaited climactic kiss at the end of the second season and kept viewers on the edge of their seats throughout the following summer.

There was only one barrier but it was a big one. The Office was a much more innocent show that the others under discussion and the fact that Pam was engaged to someone else when she kissed Jim was quite shocking.

The mixed reviews are about what followed. In time, Pam broke off with the other guy, was wooed by Jim, became pregnant, got married, went on maternity leave, came back to work etc. etc. The old excitement wasn't there and even when they tried to resurrect it by causing a rift in the marriage and then bringing the lovers back together, it wasn't — it could never be — the same. Just like in a real marriage, most of the critics agreed.

So I think I've established that there needs to be some realistic barriers to a romance for the chemistry to be established. There probably does have to be some connection between the actors in real life. And maybe the most important thing is, the actors have to believe in their characters.

Maybe, as always, it comes back to the writers.

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P.S. Just to round out the line-up, here are a couple more well-known couples. I have nothing to say about them that hasn't been said a million times but I hope you'll feel free to add a narrative of your own if you have something to add.

Ross and Rachel

Sam and Diane

When the Internet was a baby

Back in the early 1990s, maybe as early as 1990, Dan and I were sitting one evening in our downtown Halifax house. I was reading, Dan was at the computer. The computer had a small square black screen; the print was green. I remember it looking like this:

After doing something or other with the keyboard – it's hard to remember how it used to work – Dan said, "I'm being taken on a tour around a museum in Western Australia." There were no pictures, of course, just that green text but he was being toured around having all the exhibits described to him in words.

I can't even begin to tell you how fascinating this was. It seemed like magic and I'm sure I said, as I have said so many times since, "What will they think of next?"

I was a twice-a-week columnist with The Daily News then. I wrote a general interest column for Tuesday and a feminist column for the Sunday paper. (It's hard to believe in 2016 but in 1989, I was specifically invited to write a "feminist" column. I can't even imagine that happening today.)

I used to write my column in a WordPerfect document, transfer it to a floppy disc and send it to the newspaper's offices in Burnside Industrial Park by courier.

For some reason, probably just because none of us knew any better, my columns never had a good identifying name. Some of them have a one-word name that doesn't really say much; others, believe it or not, are just called "Column."

Over the years, over several different computers, over a switch from WordPerfect to Word, my columns have mostly survived and are mostly accessible inside this very computer I'm working on. They're still mostly a no-name product though so they are a new project for me. I am going through them, reading them and giving them all brand-new names. It shouldn't be a huge job – a bit time-consuming – but something I should spend a little time on each day. In fact, it's the kind of mindless task I enjoy so let me at 'em.

I have already moved many of the columns to my website Sharon Fraser where they're dated and identified as Daily News columns. I hope they're safe there but I'll be happy to keep them – properly named – in their Word home also.

Because you never know – do you? – where the Internet will go next.