This morning I woke up thinking about bucket lists and how much I despise them. Okay, I understand it’s a great thing for many people, but personally I’ve never liked bucket lists. Back when I worked in a bookstore named Chapters there was a title along the lines of 1000 Places You Need to Visit Before You Die. And who is really going to visit all 1000 places, and does that make their life more fulfilling for having constantly been on a plane to follow a list of things to do before dying? So while many see the buck list as a beautiful and supportive thing, I guess I’ve just held this grudge for quite some time.

Our Postcard from Queen Mary 2

And in rebellion to the bucket list, (while laying there in my bed) I thought I’d make myself a fuck-it list, to show myself and ‘the world’ (i.e. my imagination of who might be watching in judgement, which in reality is likely no one) that instead of planning the things to do before I die, I’d rather focus on the stuff of LIFE. So I was thinking my fuck-it list would contain riding a Sea-Doo at least once cause they look very cool, building my family, going on the Queen Mary again, spending summers in Balaton, buying a cottage, eating amazing organic cheese, etc.

So as I thought over my fuck-it list, it soon became (I realize now as I write this) a bucket list!

Now* it is midday and I am in downtown Ottawa, sitting on a bench in the shade alongside the start of the Rideau Canal. It’s a world heritage site and kinda wedged between Parliament Hill and the Fairmont Hotel, where the canal spills out into the Ottawa River.

Somewhere out of sight, bagpipes are begging played.

The canal workers are filling and draining locks in front of me.

The sun is bright, the sky is clear, and the shade is cool.

Bicycles are whizzing by . . .

and while I know Tuesday has a very high chance of being a total shit day – because many signs are pointing to ‘yes’ and my oncologist didn’t call last week with any miracle ‘look at these amazing biopsy results’ kinda news – I also know that today is beautiful, and feeling this sort of pleasure is the cream of life itself.

To be part of the moment, part of friendship, part of love, part of beauty, and away from the sadness that has lately settled into the pit of my stomach . . . it is a wonderful feeling to be a participant in this life. I love the fun and exploration, I love the connections and the laughter, I love the joy of something different

. . . these are things that Tuesday will not take away.  I will not lose my ability to be part of the moment, even if some of those moments are terrible ones. And that being part of the moment, to me, is the list. It’s the beginning and the end of the page, and so long as we can find that intangible, hard-to-describe freedom in the cream of life, then I will be satisfied.

Well, that and finally publishing at least one of my novels.

Ha! Okay, slippery slope – I could go on, but I don’t dare in fear of creating yet another version of the bucket/fuck-it list.

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So, in honour of those yummy ‘cream in the truffle’ moments, I’m going to share a postcard Zsolt and I have sent to ourselves from the Queen Mary 2, which was such an amazing experience. We have many of these sort of postcards – every time we go to a new place, we mail ourselves a postcard. Our collection has become a treasure box of memories, and I pulled inspiration for this idea from my great-grandmother’s tin. 🙂

It’s a very inspiring tin 🙂  (It’s even inspired my BIG book publising make-the-dream happen project!)

*Now, as in ‘then’ when I was waiting for my husband and our friend to explore the locks and analyze how they work. They are scientists, those two, so it’s in their nature to care about mechanics. Personally, I prefer to care about the breeze and the sunshine. In any case, this past weekend has been so absolutely lovely. We had a vacation from sadness and heavy thoughts. This weekend was just about laughing, eating well, and sharing our time with a good friend.

**Psst! Want to sign up to be notified when the crowdfunding campaign starts? You can leave your details here and I’ll email you at GO time.

I guess it’s one thing to dream about becoming a writer. For a while, that’s exactly what I did: I’d write my stories, take my creative writing classes, and think that one day day I would claim the title of ‘writer’. Well, that time has come and gone – today I am a writer, title owned. In all honestly, it was the diagnosis that pushed me to live by what I love. Since then I’ve recommitted to my fiction, poured out emotions into this blog and picked up ghost-writing and social media gigs with amazing organizations. It’s not all glam – actually, it’s definitely not glamorous – but I love it. That’s what matters.

And as this all happened one assignment and post and story at a time . . . Catherine the writer (that’s me!) soon began to dream about being Catherine the novelist, Catherine the author. And once again, I waited on that dream, nervous about taking the steps to make it happen.

However, now it seems a possible recurrence is pushing me forward yet again (*&%$!!!) to live what I dream, and stop waiting for permission from anyone outside of myself.

We must all have these sorts of stories.

My story – my novel – started back when I wanted to get pregnant. Pregnancy is intimidating, and so to work through I began to write a semi-ridiculous story about a line of women who were coping with the emotional and personal changes of becoming a mother.

Then, bam (and sigh), I got breast cancer.

No babies. The writing stopped. Surgery and chemo happened. Life changed in so many ways. I began to recover. (*ahem! and there is the micro story of that)

And then . . .  eventually . . . the writing started again, with the same family of women, the same nine months of pregnancy, the same whimsical and ridiculous stories. Except this time there was something deeper.

My dad gave me a very precious gift when I was around thirteen. He gave me an old tin container, and in that container are a pile of postcards from his grandmother and her friends. So that makes her my great, great, grandmother. Of course, I’ve never met her, don’t know her story – but as I began to write about my Claires, and their journeys, I (in a sense) began to create a history of the possible women in my past, and the battles they may have fought, the adventures they may have had, and how we all tie together and pull strength from those stories (of course, this required NO research since as a writer, I pull everything from a fictional world called My Imagination).

And that’s the personal side of this story. I am becoming novelist right now, and this book is going to get published – hopefully with your help! 

Here’s the book blurb, the one I was sending out to agents:

“Constructed in stand-alone chapters, the story of the middle-name Claires is intrinsically connected. These ladies are nine generations of the same female line, taking us from one life-defining moment to the next.

Each middle-named Claire has a unique ambition: from Amelia Earl being the first solo woman to circle the world in an air balloon; Elizabeth fighting off an angry ghost  while deciding what’s next career-wise; Dotty rebelling against an abusive husband after chasing down a snowy owl; Ruby craving escape from her small town life;  The twins stowing away on a TransCanada train; Anna fighting her urge to create magic; Aliza blackmailing her way into circus life; Marianne convincing her mother-in-law to end a hunger strike; and Amelia Stives sailing to the new world after burning down the family barn. Yet in this novel, the middle-named Claires’ greatest overarching challenge is to face their own insecurities and find strength despite the uncertainty of their futures. Their stories lace together as the reader learns more about where each woman came from, and what her mother, and her mother’s mother (etc.) has experienced.”

But what you really need to know is this story pours out from the heart, and will have you laughing, crying and thinking. It’s good. So go read it. It’s really good. You of the future is reading it at this very moment, thinking, “hey, this book is awesome.” And it’s my baby – so obviously I’m presenting you with an extremely biased opinion. 😉

Soon I’ll be starting a crowd funding campaign. You’ll be hearing more on this as it goes. Watch this space for developments. And thanks for reading this far. I know it’s not the biopsy drama, or “what comes next” kinda stuff, (all the fun stuff is saved for August the 13th, I’m having dreams of everything changing, seeing some freaking line in the sand that I can’t cross back over – but that’s for another post, eh.) this project is my mental lifesaver without doubt, along with Zsolt, family, friends and everyone online. So, why not grab our dreams while we can? That’s what I’m sure as heck gonna do. And you are so very much invited to read along, and read the book too.

More to come. Along with all that other stuff . . .