Colin Frizzell

2012-02-09T07:23:00.002-05:00

Stress comes and goes, fear passes; conscience is forever.

SWAT: Fare Thee Well.

2012-02-08T21:07:00.004-05:00

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
― Maya Angelou

SWAT (Students, Writers, and Teachers), was a program done through Now Hear This!, and the Toronto District Catholic School Board. The program put professional authors in schools. The writers worked with students: some gifted, some struggling, others at risk, all aspiring to something, often fearing to show it. Some of the students came from tough neighbourhoods with difficult family situations, challenging backgrounds, some from war zones, others with relatives in, or headed to, war zones; each with their own story to tell. I was with the program for six years. I’m sad to say that it has come to an end.

I found it difficult to write this entry, to find a suitable angle or focal point. I feel that the students are the focal point of the program, as the next generation should always be the main concern of the current, but it isn’t coming to an end because it wasn’t beneficial to the young people involved, but because it relied on outside funding, didn’t turn a profit and the funding ran out. I don’t want to get into that, though.

But, to focus on the students, where do I begin? I suppose the most logical place would be on their writing. The students wrote about struggles with family, love, life, racism, faith, sexuality, spirituality, physical and emotional abuse, mental illness; things that people at any age have difficulty dealing with, let alone dealing with these issues when you’re trying to figure out a mind and body that’s going through some major changes of its own.

In my first year, one student wrote about her father throwing her mother down the stairs. She found the courage, not just to write about it, but to write about it in her father's voice and then to allow it to be published. You can read the story, for yourself in, “the Armadillo”, one of the programs three, soon to be four, anthologies of students’ writings published through the Descant Arts & Letters Foundation. The story is called, ‘King Gilbert’, and was written by the courageous Dania Gilbert. She later emailed me to say that she had decided to go into journalism, and let me know how inspirational she found the program to be.

In a different year another student wrote about his abusive father who only became abusive after getting cancer. The father died and the son was left plagued with questions. Every time that student used to come into class he’d say, with a smile, "Hello, sir. How are you today?" and shake my hand.

A student in another semester felt comfortable enough near the end of the term to write about his thoughts of suicide. We were able to get him help.

I was disappointed one year with a student who showed promise but, I thought, couldn’t stay focussed. Then, on my last day, I was headed home late at night and stopped by a bakery and saw her working. She must have been exhausted in class.

There were so many wonderful students, so many stories to tell. I had forgotten how hard it was back in high school and how little control you had over your life, body and the situation you were in. I saw in the classroom how much the students’ achievements and their ability to reach their potential depended on their support network—kids have a tendency to live up, or down, to what we expect of them. We all need someone to believe in us and for us to believe in our own capability.

It felt good whenever I saw their confidence building; their work always seemed to improve when they became less afraid of making mistakes, and started to find their voice. They would sometimes begin joking and creating with other students that they didn't get along with outside of class, often willing to openly share remarkably personal stories by the end of the semester.

All the teachers I was privileged to work with were encouraging and patient with the students, and me. They seemed grateful for the exercises in creativity and critical thinking, that the program provided, how it added to and enriched the curriculum, and gave the students the opportunity to explore their imaginations and to ask a published author about the writing process. But I don’t wish to speak for the teachers, only to show my gratitude toward them.

I’m also grateful to everyone at Now Hear This! who got the program going and kept it running; and to the Toronto District Catholic School Board for allowing us into their schools. I was given the rare opportunity to share something I love, to be a part of something I believe in, fostering the growth of creativity in young people while together we faced the joys and terrors of both the written word and a blank page. I hope many of them found a friend in both.

The blank page will always be there for them, to listen without judgement and help them find creative solutions, within themselves, to problems they face. If they feel isolated, like no one understands, hopefully they know that if they look they’ll find a story, or a poem, or a song, about another person who has been through something similar. If they can’t find one, it’s their job to write it. That is why we write, that’s why we read: so that no one has to ever go though it alone.

I’ve gone on far too long for a blog entry. Though I’d like to tell more stories I think it best if you heard them from the students. Please go to www.decant.ca and order any, or all, of the student anthologies, or ask your schools and libraries to get them in.

I will miss the program, but, hopeful, one day someone will look for value that can’t be measured in dollars and cents and invest in flesh, blood and spirit. Invest in the next generation. There are many more stories that need to be told.

Happy 200th Birthday, Charles Dickens

2012-02-07T09:10:00.002-05:00

Happy 200th Birthday, Charles Dickens.

“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before--more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.”

Thanks for the Visit . . .

2012-02-07T08:32:00.001-05:00

The clock by the bed read 3:38 when I awoke from dreaming of, Zsu Zsu. It’s said that 3 am is the soul’s midnight, and between 3 and 4 is when the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest. It was comforting to think, my late calico cat’s spirit had come to me. Buddha, as I understand it, believed animals, if good, could be reincarnated as humans. Perhaps, Buddha had it backwards. If I can learn honesty in every motion, loyalty, to love unconditionally, to live in harmony with nature and communicate without words, then I’ll come back as an animal. Then, one day, a plant; drinking the rain, feeding off sunshine, digging my toes into the soil, my only job: to grow. Finally, I will be air, earth, rain and sunshine; continuously giving, never dying, not burdened with thought because there are no secrets left to be unveiled. My only pain, empathy for those caught in the struggle.
Thanks for the visit, Zsu Zsu.

Blogging

2012-02-06T16:28:00.005-05:00

I went to a blog writing for business class today. It wasn't actually for this blog but another I might be working on for someone else (more details to come). It's actually much easier to promote someone else than it is to promote yourself—I find away. There are many things that I've been doing wrong as I've been trying to find my way in this new medium. I’m learning, but I have much to learn. I'll do my best to make things a little more true to self and relevant in the coming entries. Stayed tuned. Pointers welcome.

War Horse

2012-01-25T15:47:00.002-05:00

I saw War Horse last night. Took my mom. I thought it was great. She did too. A wonderful homage to old Hollywood. And I love old films. On the way home I heard one of the critics on CBC yammering on about how awful it was. I think she was slightly insane and fear she might do horrible things to kittens when no one is watching.

2012-01-23T09:22:00.000-05:00

It’s tough being a romantic in an Orwellian society.

84, Charing Cross Road

2012-01-22T12:24:00.010-05:00

Our library has two used book stores. One is in the basement of the library, the other in the Armory Mall, beside it. Though it's called a mall, it's not what you think on when you think of a mall. Built in 1913, the main floor is a wide hall with glass walls and doors on either side. In most malls the doors would take you into different stores. The Armory Mall has a hairdresser's and social services offices. It used to be the home of Spark Box Studio(a space for artists to live research, investigate and experiment) which was upstairs, in the back, but they moved.
When I was a kid the Sears catalogue store was in there, and the video store, and I think I can recall a bookstore and even a record shop. Then again, if I were going to recreate it in my memory to make it magical I would add a book store and a record shop. Doesn't matter, as I was saying, it has a used book store now and I did find something magical in it: "84, Charing Cross Road", by Helene Hanff.
This little book was one I hadn't heard of before, even though there is a film version with Anthony Hopkins and Anne Bancroft. It's a small, unassuming book: a collection of letters from an American writer to a British book seller. I thought the book would be good for the bathroom, actually. I could read a letter each time . . . you know. How quickly I finished the book would depend on how much fibre was in my diet.
But, when I got home, I decided to read the first letter and that was it. I couldn't put it down. It was just so charming and so human. It reminded me a bit of the letters Mom and Dad shared through their engagement, but the only romance shared in the book was a mutual love of books, and people.
It is a wonderful book and I highly recommend it. The book itself will never see the bathroom as it has become one of my little treasures and will be placed on the shelf above my desk where I can reach for it whenever I need to have my faith in humanity restored.

2012-01-05T17:18:00.002-05:00

I do have actual writing stuff to write about regarding projects and SWAT. I apologize for not getting it done. I've been in the midst of revisions and a flu. Soon, really. And it will be terribly interesting stuff. There will also be talk of wine, jelly and food.

In Response to the I Don't Care if I offend . . . Statuses

2011-12-01T07:16:00.000-05:00

I don’t care if I offend anyone by this: I have no problem with people in regards to their faith, sexuality, ethnicity or how long they’ve been in the country for. Idiots are made on an individual basis, inhabiting all groups and sexes and it has nothing to do with race, nationality, sexual orientation, religion or immigration status (though choice of news network might be a contributing factor). Furthermore, regardless of what tax bracket you were born into I think you deserve to have an education, healthcare, be treated humanely and with dignity, as well as having all kinds of other human rights afforded you. Repost this, or not, I don’t care about that either. Live and let live. :)

2011-11-30T16:53:00.001-05:00

Have you every just sat waiting for your muse to arrive? Staring at the screen, or perhaps looking for that perfect song that will touch a part of you so deep that it’ll be like a drill finding the water to fill the well; your thirst will be quenched and, if you're lucky, they'll be enough to share with the village.
Waiting, waiting for the words to come.

Remembering . . .

2011-11-11T07:45:00.001-05:00

“I believe in the sun even when it is not shining, in love even when I am alone, and in God even when He is silent.” – Inscription found scratched in a wall in Germany by someone hiding from Nazi concentration camps. Lest We Forget.

New Semester: New Adventure.

2011-10-17T08:13:00.006-04:00

I started back in the classroom, last week, working with another group of students, and a different teacher, at James Cardinal McGuigan. They seem like a good bunch. A new semester: a new adventure.

I also did my reading at the Supermarket, in Kensington Market, Toronto. As always the staff at NOW HEAR THIS! did a great job of putting it together. It was wonderful to get to meet new NOW HEAR THIS! team member Whitney French, in person; to catch-up with Rachel Hopwood and talk to Mark Laliberte about the art world and his work in it. It was also great to hear readings from fellow SWAT writers, Elisabeth de Mariaffi and Roseanne Carrara. I'm so fortunate to be a part of this group.

Cheers to everyone who braved the rain and came out in support of the program and its authors. Especially, stage manager and friend, AJ Laflamme, who came for my reading and brought an umbrella.

I read from a work in progress: Tick Talk (working title). While in Toronto I dropped off a grant application, for the YA novel, at the Ontario Arts Council. The OAC staff was very helpful, especially Helen Floros, who took the time to look over my application.

Also, last week, I met up with Ed Gass-Donnelly and we extended the option on my feature script, Lavender(working title). A special thanks to Ed for coming down to the Supermarket before my reading so that we could have the meeting there, and for his ongoing belief in, support of, and work on, the script.

Hear/Hear 14!

2011-10-05T18:40:00.005-04:00

I will be in Toronto, for a reading, on October 12th, at The Supermarket (268 Augusta Ave). Show starts at 6:30 pm. There I will have the honour of getting to share the stage with fellow S.W.A.T. (Student, Writers and Teachers) writers: Elisabeth de Mariaffi, Roseanne Carrara and Julia Tausch.

For more information click on the title to this entry.

2011-09-20T08:27:00.000-04:00

When things look bleak, never lose faith; or underestimate the power of positive drinking.

Sky in July

2011-09-13T16:55:00.001-04:00

9/11 Reflections.

2011-09-11T12:31:00.008-04:00

I wasn't sure what to think about the 9/11 anniversary, but then I thought that it's not a day to think about politics or religion, but to allow ourselves to feel the human tragedy: feel for the victims of that day and of the wars and hate that came after it; more than that, for the tragedies that came before: acts of war, whether it be by terrorists with government approval, or without.

Humans killing humans for financial gain or misguided ideology. One of the things that makes 9/11 different, than the countless other acts of violence, is that we were all apart of it; or anyone with a television set was. We watched it happen while it was happening and shared in the horror and the confusion. I wonder what the world would be like if we'd said, this has to stop. If we'd woken up and seen that there is no first and third world, just one world that we all need to learn how to share; one life we need to help each other through.

We're all innocent and we're all to blame; we're all people and, let's face it, people are stupid.

So today, I think about those lost, and the pain felt by those left behind. May God have mercy on all of us. As Gandhi said, "God has no religion."

And out of the smoke and ashes, let new growth come.

2011-09-04T23:30:00.001-04:00

I'm done trying to find the right wine to go with dinner. From now on I'm getting the wine first and finding the right dinner to go with it.

No Dogs, No Children

2011-09-01T10:56:00.006-04:00

“Let the little children come to me, and stop keeping them away, because the kingdom of God belongs to people like these.” – Luke 18:16

Signs used to read: No Dogs, No Blacks, No Irish. But then the Blacks and Irish stood up for themselves so a current sign would read: No Dogs, No Children. Of course no one would put up a sign like that, these days; not wanting to draw attention to the prejudice and lunacy of it.

It’s a silent discrimination. While children are defenseless—a society can always be judged on how it treats its most vulnerable—someone might speak on their behalf.

While I haven’t any children myself I take pleasure in the laughter of children. Children are the only way that the species can survive, and being a person who cares about the human race I think that’s a good thing. I also hope that future generations will be joyful, and the laughter of children keeps that hope alive.

The anti-children sentiment that seems to be growing in the North American financial wealth based culture has frustrated me for years. It came to a head at a local restaurant last night when a man and women, aged around 50, had an outburst over my 18 month-old nephew acting like an 18 month-old. While I find outbursts in children—especially over the arrival of ice cream at the table—not only tolerable but also enjoyable, I find it very difficult to tolerate in adults (especially when the child’s outburst was one of delight). I’m reminded of what Carl Jung said, “If there is anything we wish to change in the child, we should first examine it and see whether it is not something that could better be changed in ourselves."

Parents are somehow, in this culture, made to feel bad for taking their children out of the house, for exposing them to a wider world that is crucial to their development, something that any sane society would be concerned with. Here I’m reminded of the African proverb, “It takes a village to raise a child.”

Though, to be fair, at least two other tables came up to us to say that there was no problem and to show their sympathy toward us having to put up with the couple’s rude and self-centred behavior.

But, as demonstrated by the couple in the restaurant, and then a waiter, one we’d had no dealings with all night, is that while we won’t tolerate children being children we will go out of our way to pander to emotionally stunted adults, ones who not only have verbal outbursts in public but who threaten physical violence when they don’t immediately get their way, or when a comment is made about their conduct, even if it wasn't made to them but only within earshot. The comment, that I made to my mother, the child’s grandmother—who was obviously upset over the incident, it was the first time she had her whole family together in over a year and wanted to have a night out without being insulted by some old yob—was that God made certain people be annoyed by children to ensure that they wouldn’t reproduce.

Raising children is the most important and stressful job there is, and parents need a night out more than most. As a global village I feel we all need to be sensitive toward this in order to build a brighter future for our children and teach them how they should treat their children. And while my nephew may have been a little rambunctious, he didn’t throw any tempter tantrums, which is more than I can say for the couple at the other table.

Personally, I like places where everyone is welcome; even dogs, unless they are likely to snap at people: that same rule applies for humans, also.

Jack's Last Letter.

2011-08-25T14:31:00.006-04:00

A so-called journalist, with far right leanings, in Canada, actually took it upon herself to criticize Jack Layton's final letter to Canadians. How pathetic and sick does someone have to be to actually criticize a man's dying words? I'm sure that it probably comes from a deep seeded jealous over the outpouring of support for Jack, since they fear, deep down in their cold, unfeeling heart, that no-one will miss them when they're gone. That there may, in fact, be a soft sigh of relief—though decent human beings will still show a little respect.
I don't mention her name, or the name of her colleague who sprang to her defence to be narcissistic and out-of-touch with basic humanity, because it seems to me anyone who would attack a dead man, or those mourning him, just wants to be noticed and has yet to learn the difference between good attention and bad attention. Since this seems to be a decease that's spreading, I reckoned quarantine was in order.
I do hope they find a cure.

To read Jack's last letter you can click on the title to this entry.

Good-bye, Jack.

2011-08-24T16:32:00.005-04:00

I want to write something about Jack Layton. But I don't know what. It seems everything has already been said. Mr. Layton brought a bit of class to an election campaign that was totally void of it. A light in the darkness that I hope will continue to shine and remind Canadians of the compassionate nature that made us who we are. A nation that cares for, and about, each other.

Thank you, Jack. You'll be missed.

Variety

2011-08-16T13:24:00.006-04:00

Lavender, the screenplay I started writing over a decade ago, when living in Belfast, Northern Ireland, and am currently working on with Ed Gass-Donnelly, was mentioned in an article on Ed in Variety. To see the article click on the title of this entry. Ed Gass-Donnelly was recently named as one of the top ten directors to watch by Variety Magazine.

Tyendinaga Mohawk Territory

2011-08-16T12:46:00.003-04:00

I'm currently in Tyendinaga Mohawk Territory, at the L'il Crow cafe, sitting on a patio, by the water, having a cappuccino, and doing some writing. About 20 feet from me is a large tipi, you can go into, with small wicker chairs (that are more like upside down baskets with cushions on them) sitting in a semicircle, with a small fire burning in the centre.
Lovely.

More On Sounding Ground/Now Hear This

2011-08-14T14:22:00.003-04:00

For more on Sounding Ground, and Now Hear This, click on title.

Sounding Ground

2011-08-14T11:22:00.012-04:00

If you're in Prince Edward County, Ontario; or if you're going to be before October 2nd; make sure to check out, Sounding Ground: five original audio plays, by five different playwrights (Andrew Binks, Krista Dalby, Ned Dickens, Martha Ross, and myself). For more information click on the title to this entry. It's worth the drive to Picton.:-)
Plus, The County offers 40 wineries (and growing), Sandbanks provincial park (its flour-soft sand rivals that of the Caribbean and its dunes were the location for, Just J). The area has a thriving arts community, excellent restaurants, cheese factories, organic farms, and road side stands with all sorts of fresh fruits and vegetables to taste and savour.
Also, Festival Players is currently putting on a production of The Ballad of Weedy Peetstraw, until August 27th. This highly enjoyable Bluegrass Opera is being being performed in a tent, in the vineyards at Rosehall Run Winery; a scenic setting where you can enjoy a glass of some of the finest VQA Prince Edward County wine, while watching the show. If you're there on a weekend please stop in and say hi, I'll be there in the tasting room.

2011-08-07T11:19:00.000-04:00

Last night I drove past the sheep farm. The sheep were naked. It was shear madness.

2011-08-01T08:00:00.003-04:00

My thoughts and prayers remain with the people of Norway as they deal with the tragedy of the shootings, bombing and callous things said by some who see this more as a political act to be used for gain, rather than an act against humanity that is a loss for us all. But most of all for those directly affected: brothers, sisters, grandparents, mothers, daughters, fathers, sons, husbands, wives, lovers, friends and cousins.
I am sorry for your loss.

R.I.P.

2011-07-13T14:15:00.004-04:00

ZsuZsu didn't make it through the night. When I was a kid and lost my cat, Tootsie, my dad poured cement to mark his grave. I buried ZsuZsu out near him and picked a granite stone as a marker. She was a wonderful cat that got me through some very tough times. A great friend who always listened, never judged and never turned down a cuddle. She will be missed.

ZsuZsu

2011-07-12T13:13:00.006-04:00

My cat, ZsuZsu, isn't well. I had to leave her at the vet. There's fluid in her lungs and they have her on oxygen. They're going to start her on a course of antibiotics.
Zsu Zsu is a calico cat. I was still with my ex when we adopted her from Jordann's Auntie Anne. It was after Dad died, but before we were married. She was two at the time (I think). ZsuZsu had been declawed, so she was always an indoor cat.
When we first got her she'd watch us extremely closely like she was assessing us. I feel asleep on the couch once and woke up to find her nose inches from my face: her back legs were on the hardwood floor, her front paws on the couch, she was just staring at me.
When we moved upstairs, to another apartment in the same house, our television room had been added onto the back of the second level of the house, there was two white-framed windows in the red brink, which had been the outside wall. ZsuZsu would sit on the window ledge, in the back right hand corner of the room, to look over the room; by that time it was more like she was watching over us than observing; we had, it would seem, passed inspection.
Whenever she wanted to get up on the couch, or bed, she'd put her front paws on the edge and then take to two half jumps before making the leap. She was so consistent with this that we use to count with her efforts: one, two, threeeeee. Extending the E on the three in congratulations.
When we moved down to the farm ZsuZsu took to it well. She likes looking out the front window at the birds on the hydro lines. She has stopped needing three tries to get up on things, instead she climbs along the old radiant heating that runs along the floor boards, then onto the nightstand then the bed.
She's probably the most affectionate cat I've ever had. She'll bat me on the nose in the middle of the night to get me to give her a cuddle. She also loves to lay with her back tight against my chest and have me rub her chest. She stretches one paw out as far as it can go, then curls it in, then does the same with the other; back and forth between the two.
I'm hoping to bring her home tomorrow but the vet didn't sound too hopeful. It's wait and see, hope and pray at this point.
Get well little ZsuZsu—who's not so very little.

In Memory.

2011-07-02T10:16:00.009-04:00

Arthur (Art) Colin Frizzell 1923- 2003.

On July 2, 2003, our family lost a very special person. But many memories remain in our hearts.

A breeze, which blows across the field to cool my brow,
a shadow that moves through the garden;
rain, which falls when the leaves are wilting,
a star that guilds me home when I'm lost.

The answer that comes when I'm befuddled,
the presence that comforts when I'm lonely;
the joke I recall when I need to laugh—
you had to go:you never left me.

Poem by his son, Colin.

Not a Bad Week.

2011-06-26T13:45:00.001-04:00

Did another rewrite on a new manuscript; worked in the garden, got paid to spend two days in a winery and a night at a bar—in Crystal Palace— where they fed me. Over-all, not a bad week.

Better late . . .

2011-06-21T14:13:00.002-04:00

Little late posting this one. On the Saturday before last I had a bit of an adventure.
I left the house at 7 to go to Toronto. I arrived at 10 and went to the Jazz café to check my email and facebook while having a double espresso. Then off to The Revue Cinema for a private viewing of Shaista Justin’s first film Swan Awake—which was the reason for the trip up.
Shaista (author of Winter, the Unwelcome Visitor) doesn’t want anyone writing about the film yet, so I won’t. I’ll instead just pass on my congratulations to her for completing the film and getting it on the screen. I’ve been a part of many projects that never made it that far, as a writer and an actor, and probably in a few other roles, too. So, Shaista, congratulations and good job.
Since the drive to Toronto is a rather long one I made a day of it. Before and after the film I did some visiting, outside the theatre and at the bar, with friends of Shaista, actors in the film, and an artist who had a painting in the film as well.
After the bar I went down to Lee Valley to get some spiral tomatoes spikes for my mom. If they work, they should increase yield and make the plants easiler to care for and harvest. I grabbed a couple other things as well, of course. If you’ve ever been to a Lee Valley store, or seen their catalogue, they have many nifty items that are handy and hard to find anywhere else.
After that I went to the St. Lawrence Market to grab some food to bring back home with me, like a hunter bringing the days spoils. Outside of the market they were having Woof Stock: a huge street fair for dogs. There were all kinds of dogs, from a big purple poodle to a small white chiwawa in a pink dress. There was also a border collie that gave me a hug (probably smelling Oreo) and a Golden Retrieve that I bumped into but who graciously accented my apologize.
There was a huge husky with the eyes so blue they were grey, and may little dogs I almost stepped on, which got me to wonder, Can you really still call them dogs? Anyway, it was pouches galore, all shape and sizes.
By the time I got through Woof Stock the market was closing. I think I ended up with more stuff for Oreo to eat than for myself. Thought I did get some Peameal bacon, sausages, homemade garlic hummus and Portuguese sauce . . . you know, the staples.
When I got home my sister-in-law, Charlette and my niece, Alison, were at the house so I had a brief visit and watched Harry Potter (the first one) with Ally.
It all might not sound very exciting, but really, it kind of was. Gardens, dogs, films, food, visiting, music on the way up and back, and Harry Potter with my niece—what’s not to like?

Thank you, Dad.

2011-06-19T11:46:00.004-04:00

Miss you, Dad. Wish you could've been there when the books came out. Wish you could be here now, in body. I'd doing my best with your spirit.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czca8UqHKlE. Or click on title.

My Reality

2011-06-19T01:18:00.001-04:00

All day doing rewrites, all night bartending at an event where the band was dressed in plaid and the background singers wore sequence. I felt like I was in a Tarantino film; except, at one point, I entered briefly into David Lynch territory. My reality includes imagination. ☺

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2011. All rights reserved.

On The Writing Front

2011-06-09T07:47:00.008-04:00

I want to say how grateful I am to have been given the opportunity to be a part of the Festival Players' Sounding Ground (a series of five short audio plays) production and getting to work with (however indirectly) fellow playwrights: Krista Dalby, Andrew Binks, Martha Ross and Ned Dickens. For more information on the Festival Players of Prince Edward County, and the production, go to: http://festivalplayers.ca/performances/2011-season/sounding-ground or click on the title of this entry.

There will be more on this in the coming weeks as my blog is going to be taking on a more writing, and creative ventures, focus.

Also, I completed another year with Now Hear This' SWAT (Students, Writers, and Teachers) program. Each year I'm increasingly amazed at the quality of work and, perhaps more importantly, the bravery of the students I work with and their willingness to share; as well as the teachers I've worked with (Christopher Stidham, Laryssa Chmil, Oscar Lopes, Katarina Gulej) their open-mindedness, patience and encouragement—with both me and the students. Their willingness to try new things and to teach me how to improve my lesson plans and communication with the students.

I would also like to give a very special thanks to the team (past and present) at Now Hear This (www.nowhearthis.ca); for their tireless work, organization and promotion of this extremely important and brilliant program: Mark Laliberte, Rachel Hopwood, Jennifer de Visser, Katie Mercer, Katie Franklin, Laura Mendes, Ceri Evans, Pasha Malla and others that I know I'm forgetting and I apologize greatly for that. And to Nadia Young and the Toronto Distract Catholic School Board for their support of the program and for allowing the writers to come into the schools.

I've also had the privilege to have been doing more work with multi-award winning writer/director/producer Ed Gass-Donnelly (Small Town Murders) on a screenplay, Lavender, which I've been working on for a decade now. Ed has optioned the script and we've been working on it together. His ideas, knowledge, attention to detail, faith in the project (and life) and work ethic are inspiring.

Writing, and bringing things to life, is a long, difficult and tiring process. Love is the only thing that can give you the energy to keep going through it. But, the occasional bit of caffeine and alcohol does help, too.

2011-06-07T16:18:00.000-04:00

I have everything I need. If only I could remember where I put it.

What We Need: What We Want.

2011-04-20T19:42:00.003-04:00

If all the gold, oil and money, all over the world, suddenly disappeared, or was made valueless through disaster, working together, we could still live off the land. If, of course, the air was still breathable, the water drinkable, and the soil wasn’t too filled with poisons to be of any use. We need each other, we need wisdom, we need knowledge, we need the earth. We want money.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2011. All rights reserved.

Dear God

2011-04-17T16:10:00.004-04:00

Dear God,

Thank you for giving us all hearts, minds and souls. I also appreciate free will. Though, to be honest, I’m not sure if making the use of our hearts and minds optional, and putting the fate of our souls into our own hands, was such a great idea.

Amen.

J ( of 'Just J')

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2011. All rights reserved.

2011-04-11T11:02:00.002-04:00

One man's bullshit is another man's fertile ground.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2011. All rights reserved.

2011-04-10T19:22:00.001-04:00

I just watched Nanny McPhee. I found it rather enjoyable. Now, how to get her to go to Parliament Hill?

2011-04-10T13:42:00.004-04:00

I love the internet because you can always find the answer you're looking for. It might not be the right one, mind you; but, if you narrow your search down enough, you can always find the one you're looking for.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2011. All rights reserved.

2011-03-23T18:24:00.000-04:00

I always find it strange how, whenever I get into writing a new story, time completely disappears. I look at the clock, turn to the screen, start to write; stop. Look at the clock, again, and see that 4 1/2 hours have past. I continue to stare at the clock and wonder, What the hell just happened there?

2011-03-19T16:49:00.004-04:00

I have to admit, sometimes I miss the cold war: that nice, constant and continuous threat of total annihilation—kept people in check.

Miss Lily's the Musical is Here!

2011-03-13T12:57:00.002-04:00

Before, on my blog, I wrote about the day I went to the coffee shop and a musical broke out. Now you can see the musical! Just click on the title of this entry and it'll take you right there. If that doesn't work, here' the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvsMwvkFl_8&feature=player_embedded

Earthquake in Japan

2011-03-11T10:46:00.003-05:00

My thought and prayers are with the people in, and of, Japan.
If you click on the title of this entry it will take you to some stunning photos in the Globe and Mail.

2011-03-10T16:09:00.003-05:00

The word common, in terms like common courtesy, and common sense, is, from this point forth, being replaced with, bloody-hard-to-find.

Facebook

2011-03-09T14:39:00.003-05:00

Facebook: allowing people to check in to see what condition their condition is in.

A Cressy Sunset

2011-03-07T07:07:00.002-05:00

Writer-in-residence

2011-03-01T17:44:00.002-05:00

I just wanted to take a moment to say how happy I am to be back for another year as writer-in-residence at James Cardinal McGuigan, with all new students except for two. Those two will probably be bored out of their minds; and once out of their minds they’ll really know what it’s like to be a writer. :-)

Waiting For The Sun

2011-02-24T13:04:00.004-05:00

Ghosts Gathering on an Icy Shore to Watch the Moon Rise

2011-02-23T00:09:00.003-05:00

Sunday Morning in Cressy: The Moon Stays Up To Watch The Sunrise

2011-02-20T07:15:00.003-05:00

Self-Taught?

2011-02-17T13:06:00.023-05:00

The other day I had a meeting with Lauren Horlock, a winemaker at
Hillier Creek Estates. She has just started a blog, which can be read at, http://www.bayofquintecountry.com/blog/; or by clicking on the title of this entry.
She wanted some writing tips, and I wanted to learn more about wine, so we got together over tea and stone-baked pizza at the Regent Café.

“Where did you study writing?” she asked me.

“Actually,” I said, “I graduated from Radio Broadcasting.”

“Oh,” she said, “so you’re self-taught.”

I thought about this. While it may seem like that—more so since I wrote an article for Education Canada about me dropping out of high school(I later went back)—in actuality I have had many teachers in the art of writing and storytelling.

The first would have been my parents. Dad was a great storyteller: he could always grab and hold an audience. My mom was a teacher; mine for pre-kindergarten through grade two. She had newspaper articles and quotes posted all around the house, and every morning we would listen to Peter Gzowski on CBC radio. Mr. Gzowski was a master with words, and CBC radio brought the best of Canadian and international talent into our country kitchen.

Then there was church, Cressy United, and Sunday School, where I would study Bible stories and their meaning: learning about parables, metaphors, imagery, the power of words, and the assurance that if you had faith anything was possible.

There’s a great storytelling culture in Prince Edward County: countless jokes, ghost stories, accounts of the adventures of friends, family, ancestors, and neighbours are told—sometimes being ever so slightly exaggerated for effect. And my Irish American cousins would always bring stories with them when they came up in the summer—never letting the truth get in the way of a good story.

I can’t recall when I started putting stories on paper, as soon as I learned to write I suppose. I wrote my first book in grade 8. I wasn’t a very good speller though and was told that that handicap would prevent me from every being able to become a writer. I tried to give it up, but I loved stories and words so I never could. I moved to poetry and lyrics: things I could write quickly and keep hidden from those who were less than encouraging.

In grade 10 English, with Mrs. Grimly, I did write a short play(a murder mystery), which was performed in front of the class; and I helped write scripts for my drama classes with Mrs. Ireland and Ms. Hair, and my media class with Mr. Sivel. Through drama and media I was also able to work on, and watch, many shows that came into our little town from all over the province.

In Radio Broadcasting at Loyalist College of Applied Arts and Technology we had to do a great deal of writing: weekly on-air shifts, commercials, public service announcements, reviews, a radio play, interviews and a documentary. I even heard that my writing teacher, Liz Marshal, used my documentary as a writing example years after I had left.

Studying wasn’t just in the class either. Writing comes from a love of words and learning how to use them effectively. It also comes from listening and observing. In Radio we were learning how to do that all the time. Constantly looking for things to talk about on air, listening endlessly to lyricists (and being music junkies some of the best the world has to offer) and tearing each other apart—in a good way. Radio wasn’t for the thin skinned.

Every week, in Steve Bolton’s production class, we’d have our commercials critiqued by everyone who felt they had something worthwhile to say. Outside of class the critiques were more burns and were a little less professionally constructive. From an outsiders point of view it may have looked like we hated each other; but there was a love there, for each other and for the job-at-hand; we were always pushing each other to be better—and sometimes pulling one another through. Some of my closest friends—and the best anyone could ask for—were ones I made in radio. There were lines that it was generally known you didn’t cross; we just had fewer of them, and the ones we did have were further away.

Radio is theatre of the mind. All you have is you, your microphone, your words and stories, and the guests or co-hosts—when you’re lucky enough to have them. The sharper you can keep your mind the better; and a little verbal jousting, and practical jokes, was a great way to do that. We learned how to take nothing said to, or about us, (within reason) personally (in order to be able to laugh at yourselves); and everything outside our self very personally—in order to keep our passion alive. To do as Mark Twain suggested: believe none of what you hear and only half of what you see (less than half now with television and the Internet).

When speaking, author Hilary MacLeod (Revenge of the Lobster Lover) taught us how to enunciate our words just so. Your respect for words increases when you focus on their subtle nuances as you roll them around in your mouth, getting a taste for them yourself before sharing them with others.

We were also taught that, to remain relevant and to be able to connect with our audience, we had to stay aware of what is going on in our community and the world outside it.

One of the most important things I learned is that THE MIC IS ALWAYS ON. There were many examples of people who thought the mic was off and said things that everyone got to hear, which they didn’t want heard. And, I can assure you, words can do just as much damage as sticks and stones. In life outside of radio, you still never know who’s listening; so remember: THE MIC IS ALWAYS ON.

One of the sharpest minds belonged to John Henderson, who taught us all many things about how to choose our words carefully and how to stay on top of everything that was going on. He taught us more than that, but sometimes words just can't do justice.

I later went on to formally study television, which involved more writing, film: more writing; I took a short story analysis class at Humber College, a poetry night class at Ryerson University, script writing at George Brown College, received feedback and notes from my cousin, screenwriter John Frizzell (Dance me Outside), read countless books on style and craft, listened to Nick Cave's lecture on songwriting (I don't know how many times), and spent a year and a half in Ireland, much of that time in pubs—where better to learn storytelling than in Irish pubs? Then there was the years I worked at the St. Lawrence Centre, as an usher, and was able to watch and study CANSTAGE plays, night after night—and get paid for it.

Through all of it I was always scribing things down; always practising, always learning, always listening to the interesting people I was lucky enough to come in contact with, and the wonderful words and stories I was fortunate to be surrounded by.

I still have trouble with my spelling, but I try to not let that get in my way too much; it’s a handicap I’m aware of and still trying to overcome—there are worse. And I am still learning, and still being taught.

So, self-determined . . . maybe: self-taught, not so much.

County and Quinte Living

2011-02-17T07:59:00.005-05:00

Another my bad for not updating.

The winter issue of County and Quinte Living had a segment about local authors in it. The article is called, "Hibernate with Local Authors: Discover the Personalities Behind the Print." I was fortunate enough to be one of the authors featured.

There is a digital copy available at, http://www.countyandquinteliving.ca/.

This one I put on my facebook page but then forgot to update my blog. Oops. I have trouble keeping up sometimes.

I would like to thank County and Quinte Living's editor Donna Kearns, and Kerry Lorimer—who interviewed the authors—for the magazine and for promoting local talent.

Cheers.

Square2 Magazine (Update on The Snowflakes’ Waltz)

2011-02-17T07:28:00.012-05:00

Back in November, I blogged about my new short story, The Snowflakes’ Waltz, coming out in Square2 magazine. Then I neglected to do an update when it did come out. My bad.

You can get to the magazine's website by going to www.square2magazine.com; or, if you click on the title of this blog entry it will take you to a digital copy of the issue that, The Snowflakes’ Waltz, is in.

Congratulations to the everyone at Square2 for putting together such a stylish, well thought out, and well designed magazine.

A special thanks to Chrissy Poitras of Square2 and Sparkbox Studios for inviting me to be a part of it. And also to Kyle Topping (Spark Box Studio) and René Dick (Scout Design).

I hope you enjoy.

"Egyptians stood for their rights."

2011-02-12T10:55:00.001-05:00

Christians and Muslims: together for human rights; together for freedom; together for peace.

A peaceful revolution. Power to the people. Power of the people. Faith in the people.

Let love reign.

A Cressy Morning

2011-02-11T08:14:00.001-05:00

I Went to the Coffee Shop and a Musical Broke Out

2011-02-09T06:52:00.015-05:00

Yesterday I went to the coffee shop and a musical broke out.
I was heading down to Miss Lily's Café; when I got there I saw, taped to the front door, a sign that read it was closed for the day. I turned, sadly, and walked away. Then I heard a voice calling me in the distance. I turned around and, standing outside of Miss Lily's was Susanne Larner, whom I went to high school with, and who is now the manager at Miss Lily's.
"Colin," she said. "We're shooting a music video. Do you want to be in it?"
"Yes!" I said.
What else would you say when such an offer comes along?
I went back and into the café.
"Just set up your laptop and work like you always do," Susanne said.
"I can do that," I said—and I did.
Then they started handing out scripts. Miss Lily's the Musical, the title read.
"You need to memorize some of the lyrics," the director, Victor Cooper, said. "Especially, the chorus."
"What?" I said. "I have to sing?"
"Don't worry," Victor said. "We wouldn't be using your voice on the video, you just need to sing along."
I let out a sigh of relief. Despite my own youtube videos, I'm not keen on my singing voice.
They had us sign some release forms.
Susanne gave me a mug and told me to help myself to the coffee.
"Thanks," I said.
I went over and filled my cup with an Organic Costa Rican single estate coffee.
Fellow County author, Andrew Binks (The Summer Between), came in and we had a chat, about this and that. He needed to play the trombone in the video. Having never played the trombone before, he wasn't 100% sure how to do it. I tried to give him some pointers since I had played it in grade 8. I wasn't very helpful: I couldn't remember much.
I returned to my seat and my little LG laptop.
The director then told me that I would be singing the first line into the camera.
"What?" I said.
"The first line is 'I got a smile on my face'," Victor said. "You've been smiling since you came in. I have to use that smile."
Susanne, and Skye (one of the staff at Miss Lily's), laughed.
"You do smile a lot," Skye said.
I've known Skye for years, also. That's the thing with small towns, you've known so many of the people for most of your life that, even when if don't see them that often, there is a familiarity, like an extended family.
The video got under way.
More people came in, some who I knew, others I only recognized. Everyone jumped right in, filling the café with laughter and energy like we were all, well, in a musical.
Graham and Vicky, who own Chesterfield's Café in Picton, dropped into take part; and Jody Bain, who I also went to high school with, and I've been trying to organize a meeting with over a book he's writing, unexpectedly dropped in. Jody, along with Victor, and Trevor Crowe, were the Crowe Video Productions crew.
In the end of the video we all got to sing in the chorus, dancing out of the attached bookstore (Books and Company) and into Miss Lily's, following Andrew who was doing a great job playing the trombone.
As strange a story as this may seen, going to a coffee shop and a musical breaking out, that's just one of the many adventures one has when living in Prince Edward County; or The County, as the locals call it. And, when the video comes out, you can it see for yourself.

A Table Hockey Player's Dream

2011-02-04T13:34:00.000-05:00

More Winter Shots.

2011-02-04T13:23:00.000-05:00

Review for Chill

2011-01-30T12:38:00.000-05:00

I found a review, written by Kevin Stratton, for my book Chill.
The review can be found at: http://thebookreviews.wordpress.com/tag/school/

You should be able to get to it by clicking on the title of this entry.

“I must credit the great writing to author Colin Frizzell. The writing was authentic in that it was almost as if teenagers were writing this book expressing their concerns over Mr. Sfinkter.”

That just makes me fizz like Pop Rocks and cola.

Snowshoeing with Oreo

2011-01-29T15:52:00.000-05:00

I just went snowshoeing. My dog, Oreo, thought it was entirely unfair that he should be sinking in the snow while I wasn't. He lay down, with his chin on the snow, nose covered with the white stuff, and gave me guilt; while I followed the rabbit tracks that circled and serpentined around the barn and apple tree, and through the field.

Hot Water Trick

2011-01-24T18:34:00.000-05:00

I saw this trick on Canada Am. They threw boiling water into the air to create a cloud. When the temp dropped to -27 I decided to give it a go. You can watch it on youtube by clicking the heading of this entry.

Winter Pictures From The Frizzell Farm

2011-01-24T17:44:00.001-05:00

Bats Are In More Than The Belfry

2011-01-24T10:44:00.000-05:00

I was awakened by a Pbrrrr sound. In my sleepy state, with my eyes closed, I thought it was the sound of my cat’s little feet running about. Pbrrrr. No, it’s over my head. Pbrrrr. A mouse in the wall? It would have to be a big one. Pbrrrr. It keeps running over my head; I can feel a breeze when it does? I open my eyes. Pbrrrr. A bat cruises by; inches from my face. Ahhhh!

Bats are in more than the belfry, apparently. Through my facebook friends I discovered that many people have had bat encounters. With mine, I hide under my covers and called to my cat for help. Apparently Zsu Zsu is union and her contract didn't include any "clause" for bats.
After I got out of my bed, put my black Guinness ball cap on, which strangely did make me feel a little more comfortable, I grabbed my green sweater and looked about. Then I traded my sweater for my red Resident Evil crew jacket and headed downstairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, as I made the final turn, I reached out and opened the door. Then I saw a piece of brown fluff on the brown carpet. I jumped through the doorway to get away from it. I let out a sigh and felt rather silly for being frightened by a piece of brown fluff; then the fluff took flight.
My trusty dog, Oreo, came to my side; he didn't seem to know what to do, either.
The bat came at me.
I swung my coat.
The bat circled around again.
Oreo was getting excited: his little white mitten paws were dancing.
I swung again.
Then the bat was gone.
"Did I get him?" I said, to Oreo. "Did you get him? Did one of us get him?”
I looked down beside the bookcase.
The bat was lying there; unhurt but stunned, its wings spread out.
Both Oreo and I starred at him (or her).
I still couldn't believe it was a bat.
Oreo didn't know what it was and took a couple steps back and then looked up at me.
I went into the cool room and got a Tupperware container. I dropped it over the bat. I then slipped paper underneath, gently lifted the bat and flipped the container over. He clung to the side with his feet and hung upside down inside the container. I put the lid on.
Then I informed facebook, of course.
At 8:30 am I called the Loyalist Human Society (www.humanesociety.com). The women there told me to call Sandy Pines Wildlife Centre (www.sandypineswildlife.org ).
I knew about Sandy Pines from an incident between Oreo and a baby bunny. The bunny was rescued; nursed by Sandy Pines, while I found its nest. I brought the bunny back and returned it to its mother, brothers and sisters. I can only assume it went onto live a happy and productive life. All I know for certain is that it grew old enough to leave the nest and go out on its own.
This time, founder and president Sue Meech, told me to keep the bat warm, using an old sock filled with rice, microwaving it for approx 30 sec. After testing it to make sure it wasn’t too hot, I put it in beside the bat. The bat curled up next to it.
The centre is about a 45-minute drive away. My mom came along, holding the bat, in the container, on her lap.
At Sandy Pines I discover that my bat was a brown bat. He should’ve been hibernating. When hibernating, they only store enough fat in them to get through the winter. So, if you ever see a hibernating bat you shouldn’t touch it. If they wake-up and fly around, the energy they expel could use-up the fat they need to make through to spring. But, sometimes, they get hungry and wake-up, on their own, in search of food. This little guy was a little underweight at 15 grams, so that might have been what happened. How it got into the room, I don’t know, but they can get in through any ½ inch opening.
According to Susan Meech, the bat population has been greatly reduced by ‘White Nose Syndrome’ and windmills. She said that if the death rate continues at what it is they could end-up on the endangered species list.
As for my little brown bat, well, I also found out that bats are territorial. So, if he winters okay, he’ll be coming back home in the spring. Although, hopefully, not to my bedroom.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2011. All rights reserved.

2011-01-23T07:33:00.001-05:00

Tsunami

2011-01-19T22:21:00.000-05:00

Watching The Fifth Estate on the Tsunami. All the footage taken by tourists with home video cameras.
And I'm thinking, if I was there and a Tsunami hit, or anywhere and any natural disaster struck, I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be taking any photos; video or otherwise. I'd look to see where the natives and animals are going and I'd be following—quickly.

Sands of Time

2011-01-17T07:52:00.000-05:00

On the weekend I got together with an old friend (George Vaughan, host of the Saturday Night Blues Review; 91.3 CJLX, www.cjlx.fm)., and a new one (Darcie Kingsman, owner of Seed of Life, landscape design) for a little acoustic session. We played a couple songs that I wrote. The video can be viewed by clicking on the title of this blog entry, which will take you to youtube.
It was very causal.
I hope you enjoy.

Thank You

2011-01-17T07:46:00.000-05:00

Another song from the acoustic session. This one I wrote for my dad.

2011-01-08T08:49:00.001-05:00

The rate at which the human body can create and expel nasal mucus is really quite amazing.

2011-01-06T21:19:00.001-05:00

I am sneezy. And probably at least 3 more of the 7.

Merry Christmas

2010-12-25T12:35:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas, every one.
May the spirit of compassion touch us all.
May the pain in the eyes of others be felt in our hearts.
May God give us the courage to face it,
the strength to bear it,
the humour to ease it,
the wisdom to overcome it;
and may joy fill
the New Year.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

Christmas Eve

2010-12-24T11:26:00.000-05:00

Christmas Eve.
Memories fall like snow.
People I knew, times and places that seem imaged.
Everything was real in innocence.
The world new, alive;
every turn of the wind had meaning in it.
I look to the sky,
wishing for a star to guide.
Praying for salvation.
Hoping for a savior.
Someone to led us back to the beginning,
when our hearts beat with promise
and all things were possible.
Ecstasy could be found in a touch,
or, welcoming smile.
Wonder shone like the bulbs on the tree.
The light in her eyes brightened the whole world.
Angels sang and children laughed.
So many things have happened since then.
We lost the energy to shine
and the world fell back into darkness.
When you’re scared,
you say and do the stupidest things.
Words become harsh and meaningless—
as all words are.
Words can never be truth:
honesty is in the emotion behind them.
So lets let the hurtful utterances melt away,
like snow in the spring.
Let the sun shine warm again.
Let flowers grow
from seed;
buried under
the snow
that fell
like memories,
on Christmas Eve.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-12-22T21:35:00.000-05:00

New Atheist: A person who believes that God is an imaginary figure, and dedicates a great portion of his or her life to defeating Him. They often refer to themselves as "rational thinkers"; it is assumed (hoped) that they're being ironic.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-12-08T14:00:00.000-05:00

No matter how hard I try, Lord, the smart-arse in me always gets the upper hand. And it doth seem to annoy some people.

2010-12-06T10:04:00.000-05:00

Each new day is an adventure! That's sounds really cool, but what it actually means I that have no idea what the hell is going on and I just hope it all works out. :-)

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-12-04T18:57:00.001-05:00

I went to Jane Urquhart's reading today. To a full house, at Books and Company, she read from her new novel, 'Sanctuary Line'. Funds were raised for The County Authors' Festival in May, many books were signed afterwards, and she took the time to talk with everyone in line. A good day.

2010-12-01T10:21:00.001-05:00

Fare thee well mo. You grew, you spread awareness, you kept my upper lip warm, and you held the Guinness head like a champ.

2010-11-28T10:27:00.000-05:00

I just made an omelette the way Chef Michael Potters showed me. Almost :). At each restaurant where I've work, I've tried to learn to make something. And I've had the privilege to work with two celebrity chefs: Chef Paul Rankin at Roscoffs in Belfast, Northern Ireland, and Chef Michael Potters at Harvest in The County. I’ve been a lucky boy.

Update

2010-11-18T10:32:00.000-05:00

Just a quick update.

I'm teaching in Toronto at James Cardinal McGuigan Catholic Secondary School, through Now Hear This' SWAT program. Things are going well with both students and teacher. I'm learning as much as teaching, as always. My car is holding up (fingers crossed). I just finished teaching a seven week adult course in Picton, which also went very well.

I've been working on a new book of Selected Writings, Poetry and Illustrations with Illustrator Teresa Westervelt. A lot of the writings come out of my rediscovery of faith that came after my father's death and wife's affair and then our divorce. Others were inspired by some of Teresa's amazing illustrations. The current title is You're Not Alone. I'll have a release date on that soon. It's been delayed due to anal-retentivness. :)

I did my first reading from You're Not Alone, in front of a local poetry group, to a crowd of about 20, at Miss Lily's/Books and Company.

I will be in the next issue of Quinte Living and have a short story being published in Square 2 Magazine. I'll be reading it at the issues launch party on December 15th. More information will be posted as the date gets closer.

I'm also working as a bartender at Harvest Restaurant, with celebrity chef Michael Potters, whose show, Chef Worthy, airs Saturday Night on the W Network. I love food and drink, cooking, making, eating and drinking. Working at Harvest has allowed me to learn more about the culinary arts.

There are a few other things going on the writing front, but they're in early stages and don't want to say anything . . . yet. :-)

2010-11-11T11:13:00.000-05:00

I think of my great uncle Bill, whom I never meet but heard so much about. A minute to remember for how many lifetimes lost?

2010-11-11T09:33:00.000-05:00

Remember and be grateful. Pray for the day that we no longer add to the numbers of the fallen. And all children can be safe and free to learn, play, and grow.

2010-11-10T11:15:00.000-05:00

I'm cleaning up my blog again. Some things will be disappearing. I'll be going into detail about why, very soon.

2010-11-05T19:01:00.001-04:00

I think kids have a clearer view of things. As adults we have to explain our rationalizations to them so that they can better understand our insanity.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-11-03T07:41:00.000-04:00

The Rob Ford team, in the Toronto Mayor Race, set up a false twitter account to deliberately deceive and manipulated the voters they’re suppose to represent. They called it, “out smarting their opponents”. Other political parties are now thinking of following their example. So, to update your dictionary: Bad is now good, Sick means awesome, Smart is stupid, and Honesty and Integrity are both dead.

2010-10-31T13:16:00.000-04:00

2010-10-24T09:07:00.000-04:00

In the Globe and Mail there was an article, inspired by the case of Col. Russell Williams', called, "How a psychopath is made." It said how a psychopath finds no real meaning in love or horror or humour, as if "colour blind" to human feeling. When you look at the world today, and the growing apathy and desensitization, it gives you reason to pause, and then to shudder.

2010-10-15T17:18:00.000-04:00

In honour and celebration of the Chilean miners I’ve opened a bottle of Chilean wine and am raising a glass to them. The name of the wine is, Casillero del Diablo or Cellar of the Devil.

Happy Thanksgiving

2010-10-10T08:32:00.001-04:00

Dear God,

I give thanks for all the different religions, cultures, arts, sciences and cuisines that you have given us so that we might grow in understanding of each other and all the different ways there are to see, hear, feel, taste and experience creation. But if you could do something about the hate-filled, intolerant, closed-minded idiots in every camp, that’d be awesome.

In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.

- J

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-10-09T09:26:00.000-04:00

Happy 70th Birthday, John Lennon.

2010-10-07T16:22:00.001-04:00

The expression, 'I'll drop you like a bad habit', is a horrible one. What that would actually mean is, I'll try really hard to drop you, but find it extremely difficult, then gave up and make excuses about why I didn't drop you. 'I'll drop you like a good habit' would be better. It's easy to stop doing something that's good for you.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

Always Let Your Conscience Be Your Guild

2010-09-27T09:05:00.000-04:00

Adolf Hitler claimed that the conscience was a Jewish invention. Richard Dawkins blamed the Catholics for giving us guilt. Jiminy Cricket says, “Always, let your conscience be your guild.” I agree with Jiminy.
Of course the knowledge that if you don’t have a conscience, or experience guilt, you’re a sociopath, did help me in my decision making process.
That, and I don't want to be a wooden, unfeeling puppet who gets manipulated into doing what he thinks he wants only to find out that he's acting in the way that's most profitable for others and ends up turning into an ass.
I want to be a real boy.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

Terry Jones, Richard Dawkins, Mel and Forrest

2010-09-22T17:07:00.001-04:00

Terry Jones threatened to burn the Quran; Richard Dawkins blames the Catholics for, well, everything; Mel Gibson says it's the Jews fault; Forrest Gump says, “Stupid is as stupid does.” I agree with Forrest.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-09-16T00:33:00.000-04:00

I must confess, sometimes I get entangled in the interweb. I need, like, an Amish version—very basic, no useless stuff that you don't really need but that's there to make you feel cool, important and powerful. I would say a child's version but the aliens that created this net have implanted something in kids so that they take right to it.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-09-14T15:05:00.000-04:00

23rd International Festival of the Stick (Small Pond Arts)

2010-09-13T09:58:00.000-04:00

On the weekend I had the pleasure of taking part in the 23rd annual, International Festival of the Stick at Small Pond Arts (www.smallpondarts.ca) in Prince Edward County. The hosts of the festival, and owners of Small Pond Arts, Milé Murtanovski and Krista Dalby, did a great job of organizing the event. Price of admission was one stick that you placed in the "River Styx" (second down on right) that ran from a bush to a tree in front of the house. There were even stepping stones so that the more daring could try and cross.
The main highlight of the event was the Museum of the Stick.
Some of the things you'll find in the museum (as it's still open) are drawings that Milé had done with lipstick (bottom right), Fun Dip with the Lik-a-Stik, a brief history of the stick, the history of the sticky bun (with samples), chop sticks, glue stick, chap stick, memory stick, Hickory Sticks (with samples), a talking stick (beautifully sculpted by Peter Paylor), rainmakers, a didgeridoo, hockey stick. . . you get the picture. For the kids (and some adults) they had paints set out so you could paint your own souvenir stick. You could even pick up a complimentary stick cozy to protect it.
Some kids had already done some drawings of the festival's mascot, Hickory Stick (seen top right), originally drawn and designed by Niall Eccles.
Later in the afternoon people were walking on sticks as Milé and Krista brought out the stilts and gave lessons to anyone brave enough. Shamefully I was not, though one of my nephews, Mitchell, was. He enjoyed walking on stilts, but found it odd; especially when he got down off them. He did a great job and wants to give it another go.
Special thanks to Milé Murtanovski and Krista Dalby for being such great hosts and putting so much work into it.
Not to take anything away from the glorious stick, which has earned all its honours, but the festival was creativity for creativity's sake; and what is greater than creation?
I can't wait until next year!

Milé, Krista and I all did readings in honour of the stick; below is the piece I wrote and performed.

The Glory of the Stick.

Initially when Milé and Krista asked me to do something for the festival of the stick, I thought I would just get up, grab a stick and try to improv my shtick; but I was struck with a fear of getting stuck. So I grabbed a stick, that someone was kind enough to put some lead in, and jotted some thing’s down.
As I scribbled I was reminded of our ancestors who would have used a stick for drawing in the dirt, the earth as their scroll, by the light of the sticks burning in the fire, torches creating a protective circle, audience sitting on logs; I wondered what pictures they drew?
Using stick figures to create the first graphic novel as they added pictures to their words. The dancing flames may have made the images look like they were moving, planting the seed of an idea that would be passed down to later become television and film.
All of civilization owes itself to the mighty and humble stick.
The sticks used to tell stories in the sand and record them on cave walls so fellow travellers and future generations could learn from the adventures, triumphs and mishaps of their ancestors and fellow human beings.
We harnessed the power of fire, thanks to the stick. And the wheel, the wheel is a wonderful thing but to find it you only need to look at the end of the stick. And where would that wheel be without an axle and what is an axle but a stick? A big stick, I grant you, but that is yet another glory of the stick; it comes in all sizes to suit our needs, to shore us up when we walk or put a roof over our heads when we stop and need shelter.
Look at what the written word has done for us and what are our letters but images of sticks, crossed, dotted and bent to represent different sounds so we can communicate learn and grow.
Small but mighty, humble and inspirational, these sticks that we walk on without a thought are holding us up.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, yes, two sticks, they comfort me. And if all shall fall to pieces I’ll gather the herd and rub those sticks together over a pile of other sticks and create fire. Then we’ll sharpen other sticks into arrows and fashion others into a bows and we’ll hunt for our supper to cook it over that fire, and use other sticks to dig out and hoe a garden.
And with the humble stick, that has given itself for us in so many ways, we will rebuild civilization.
Thank you, dear stick; we owe our lives to you. And you will always be, my dog’s favourite toy.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-09-09T07:53:00.001-04:00

When looking at web content and reading web comments, especially on youtube, remember: people in prison, people in a hospital for the criminally insane and people who should be, all have internet access. Nothing against those people but don’t let them ruin your day or influence your thinking.
This has been a Public Service Announcement from People for a Saner Planet.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-09-05T13:16:00.001-04:00

2010-09-04T09:24:00.001-04:00

When you're posting stuff on the net, you're using your outside voice. And yes, your mother can hear it.
This has been another Public Service Announcement from People for a Saner Planet.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.

2010-09-03T08:47:00.001-04:00

I think I was a teenager when I first realized that, sooner or later, I was going to die. I found the thought so depressing that I wanted to kill myself. The only thing that saved me was my sense of irony.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2010. All rights reserved.