August 13th, 2015
For several years I’ve been reading and thinking about the title Where You Come From. Really, the title might as well be Where I Come From. Two years ago I began to write. Perhaps I’m halfway through whatever it is this latest novel wants to be. I’ve been ignoring my website- which sorely needs updating, a more spiffy look- for this work, thinking, well Birdsell can you really still call yourself a writer if you aren’t actually engaged in the process. And then I remind myself what I tell others, that reading, thinking, walking, staring, dreaming, are all part of the process. I’m not one who has any real idea of where a piece of work is going to go. Rather writing it is like fumbling about in a dark house, feeling my way around the furniture and walls to get the size and shape of it. Lots of surprises. Lots of small accidents. Blogging seems like a lot of very hard work and I do admire those of you who can do it on a regular basis and still sound alive and fresh. Likely this will be my last update until there’s another book on the bookshelf. This one is fun, not at all like pulling teeth or my hair, perhaps because I’m revisiting old haunts while realizing that perhaps it may well be my last book. Carry on.
January 10th, 2013
I’m entering my 30th year of being a professional writer. To celebrate I’m opening up my News page for any questions you may have related to writing. All of 2013
I will try to answer one question a week.
Enter your questions as “Comments” to this posting”
October 23rd, 2012
I couldn’t be more pleased than to learn that I’ll be honored with the Saskatchewan Order of Merit on November 29th.
October 17th, 2012
I can’t say exactly when I started writing, as writing has always been a part of my life even way back in grade school. I’m not sure what compels a twelve year old to write poems and stories, but that’s what I was doing at that age. Perhaps because I came from a large family and there wasn’t a lot of disposable income for entertainment or lessons of any kind, except music, of course. My mother baked bread and buns as payment to our music teacher in exchange for lessons.
So for me writing was a natural part of who I was and it wasn’t until I was in my mid thirties that I began to think about shaping the stories and poems I was writing, to want to show them to someone, to want to be read. I had three children at home and my time was limited. I would write for an hour or two after they went to bed. My writing room was also the sewing, ironing and television viewing room and spending time at the typewriter required skillful negotiation. My children sometimes left notes in the machine, knowing this was a sure fire way to gain my attention.
What inspires me to write goes way back to my childhood, the anger I felt at the injustice of bullying on the playground, what was then called “picking on someone.” And adults who would say to me to learn to live with unfairness, that injustice was a fact of life. Writing is a way for me to try and understand the world I lived in.
My children are grown and have children of their own, but I am still a busy person and must jealously protect my writing time. As I grow older my sleep patterns are changing and so more and more I find myself getting up at 5 in the morning and working until 11 or 12 noon. The house, the city is so quiet then, the outside world disappears and the imagined world of the writing takes over. It’s magic how quickly the hours pass!
September 27th, 2011
Welcome to SandraBirdsell.com