I know I haven’t posted anything in a while. I have no real excuse other than I have been writing, just not any blog posts. The body of one book is barely cold and I’ve already started on another.
This one is a comedy, which is a nice change. It certainly makes life lighter.
I am finding a slight frustration, however, in the fact that I seem to keep jumping all over the place in terms of genre and style. I find I switch modes for each project and sort of adopt a different voice for each piece. Perhaps the differences are only really apparent to me, but it makes me feel reluctant to pick one and run with it, lest I find myself tied to that genre or style.
Continue reading “Obligatory July Post”
This past weekend, Husband and I rented an apartment on 4th Street in New Westminster. This three-storey walk-up was built oh-so optimistically one year before the crash (1928). With views of apartment blocks, a cobbled road and a slice of an industry-laded river, it makes us feel like we’re living in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.
We’ve even nicknamed the place “New West Egg.”*
Not-so-Beautiful-but-certainly-Damned, our first night in New West Egg was capped off by a trip to Walmart in search of fuses. We’re still working on figuring out how to work a radiator.
Yes: the floor runs at an angle along one wall. The windows are cold and single pane. But it has character. It has tall ceilings, hardwood floors, a toilet from “Simpsons Sears,” and kitchen cupboards painted like zebra stripes. Yes, this character most definitely would wear flapper dresses, dangle cigarette holders from her fingertips, and be prone to drunken public meltdowns.
*A great joke for humourless fans of Gatsby and/or puns.
So long, New Westminster.
As I pack up the last year and a half of my life (a nightmare of Rubbermaid tubs and grovelling to used bookstores), I just want to say, your Downtown was better than your Uptown (although Uptown was better than I thought it would be), your restaurants are delightfully sole proprietary, but your hills are steep and I will never – ever – miss the soot from traffic along Royal.
So long, fare thee well. Keep in touch.
So we’ve moved.
My address no longer says Vancouver but rather: New Westminster.
New Westminster. The first capital city of British Columbia. New West is the hipster of BC capital cities, being a capital before it was cool. Dude, we are so colonial that there’s a Union Jack waving in the breeze well within sight of our balcony.
I’m closer to work, closer to family. Further from downtown, too, but that’s yet to be an issue.
You see, the thing with New West is you never realise how many people you know live there until you start advertising the fact that you’re a new resident. All of a sudden everyone lives in New West. Old friends live in New West. So-and-so’s aunt lives in New West. That person I never really speak to but see in the hall all the time at work lives in New West.
It’s like New West is to affordable living in the Greater Vancouver area what The Smiths were to 80s pop music. No one really admits it, but everyone’s in on it.
We’re close to the apparent Heritage District, which is nice. We’re close to The Quay, which is also nice (if you like gelato and the sound of tugboats). We’re close to Skytrain, which is always nice.
And we’re just far enough away from fast food restaurants and the like that we’re forced to do weekly grocery shops and other grown-up things like plan meals.
It’s sickening. And exhilarating.