Lessons from a Dingbat

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 3 June 2013 | 5 Comments

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Another piece of childhood was buried this weekend with the passing of Jean Stapleton. God love her, she made it to 90 after a career in a profession known to take more than it gives. Jean's characters on stage and screen were rich, vivid and plentiful, but to me and millions of fans, she is best remembered for the life she breathed into Edith Bunker. 

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The Need to Get Dirty

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 30 May 2013 | 9 Comments

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When one does not know what to write, it is a time to get dirty. 

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Think, Work, Stop. Honouring your Creative Cycle.

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 15 April 2013 | 0 Comments

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   I heard this weekend that playwright Neil Simon wrote for seven months of the year, rested for five. Why? He was honouring his Cycle of Creativity.

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The warmth of a good giveaway

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 8 February 2013 | 1 Comments

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We are to honour our ancestors, but it's bloody difficult when mine didn't have the sense to a board a ship headed south. They didn't end up in the Arctic, at least, but the Canadian East Coast in the grip of a February freeze is a few mitts short of a full house in the game of flesh versus frostbite. As a writer I can let my creative juices freeze where they sit, stay wine-soaked until April, or engage in some creative ways to reach the world without leaving the warmth of my flannel cocoon. As it turns out. there is nothing like a good giveaway to keep the thoughts and brand moving through the darkness of winter, and it is my great honour to announce some recent contests that have brightened my winter and hopefully the winners' days as well.

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Longest night: Day of Doritos and Gratitude

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 18 December 2012 | 0 Comments

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Longest Night. For winter-loving folk it sings a chorus of skis and hockey. For me, it is Shortest Day, SADS on a stick, jabbing me with icy spears of dread while growling threats of carb cravings and cabin fever that even the writer's cure-all - wine - can't silence. But this year it may be different. And I have my muse to thank.

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From the mouths of babes and their favourite shirts

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 17 December 2012 | 10 Comments

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It was a Sunday morning fight I just didn't need. Morning comes too early anyway, and the battle between my warm cozy nest and the rigid hardwood of a church pew was raging in my head long before Youngest Daughter twirled proudly in her self-made Sunday best: jeans and a T-shirt. Now, I have accepted that my willfull third-born will no longer tolerate the sweet dresses and matched outfits of toddlerhood. Main goal today is to get her to church with a Christian demeanour still intact. The Lord doesn't care how you look as long as you show up, echoes in my head. Jeans I could live with. The shirt, however, was another story - a tiny pink tee with Tootsie candies proclaiming Let's Roll!, guarded defiantly by its eight-year-old owner despite its faded fabric, cracked decal, and seams meant for a torse two sizes smaller. Bravely, I suggest another shirt. Eyes darken and lips extend in a pout that will ease only after someone cries. With a single bead of optimism, I align three lovely shirts on the bed, extolling their virtues as an auctioneer wooes his audience. This one has a butterfly, see? And this one is purple; you love purple. A glimmer of hope, and the pout relaxes. Maybe purple would be okay. It is my favourite colour, and the Advent candles are purple.

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No time to talk, my brain is getting a massage

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 27 November 2012 | 1 Comments

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That is what I told myself the other day when a crowbar couldn’t wedge another event into my calendar. Massage was the most soothing word I could think of to keep my brain from dissolving into quivering globs of gelatin.

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Music Monday: Spine-tingling mystery of Unchained Melody

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 3 September 2012 | 100 Comments

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I was watching The Wonder Years with that adorable little Fred Savage (yep, my Senior years are on the horizon) when I first heard the song. There he was, slow dancing with the love of his life Winnie Cooper in their school gym. As sweet as they were to watch, it was the soaring notes and the simple yet gripping flow between major and minor chords that to this day conjure up the TV image from so long ago. I relived that moment in 1990, when that gorgeous creature Patrick Swayze paid a visit to his pottery-making love in the movie Ghost. I've never been able to look at a pottery wheel quite the same way again, and the haunting memory of that song remains.

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What I Missed in 24 Hours

Posted by Jennifer Hatt on 23 April 2012 | 1 Comments

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... And how I made peace in my battle of solitude vs. parenthood

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