Everything I Learned about Critique Groups, I Learned from Alaska

I got hit with a sobering and depressing reality check just the other day. I lived in Anchorage for three years. It seemed like a goodly amount of time if not NEARLY long enough. And to this moment it looms in my memory and my heart as if I left yesterday. But I didn’t. I’ve been back in Minnesota for five years.

Five years! Sob.

So much has happened in that time, but one thing hasn’t changed. I feel as close to my friends there as I ever have. They might not know it, but they are never ever far from my heart. Ever. I wondered why this is, and the answer came to me without me even trying. The people of Alaska are as big of heart, as varied in riches and gifts, and as unforgettable as Alaska is herself.

Things (all things—tasks, working, shopping, playing) move just a little more slowly in Alaska than they do Outside. I don’t mean things are “slow” (as in short bus slow), but there’s an ease born of a “Hey, what’s the rush? Where are you going to go?” attitude you won’t find in states where you could, potentially, get out in a hurry. This applies to friendships as well. There is/was SO much time to cultivate closeness. I’ve never experienced anything like it.

Alaska Chapter of Romance Writers of America - early years

And my friendships spilled over into my then baby seedling of a career so that my writing became my joy because my friends were with me. And they (my friends) also became my critique partners, and I hung on their words and advice, even when I crossed my arms and pretended I didn’t want to hear them . And the more I got to know these friends’ secrets and true selves, the more their experiences and insights shaped my own. We were a band of sisters made up from many stripes and backgrounds and beliefs, but I had the time and space to learn from them all, and love our differences.

Let this sound like a mere exercise in being maudlin, I promise there’s a reason for my schmaltzy words. When I had to leave Alaska it took a big chunk out of my heart. Let’s don’t even talk about missing the land itself—that’s another blog topic entirely. It was the people I couldn’t stand leaving behind. But here’s the thing—I took them all with me. I didn’t realize it for a long time, but I eventually figured it out. I learned so much about working together and taking time to appreciate everything about a group of friends, that I can’t thank Alaska enough for giving me the opportunity.

I have a new critique group here in Minnesota. There are only four of us and still, it was very hard to start this group—it felt awkward and disloyal and not close for a long time. But I went back to the memories of Alaska and remembered all the big-hearted things I learned in the big-hearted place I still love: patience, admiration for differences, listening, taking time—lots of time—and seeing other peoples’ strengths. I learned to love my new critique group because I still love the first one. Everything I learned about how to make this work, I learned from Alaska.

See, she has a big, sharing heart that way!
So, salute to all my old CPs (AKA Best of Friends) still slogging away up North. Here’s wishing everyone a chance to fall in love with the people of Alaska just as I did!

--- Liz Selvig

Why I Love Alaska...

I love Alaska.

I know that is a much repeated phrase and can become a bit trite at times. Many people love Alaska. Some have a love/hate relationship with it.
There are an infinite number of reasons why someone would either love or hate this place, because it is that big, that immense, that encompassing.

There are many layers to my love for Alaska. My relationship with Alaska has been an extremely significant and momentous one in my life. Alaska welcomed me into its folds when I was a misplaced girl from the Deep South, and gifted me with a sense of belonging in the Far North I had yet experienced in the world. Alaska offered me sanctuary, like any misfit, from a busy and irrational world I did not understand. She has since put me to the test and shown me my mettle, my depth and my command of myself. Thus, she has, in the true fashion of any important relationship, offered me a unique perspective of my own soul. She has let me leave, continuing to not only hold a place for me, but to sing her siren’s song beckoning me home.

I don’t say these things poetically or for the romance of fawning. I say them because I have earned the right to say them through my trials and tribulation with her. I say them because I know that I was meant to be here, and because I am grateful for the intensity of experience that has embroidered my life.

I think it is common for people who live here to mire in the misery of the mess, the weather, the cost, or in disagreements on how things should be run. Alaskans love to be contrary. It is one of the reasons we have come here, to go against the common grain.

But I have learned to step back and nod my head politely when someone feels the need to vent about the insults she flings about so recklessly. I won’t defend her. Alaska on her best days can be indefensible. And I love her for the very reason that she is unapologetically extreme, daring those who don’t like her to leave her. I wish that in my lifetime, I had carried myself with such uncompromising confidence. My perspective on Alaska’s character is a sacred secret I carry in my heart, and I feel no need to convince anyone to love her like I do. Anyone who lives here should know not to expect sunshine and roses anyway.

If you come here expecting either, you will be sorely disappointed.
During my time in Alaska, I have lived with no water to wash with and no electricity to light my way on dark winter mornings, holding a flashlight between my knees as I rummaged through black garbage bags of clothes for something clean to dress my babies in before school. I have dug out my stuck cars when I couldn’t afford to pay someone to plow the driveway, and I have dug out my outhouse when it was too full and the ground too frozen to dig a new one. I have split wood with my babies on my back, and I have bathed those four precious children in Rubbermaid trash cans with water hauled in 5 gallon gas cans. I have cleaned fish till I couldn’t stand the smell of it, and I have butchered moose for days on end on my kitchen table. I have built my life in Alaska from rock bottom, from a place that offered no cushion and no wiggle room. And in return for my hard work and tenacity, she has offered me her abundance. She has given me miracles of light, every day a different palatte, a changing hue. She has provided unexpected friendships and synchronicities of spirit. She has taught me wonder. Her landscape has moved me to tears, and her voice has sung me to sleep in the gentle hush of summer. She has woven her magic in the cells of my body, so that if I were to ever leave again, I believe I would die a little each day. It may be mad to wax on about such a place, unforgiving and relentless as she is. But I think there are those of us, every once in a while, who are bitten in a way that is profound for us. Robert Service had a way of describing the essence of that venom, illustrating with words that madness that some of us feel for this northern clime. I’d say it is fair for anyone to question my passion for a place that has as many faults as redeeming qualities. But then there will be those very few who comprehend, who have lived by trial and adversity and come out wiser and richer. They will have sat quietly and watched the changing light in all its wondrous subtlety, listened to the solitude closing in with clamoring cacophony, or looked into the depth of the wilderness and seen their own reflection staring back at them from its shadows. They will know what I mean and they will say, “Ah…yes.”

--- Deb Pollock

Hi there!

Greetings from the 49th state! 

Alaska.

Land of cold, snow, ice, and incredible views.

Now -  I live here, but I don’t do much outdoorsy stuff. In fact, my son, Benjamin --- (who is getting married in Peru next summer, which will turn me into a tourist at Machu Picchu) --- Ben has informed me that what I do is pretty much portable. I write. I need a laptop. I’m portable.

He’s right.

However, if you’re considering (or already deep into) a career as a writer, there is one thing you probably don’t consider, but need to. Your health. Trust me, nobody else is going to make sure you get exercise and eat right. Except maybe a personal trainer. Which brings me to the rambling reason for my BLOG today: 

Alaska. In November. And outdoorsy stuff.

First, I want to introduce you to Coal.  He’s eleven. In dog years, he’s what…closing in on 70? You’d think he’d be slow. Easy-going. Ready for his nap. 

When I took this photo, he was hiding under his “I’m a very nice dog” exterior. Looks harmless, right? 

Oh. You would be so dead wrong. When it’s time for one of his walks, Coal makes a personal trainer look like a marshmallow. He has zero patience. And gets ready with a collar and leash. He doesn’t know what my problem is and why I take so long. And he chews me out as I get dressed for stalling him.

Now,  I like walking. I’m in great shape. (or so they tell me at the yearly physical) And I really do like taking Coal for his walks. He loves it. His tail is always wagging. And we meet all kinds of other people during walks when the weather is nice. 

Babies in strollers. Other dog-slaves (also known as owners). Joggers. Hand-holding couples out for a stroll. 

And I have to tell you. The views are incredible. 

I bought a really nice camera a couple of years ago just so I could take photos of the gorgeous views. 

Here’s one I took last month. 

Thirty days ago. What a gorgeous autumn day. Isn’t it nice?

My camera works great…except in winter. 

I discovered a few things. The little camera buttons are impossible to find and push with gloves on. Everything is blurry because it’s really hard to keep from shivering - especially if you take the gloves off. 

It’s hard to do anything in the dark, since I use one hand to hold the leash and one for an LED flashlight thing. If I go flash-less I get great shots of big black nebulous stuff. And if I keep the flash on, I get shots of the closest subject at hand, which turns out to be Coal’s behind. 

I had given up taking winter photos (due to the above) even when the full moon is hovering atop the mountains or the aurora borealis is making colored stripes in the sky. The views are incredible. Breathtaking. But alas. I don’t have the right camera.

Then came November 2013.

What is going on with the temperatures? I’m trying to write an inferno type setting for my next Vampire Assassin League novella. It’s hot. The cover is hot. Everything about it says heat.

It’s already January temperatures up here. We have a solid ice shelf to walk on. Temperatures are in the negatives. 

I managed to get this shot, not to advertize any businesses, but to show I’m not making this up. 

It was -5 (Fahrenheit) the other morning.  That’s like -20 something in Celsius. 

You might also notice the incredibly colorful mess of light in the frame. That must be another issue with using my digital camera in freezing conditions. (No need to call the UFO people. It really wasn’t there)

Now. I carried mail in Wyoming for three years. I was on a walk-out route. That means I walked for six hours every day, in all kinds of weather, carrying up to 35 lbs of mail in a satchel.  I do recall days outside that had a wind chill factor of -60. (They were brutal) 

I realize now, however, that those days were good training for my work-outs with Coal. Ah. Coal. My physical trainer. He makes me take him three times a day. Twice for 20 minutes. Our last walk in the evening is 30 minutes. This is not optional. He just gets his way. And he knows it.

So. It’s Alaska. Winter temps. 

I’m going outside for a bit. I know what to do. For this kind of weather, you just need to dress right. Start with all kinds of light layers (at least two on the legs. Three on the upper body. I even have a snowsuit for January but I just started wearing that.). 

To get ready for our walk, I start with my ear head-wrap. Then the uber-thick cowl my daughter made for me. Then the neoprene face mask. Then my Eagles hat. I figure if it keeps NFL football players warm, it’ll work for me. My goggles. Up here, freezing my contacts to my eyes is a possibility. (For our night walks, I wear my own real, thick glasses) 

Here is a close-up. 

I look pretty much like a sci-fi creature. 

I’ve now advanced to my next-to-the-thickest gloves. Two pairs of socks – the outer pair is extra large - and I have snow boots with such heavy-duty cleats on them, they weigh over 2 lbs each. 

I know. I was complaining. My hubby weighed them. He told me to think of it like I’m wearing ankle weights to work out. And I’ll be in fantastic shape for Machu Picchu. Ha. Ha. Ha. (He is such a comedian.)   

Here is what Coal and I look like just starting out on during our daylight walk.

  And here is a pic of those boots and our path.

You’re probably wondering why on earth I do this. 

Well. I’ve got some great reasons. 

I really love my Labrador – and he is worth it. 

It’s really great exercise. You have no idea how good it feels to come in where it’s warm and snuggle beneath an afghan. 

And the views really are breathtaking. 

I decided to try to get some images again. This time I took them during the day walk. And nobody else is out here walking. So. What do you think?

Anyone want to join us?

--- Jackie Ivie

Why I Love Alaska

As of late, my local RWA chapter has been blogging about all things Alaskan. I’m not a well-seasoned or elegant blogger, my sisters are much better at it. But after careful consideration, I’ve decided to share what I love most about this enchanting state.

There’s so much…

Of course, I love the fact that most of the important accomplishments in my adult life occurred here; my wedding, college/graduation, my first house, my career as an environmental scientist, and the publication of my first novel.

 

Although these are all blessed events, I found something even more valuable within the boundaries of this vast playground— a real home.

I’ve lived in six other states (Pennsylvania, Texas, Colorado, Maine, New Hampshire, and Delaware).

None of them compare.

 There’s something magical about the fresh air, ice cold water (from the tap), seeing snowcapped peaks every day, eagles overhead, moose stripping bark off my front yard birch trees, the seemingly endless days/nights, a crackling fire in my fireplace on a frosty evening, Christmas, the first snow, the first warm day in summer, eating a reindeer dog in downtown Anchorage, a hockey game, flipping through all the cable channels with reality shows focused on Alaska and grinning because I live here, all the wonderfully tiny villages and towns I’ve visited (reachable only by plane), salmon and halibut, humpback whales surfacing in the water only a few yards away from me, a carriage ride downtown in the dead of winter, getting to wear boots and jeans to work every day and having it considered fashionable, four-wheeling to the edge of a glacier, hunting, fishing, hiking, men (very handsome), the cultural experiences I’ve had, and most of all—just being here.

That’s it.

 Alaska isn’t for everyone. It’s a hard place to thrive if you’re opposed to dark cold winters.

However, if you’re one of the lucky few to call it home, you know what I mean—its paradise.

--- Violetta Rand

It’s Different Up Here

I know there are places in the Lower 48 where people say “if you don’t like the weather, wait 15-minutes...it’ll change.”  In Alaska...not so much.  We have weather and it sticks.

We recently went through what could very likely be our whole summer: two and half weeks of sunny, hot weather.

“Hot” of course is a relative term. I know parts of the West Coast and Southwest are hitting 100+ degree temperatures in the next few days. My mind can barely comprehend that kind of heat!

In Anchorage, when it hits 80 degrees...the TV weather people start to put fans and air conditions on the weather maps. And when it hits 85 (if it hits 85) we get the bright red fiery “HOT” on the TV screen.

I know, in many parts of the world, 80 isn’t hot (I’ve been told this quite clearly from my family in Nevada).

But it’s different up here.

Our city’s average high temperature for this time of year is 65 degrees. So, yes, 80 is a wee bit toasty compared to that. 

And Alaskans love it. It’s so rare we don’t dare waste a moment of sunshine. I had a movie scheduled with a friend and she said “it feels like sacrilege to go inside a movie theater on a day like this.” We ended up at restaurant with an outdoor patio. The patio was packed!

That was the first weekend of the sunshine. By the second weekend, we went to movies to escape the “heat.”  Now, it was still only in the upper 70s but no one has air conditioning and every fan for sale had been snatched up. I went for five days with my house never cooling off below 76 degrees. Ugh. I actually was excited to get in my car (air conditioning) and go to work (air conditioning turned up so high we had to wear sweaters) just to cool off.

The warmest (official) temperature ever recorded in Alaska is 100 degrees.  For Anchorage, it’s 86.

It clouded over and cooled off two days ago and I’m not unhappy. I like being able to sleep with blankets on me.

I’ve lived in Alaska going on 43 years. I’m not used to hot weather. I’ve talked to people who have moved up here and they’ve said that the heat is different, that 75 in Alaska feels a lot hotter than in other places.

I take comfort in that. Makes me feel less like a weather wimp.

On the other end of the scale, in winter, when it’s 20 degrees outside, I can say “that’s just about perfect.” And my Lower 48 family and friends think I’m nuts. 

What can I say? It’s different up here.

Stay cool!

Tielle St. Clare

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Tielle's Book News

Crimson (Book 1 of the Red Panty Diaries) is free for one more week. Find it at Ellora’s Cave, Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

Also, A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing (Book 2 of the Welsh Wolves) is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords. 

 

And I got the new cover for Fire Engine (Book 4 of the Red "Panty" Diaries! Lovely huh? Coming soon from Ellora's Cave!