Tag Archives: Dora Dueck

Another “presence” on the web

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In the crowded, changing world of publishing today, it’s imperative — at least, so writers are told (as for example, here) — to have a “presence” on the web. When I started this blog at the end of 2009, I knew that my novel, This Hidden Thing, would be published the following spring and I supposed that I would also talk about it — as I did, when it happened. I put up pages (above) devoted to my books and to that new one in particular.

I never visualized “Borrowing Bones” as being primarily a promotional vehicle for my work, however. I have found it a bit awkward, in fact, to bring my book — reviews, sightings, reader letters, book club discussions, and more — into the conversation, and so I haven’t done so much. I have no hesitation in saying that I would love for “Borrowing Bones” readers to order and read my work, especially the award-winning This Hidden Thing, if they haven’t done so already, and I will also be bold enough to say that I’m quite certain they (you) will like it a lot — because those who stop here (readers I know and readers I imagine) just seem like the kind who would!

I want to keep “Borrowing Bones” eclectic and wide-ranging and personal; I don’t want it to feel as if I’m sneaking in “sell.”

But I need a venue where I’m more fully present in my professional self.

So, I’m trying this: a new blog, a place where my work will be the focus. I invite you to take a look at Dora Dueck, and hope you’ll visit often. Thank you!

Looking at myself…

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On Monday, I recalled myself as a child in reference to the limited schooling available to the Mennonite children of Bolivia, such as the girl, left, in Lisa Wiltse’s photo essay in The Walrus. It was a way of explaining what motivates my concerns for her and her siblings and peers: my gratitude for the privileges I’ve had to be educated, and my remembered longings to learn. Today I’ll be even bolder — on the personal side of things — for there’s a photo of myself I love, and at a poetry workshop about a decade ago we were to write something based on a photo, and so I wrote about that one. I make no claims for the poetry, but it does try to get at what I was saying on Monday. (Photo and poem follow below.)

Some may see it as a failure of the imagination if I feel pity for those Mennonite children. I’m forgetting, they may say, how much joy can be wrested out of life in spite of limitations and constraints, and surely limitations and constraints have been the lot of women and children, and men too of course, throughout time. Life is but a vale of sorrow, etc. etc. True enough. Still, I insist on linking my life to theirs and wishing more for them, and I insist on pity too. I think it could be allowed that this is not a failure but an act of imagination. As writer Amy Tan has said, “Imagination is the closest thing to feeling compassion.”

Looking at myself at nearly-eight

I am set down to smile
in a classroom, a place as lovely,
as familiar, as comforting,
as any green arbor Nature might arrange —
a table, a blackboard, a book
open to every possible green thing
I will discover —

The face of the girl is radiant.
I want to touch her,
frame my hands about these cheeks
to remember the young skin of
curiosity and confidence,
meet her eager blue-green eyes of
happiness.

Catch-up

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The industrial bleakness of Baku’s Black City (above) depresses me slightly every time I come to this blog, because it reminds me of the still gushing oil spill… But Life Must On, as they say colloquially, and here it’s time to catch up.

When I first started “Borrowing Bones” last November, I commented that I don’t “use” my children in my writing much, because they have their own lives to interpret and describe, but — it being First Son’s birthday that day — I did post a baby photo of him and remarked how glad I am to be a mother. I also said that I would follow suit with the next two when their birthdays rolled around.

Daughter’s birthday falls at the end of May, and Second Son’s in the middle of June — so it’s more than high time to keep my promise. (Any parent knows you have to be fair to each child in turn, and you have to keep your promises.) So the little snapshot above is Daughter as a baby, held by her brother. Wow, they’re so cute — wish I could go back in time for a little cuddle with each of them.

And now? — Okay, just this once. Our oldest son is an engineer. He and his wife, who works as a doula and photographer (you can see her work on her blog under my “Family and Friends” list) have four children and live in Tsawwassen, B.C. Our second son just graduated (with honours, Mother inserts) from the University of Toronto’s law school. His wife is a teacher and they live in Toronto. And, they’re expecting a baby in November! Our daughter has been working here in Winnipeg for some years as an architectural technologist and living on her own, but just moved to Vancouver. She’s going to bike the summer away, as well as hike the West Coast Trail with the brother pictured above and other assorted relatives, and then see what the fall unfolds in terms of further adventures and work.

H. and I are no longer in the middle of their hearts, and that’s how it should be, but we’re still in the middle of the country, reasonably healthy and usually happy. Yesterday I enjoyed driving to Winkler, then reading from This Hidden Thing at the Winkler Public Library. H.’s huge number of tomato plants and carrots are growing well. (Tomatoes and carrots are two of  his favourite foods). We’re thrilled with Paraguay’s advance to the next round of the World Cup.

And in between our thoughts flit east and west.