It was a long day beginning at 7:30 in the morning and ending after 10:00 at night, but our anniversary celebration on September 11th couldn't have been more perfect.  The weather gods decided to test us with cloudy skies, wind and intermittent showers, then teased us with a few rays of sunshine only to cloud over again and blow more wind than a politician at election time.  Nevertheless, we motored into Charlottetown and had a delicious breakfast at Casa Mia Cafe. Their pan-tossed potato with caramelized onions really hit the spot. Thelma had a few shopping errands on her list and, with an unwavering focus, we managed to carry them out with military precision.  By that time we were a mite peckish (what else is new?), and so we dropped by the Farmer's Market .

I had hoped that we could take a walk on the beach or possibly on the boardwalk in North Rustico, but the weather was not on our side. So we passed by the Empire Cinemas to see if there was anything worth seeing. Much to our surprise they were showing a live BBC broadcast of the Last Night of the Proms from the Royal Albert Hall. The Proms is a series of summer concerts and the last one is always a huge event.  This movie theatre often shows live broadcasts of opera and these are usually well-attended. Apparently they didn't publicize this Last Night broadcast very well because there were only three other people in the theatre.

When I found out it was a three and a half hour show (including a twenty minute intermission) I was prepared for a long sit, but it went by faster than I expected.  The BBC camera work was excellent with some incredible aerial shots on the inside of the formidable Royal Albert Hall and some brilliant close-ups of the orchestra, choir and soloists, who included American soprano Renee Fleming, and Dame Kiri Te Kanawa. There were corresponding outdoor concerts in Hyde Park, Wales, Ireland and Scotland.  At one point, through the miracle of technology, audiences at all the concerts sang together in a rousing rendition of the Rodgers and Hammerstein classic, You'll Never Walk Alone. In all, it was a great way for Thelma and I to spend our anniversary. But that was not the end of it.

For supper we drove to Rustico and ate at the cozy Pearl Cafe. I had already eaten there in August with members of the Seawords Workshop, but this was Thelma's first time.  We were not disappointed. Thelma started off with a roasted tomato soup with an arugula emulsion. It had a beautiful flavor.  I had the chicken confit terrine with warm brioche and a rhubarb preserve.  For our main courses Thelma chose a tea-rubbed chicken breast and I went with the pan-fried scallops with potato rosti. If Rustico is the oyster then this comfortable and unassuming little cafe is definitely The Pearl.  As mentioned earlier, we got home a little after 10:00 pm, tired and satisfied by our day's celebration.  I'm already thinking about what we might do next year.

It was our first year in PEI. Thelma and I had moved here on May 1, 2001 with a car full of stuff packed around a cage with two crying cats in it. All our other stuff came by moving van. We were living in the bucolic splendor of Foxley River in a log cabin (with green siding that has now been stripped off). Our 2nd anniversary was coming up in September. We met on September 11, 1999 at a mutual friend's birthday dinner at an excellent Italian restaurant in Toronto called Grappa. Our anniversary celebration that first year in PEI was going to be quite simple. We were going to go out for an Island treat called fries with the works (a plate of french fries covered in gravy, peas and chopped up hamburger meat!). Needless to say world events had different plans for us.  We were glued to our TV and radio all day and night in our leafy little corner, feeling both isolated from yet very much a part of the world.

There are so many things about September 11th that make me angry.  That so many people had to lose their lives.  That a few radical extremists were able to grab the world's attention with such a heinous act.  That  governments around the world were able to use fear to manipulate the people under the guise of protecting them. That the current racism against Muslims is still justified by this fear. Even today there is an ignorant reverend in Florida who believes he is justified in burning another religion's holy book as a message to a radical minority. I am angry that radical minorities get all the media attention while the majority of sensible, law-abiding people are cast in the shadows.

When I asked Thelma to marry me on our anniversary, September 11th, 2005, I specifically requested that we get married in exactly one year so that our official anniversary would be September 11th. It was important to me to have this date be about something other than violence, fear, madness and mourning. I needed to remember that life is worth living. I needed to find a way (as Bruce Cockburn so eloquently put it) to kick at the darkness till it bled daylight.  We live in the shadow of September 11th every day of our lives. I'm glad to say that I also live in a ray of hope with my darling Thelma here in our little corner of the world. Every day of our lives.

Today marks a new moon. According to my horoscope, the new moon is in my opposite sign of Virgo and the accent will be on the relationships in my life.  Yes, I read my horoscope.  And while I am open to the concept that our lives might be somewhat influenced by the movements of heavenly bodies, I have become more skeptical that any so-called astrologer can accurately predict how, when or why they influence us.  Of course, that won't stop me from reading my horoscope.  I look at it as a blatant bit of egotism, like checking one's reflection in a store window. On a good day I can treat the actual predictions as general suggestions about how to conduct my life ("Let your nearest and dearest know how much you love them..." etc, etc). On a bad day I just shake my head in bewilderment and wonder why I even bother.

The influence of stars and planets soar over my head, so to speak, but the moon brings it all much closer to home.  Living out here in the country has clarified my connection to the lunar phases.  When the moon is full the night sky is so bright I could stand outside and count the blades of grass.  It shines through my bedroom window like an insomniac's halo and I have to burrow into the basement to watch late-night chat shows and Law and Order reruns until fatigue mercifully overcomes me.  One would hope that this would be a perfect opportunity to get some writing done, but there always seems to be some kind of mental static that makes any kind of concentration all but impossible.  I never have the urge to grow hair and howl, but it always feels like there is some kind of inner werewolf on the prowl.   

There are other times when the full moon has the opposite effect and I am hopelessly lethargic.  All I want to do is sleep for days.  I can't begin to imagine what is in my chemical make-up that makes me so susceptible to Io's unpredictable whims. It is no secret that the full moon has this pull over most of the human and animal population. It is the other phases that interest me. A few days ago I saw a beautifully lit crescent moon that looked like a phosphorescent fingernail paring. I think this is the most aesthetically pleasing of all the phases, so much so it inspired a simple lyric a few years ago.

Thumbnail Moon

Old thumbnail moon,
crescent and thin,
scratched out
from the night like a grin.
Bloodless and bone white
it sheds its meager light
on a heart that’s filled with gloom
whose last hope
hangs on an old thumbnail moon.

Money and love,
losses and gains,
funny how luck
waxes and wanes.
Bowed but unbroken
I vowed to start again,
cradling my pride’s frail wound
in the curve
of that old thumbnail moon

As for this new moon... only time will tell what strings it is going to be pulling down here on earth.  No matter what changes it may bring, globally or personally,  the only constant is - to paraphrase a song by The Style Council - I'll always be caught up in the whirlwind of my ever changing moons. 

It's been a lovely Labour Day three-day weekend.  Things looked a bit dicey Friday night when we were preparing for the arrival of Hurricane Earl, in whatever form he might take. We were lucky that when Saturday rolled around we suffered very little.  The wind was strong and we got a nice downpour of rain (which our garden sorely needed).  There was a hairy moment when we found water dripping from a kitchen light fixture (on my mother-in-law's side), but that subsided when the rain stopped. A few small branches got blown off, but luckily there was no major damage. We didn't even lose our power (which usually happens to us). I know that many areas across Atlantic Canada were not as lucky and I hope things are slowly getting back to normal for everyone concerned.

After the previous week of muggy, uncomfortable weather, Earl left gentle cool temperatures in his wake.  Sunday was crisp and sunny and was spent having a sociable lunch with friends at the Dunes Cafe in Brackley Beach, where my dear Thelma bought me a small statue of Ganesh for my office. Today being Labour Day Monday, I felt some kind of labour might be in order and so a long-needed clean up of my office took place. We moved our fax machine (do people still send faxes?) into the basement and shifted the printer off my desk, giving me more room (for the Ganesh!).  The place where I spend most of my day looks more or less orderly.

An orderly work space, cool weather... I'm starting to get that autumnal feeling, that strange sense of renewal I used to feel when I was a mere shirt-tail tad getting ready to start to school. I'm hoping this feeling carries me into a more productive period. Not that I've been entirely idle, but ever since July I seem to have been finding one reason or another to not get started on the play I've been saying I will write since July. The need to do some research was the main excuse, but I think there is something else: that moment of panic in the pit of my stomach just before embarking on a new project. Facing the blank screen is one thing, but putting fingers to keyboard always involves a certain leap of faith, not unlike walking into a new classroom. It's nice to know that I don't take these things for granted and I hope I never will. All the same, I think I will savor the orderliness of my office before I step off the cliff.

Of the five members in my immediate family,  only my sister and I are alive.  She lives in England and I on PEI.  Those passed on also lived and are now buried in different areas. My mother in Montreal (before her death she and I lived for a short time in Scotland and were supposed to eventually settle in London), my father in North Carolina (where my step-sister lives, although he last lived in Florida) and my brother in New Jersey (although he spent the last years of his life in Las Vegas).  Recently I have come to feel that this geographically scattered family history, more than anything else, connects me to my Jewish identity -- something I never gave much thought to before I moved to PEI in May 2001.

I suppose it began when Thelma and I first moved to the Island.  We were in Charlottetown looking around inside a store (can't remember the name) that had various home items and quaint bric-a-brac.  There Thelma found a rather handsome menorah and purchased it.  I had not lit Hannukkah candles for many years, but we started a tradition of doing so that December.  Thelma, who is not Jewish, quickly added such Jewish fare as latkes, rugelah and kasha varnishkes to her already considerable culinary repertoire.  Later on, when we visited Royal Glass Design in Stratford, PEI, which creates a lovely collection of Judaica, we purchased a beautiful glass mezuzah to affix to our door post as a wedding present to ourselves. On a visit to Montreal I purchased the requisite parchment, which must be inserted in the mezuzah in order to give it the power to keep out evil spirits.

But what I think really forced me to think about my Jewish identity was the fact that PEI has no synagogue (the nearest temple of worship being in Moncton).  I hadn't set foot in a shul since my bar mitzvah, roughly 30 years earlier, and had never shown any inclination to during the whole time I lived in Montreal and Toronto.  Add to that the difficulty of purchasing Hannukkah candles and even a decent box of matzo on PEI, despite the diverse ethnic products to be found in the Atlantic Superstores.  Thankfully, one can purchase Montreal bagels at Brighton Clover Farm in Charlottetown.  

I eventually did discover that there is a good-sized Jewish community across the Island, whose members take turns celebrating the Jewish holidays at each other's houses.  Although I have received invitations to join these celebrations, I have never done so.  Interestingly, when I attended the Jewish Literary Festival in Hamilton, Ontario last year, I did go to a shabbos service in a shul, and felt a strong sense of community there.  That seemed to disappear soon after I left Hamilton, so my Jewishness seems to have a mind of its own and makes its presence felt whenever it pleases.  

The real paradox about living in PEI is that my status as being "from away" is what makes me feel at home here.  A sense of belonging and not belonging at the same time.  In the depths of my convoluted imagination I can imagine PEI as being my very own Promised Land.  Maybe I connect the Island's "redness" to the literary tradition of portraying Jews as having red hair (watch out Anne Shirley!).  I expect this concept will find its way into my fiction sooner or later.  As for my own private Diaspora, my sister's final resting place will no doubt be somewhere in England. And mine... well, I have my eye on a few places.  I like to think there's still plenty of time to make a decision.

The Fatted Calf Blues machine is starting to roll and there seems to be a lot of elements I have been juggling to promote the book.  

I did an interview on the CBC Radio One Charlottetown afternoon show Main Street with Matt Rainnie.  This was my second interview with Matt and I think it turned out well.  Matt is very friendly and laid back and knows how to put his interviewees at ease.  All the same, I have a tough time listening to myself (like many people do, I think) and find it's easy to be self-critical when I hear how I stumbled over some answers or felt I could have been more concise.  I could also hear the nervousness in my voice (which tends to pitch a bit higher under stress). Before going into the studio, I sat in the car and listened to Jian Ghomeshi on Q interviewing Leonard Cohen.  I can only hope that someday I can approximate the Cohen’s eloquence and wisdom. 

While I was in Charlottetown I saw copies of Fatted Calf Blues on the shelves of The Bookmark. It made this whole experience all the more real for me like nothing else has so far.  I also saw posters for my upcoming book launch at the Confederation Centre Library on April 23rd (Canada Book Day) at 7:00 pm.  I have to admit I'm feeling nervous about it.  First of all, I'm wondering how many people will show up even though there has been a bit publicity so far with the CBC interview and a nice mention in The Buzz. Thelma and I put together a media release and faxed and emailed it to various newspapers, radio and TV stations.  No responses yet, but hopefully something will happen closer to the time.

I'm also constantly working out in my head what to say at the launch, what points I want to make about the stories, the process of writing them and getting them into a book, how PEI has helped shape my writing, etc.  Also, I keep changing my mind about which story or stories to read.  One long one or maybe a couple of the shorter ones? Thankfully I have decided to limit myself to 20 minutes, so that should help me decide closer to the time.  The one thing I am looking forward to is the food.  Thelma and her mom will be making sandwiches and baking brownies, cheesecake squares and cookies.  

Thelma and I also put together a small promotional video of me reading a postcard story called Elephant Rock, at North Cape (where the story takes place).  It was fairly chilly the day we shot the video. We did two takes of me reading the story with different backgrounds and then Thelma shot some footage of North Cape.  When we watched it all at home, it was obvious that we couldn't use the audio, so I recorded the story on Garageband.

When it came time to mix the video with the audio, the elements didn't all sync up as well as we would have hoped.  In fact, if it weren't for Thelma's editing skills (she is by far the Thelma Schoonmaker  of home made videos) it would look a lot worse than it does.  As it is, I think it has a kind of rough charm all it's own.  We had a few issues with finding the proper format in which to save it (again solved by Thelma's resourcefulness) and will be uploading it (as soon as we can access some hi-speed) onto Facebook (as a virtual launch) and on YouTube.  I doubt that it will go as wildly viral as the performance by Susan Boyle on Britain's Got Talent, but I do hope it garners some modest attention and helps promote the book.

Putting together the video seems to me symbolic of the whole promotional effort for the book. There are a lot of elements to sync up, all of which Thelma and I have been doing to the best of our ability, but what it all adds up to in the end owes as much to luck as anything else.

I recently submitted an ad to The Buzz, Prince Edward Island’s arts and entertainment newspaper, to promote my upcoming book launch at the Confederation Centre Library on April 23rd. In the ad I referred to myself as "Island writer, Steven Mayoff."  It made me wonder if I had the right to call myself such.  I'm not from the Island, although I have been living here since 2001.  I have been writing since high school, but it wasn't until I moved to PEI that I focused on my writing in earnest and began to send out work on a regular basis.  I believe I can say with all sincerity that I came to PEI to establish myself as a writer.

But anyone who lives here knows that if you weren't actually born on the Island you will always be considered "from away", no matter how long you live here.  I suppose I could have used the phrase "Resident Island Writer", but that seems to undermine the commitment I've made by moving to PEI as the place where I am establishing my identity as a writer.  The interesting thing is that I am quite content with my "from away" status, even though I expect to live on PEI for the rest of my life.  I believe a writer should be something of an outsider and that part of his/her integrity benefits from being on the outside looking in.  In a way this made PEI the perfect place in which to launch my writing career.  You could say I feel very much at home being from away.

There is no denying how much PEI has influenced my work.  The moment I moved here I was struck by the beautiful landscape and immediately began incorporating it in stories and poems.  In my upcoming collection, Fatted Calf Blues, the stories have both rural and urban settings.  The first story, The Most Important Man In The World, is set on a streetcar in Toronto.  The sense of isolation in the streetcar proves to be a crucible for extreme human behaviour.  Living on an island is a bit like that.  In fact, isolation seems to be a factor in most of my stories, both urban and rural. Perhaps an argument can be made that everyone on PEI -- those from "here" and those from "away" -- have something of the "outsider" in them. In that case I feel justified in wearing the title of "Island Writer" and will continue to do so with pride.  

A couple of days ago it was my birthday. Having a birthday in February is a double-edged sword.  On the one hand, it's a nice break in what is arguably the most depressing month of the year.  On the other hand, if birthdays depress you then you feel just that bit deeper in the hole.  It is not that getting a year older depresses me, but around this time I'm not at my best.  I feel I'm in some kind of creative, emotional and even spiritual deep-freeze, a period of stasis where my life has come to a standstill. The new year never really starts for me until March or April.

This year, I'm happy to say, has been an exception for the most part. Preparations for my upcoming book are keeping me busy and I've been trying to come up with creative ideas for promoting it.  Also, I'm working on revising a novel, so there has been a lot to occupy my thoughts with little time to feel sorry for myself.

The icing on the birthday cake, so to speak, came actually the day before the big event when I received a phone call saying I had won the One-Page Screenplay Contest  I had entered in 2008.  The contest is a continuing one put on by WILDsound  in Toronto.  The winner gets their screenplay made into a short film that is posted on the WILDsound web site and shown at some film festivals.  I was also interviewed for the WILDsound podcast.

I am also trying to book live readings to promote Fatted Calf Blues.  I will be having a book launch in Charlottetown on April 23 and so far have two readings in Montreal in May and two in Hamilton in June. The details for these readings are posted on the home page of this web site and on my FCB Facebook group page.  

Things seem to be happening fast and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a tad overwhelmed at times, but I look out my window and see the frozen white expanse of Foxley River and think that in a few months I'll hear that tell-tale crack when the ice starts to break.  In the meantime, an early thaw seems to be taking place even closer to home.

This past week I attended the inaugural SeaWords Writing Workshop, which was sponsored by UPEI and the L.M. Montgomery Institute as a way of celebrating the 100th anniversary of the publication of Anne of Green Gables. The theme of the workshop was "Canada's Women Writers" and this theme held true in the choice of faculty. Writers Anne Simpson and Carol Bruneau led us budding wordsmiths in group and one-to-one sessions. Usually workshop groups are divided by genre (fiction, poetry, non-fiction, etc.), so it was not only refreshing but stimulating to have mixed groups of fiction writers and poets. I brought an excerpt of my novel, but since I also write poetry, I was interested in seeing how poetry influences prose and vice versa. I was in Anne's group and since she is a poet and novelist herself, she kept referring to this cross-pollination during our group sessions. In fact i had once taken a poetry workshop with Anne and came out of it with two publishable poems, so I was eager to see what would happen with fiction. I can't say I came out with a publishable piece, but it did change drastically in the rewrites I did during the week and I know what I have to do to get it into a publishable state. 

Playwright and novelist Ann-Marie MacDonald was a guest speaker who first wanted to know why we were at this workshop and engaged us in a lively discussion on why we were motivated to write. While she spoke candidly about her journey as a writer, she also expressed curiosity about us. A natural performer, she was very charming and entertaining. 

One of the things that attracted me to this workshop was the opportunity to meet Jackie Kaiser, a Toronto literary agent with Westwood Creative Artists, who spoke to us at length about various aspects of the publishing business. The cliched image of an agent as hard-nosed and cold-blooded doesn't seem to fit Jackie. Although I probably wouldn't want to go toe-to-toe with her in a high-stakes negotiating session, she proved to be very personable and approachable. She even gave all of us her business card. Jackie has much experience behind her as an editor at Penguin Canada. Even though we had a week, there was so much information to impart it seemed as if there was not enough time. We were asked to write "cover letters" as if we were going to submit our work to a publisher. Jackie critiqued some of the letters, which was helpful. But I would have also been interested if she'd gone through some of our stories and given us an agents perspective on our work. As an added bonus we also met and spoke with Lynn Henry, an editor at House of Anansi Press. Most interesting was her explanation of the various structures of novels and how she helps a writer find the best one to tell his story. 

I should also mention that the organizer of the SeaWords Workshop was Amy Kelly. This is not a job to be taken lightly and Amy did an amazing job. I know this because as far as I could see everything ran like clockwork. And if there were problems, I wasn't aware of them. That's when you know an organizer is doing the job right.

But the theme of "Canada's Women Writers" wasn't restricted to the faculty. Out of the 11 writers participating in the workshop only myself and one other were in possession of X and Y chromosomes. Not surprising, since the majority of readers are women; it only stands to reason that they would also aspire to create the books as well. 

The workshop took place at Shaw's Hotel, Canada's oldest family-operated inn. Lunches and snacks were included in the cost of the workshop tuition and they fed us very well. The faculty stayed in the hotel's cottages and some of the participants stayed in the rooms. I live a 60 minute drive from Brackley Beach and since things got started at 9:00 a.m. commuting wasn't practical for me. As beautiful as the hotel looked, I wasn't able to afford it as my accommodation and so opted to stay at the nearby Windsong Farm Bed & Breakfast. Proprietors Cindy and Alan are from Alberta and come to PEI to run the B&B in July and August. They are a friendly couple who showed great interest in the fact that I am a writer and wanted to know all about the workshop. Throughout the week the delicious cooked breakfasts included pancakes, waffles, fried eggs, quiche and french toast and always started with Cindy's freshly baked muffins and scones. Guests all ate at the same table and a general atmosphere of friendly chatter made for a terrific way to start the day. As I don't drive and the walk to the workshop would have taken me around 45 or 50 minutes (which I was perfectly willing to do) Alan generously offered to drive me every morning. Now that's customer service, folks! If you are ever in Brackley Beach, PEI I would heartily recommend staying at Windsong Farm.

And if the SeaWords Writing Workshop goes for a second year in 2009 I recommend you sign up as early as possible.  

Today is the 7th anniversary of Thelma and I coming to to live on PEI. We found ourselves in Charlottetown for the day and ended up having lunch at Italian eatery, Sirenella. Thelma had been there many years ago and this was my first time. The decor and atmosphere reminded us of when we were in Florence (way back in 2003). We both had the special, which was fettucine with prosciutto and mushrooms in a cream sauce. Very delish!

Walking back to the car, we noticed a crowd near Province House (home of the provincial legislature and The Birthplace of Canadian Confederation) and remembered that it was a rally to bring attention to the plight of PEI farmers. Some speeches were made by politicians and farmers, but the best part was an impromptu protest song in which all the crowd got to join in by chanting "May Day! May Day! May Day!"

In 2001, when Thelma and I first moved here, my goal was to focus solely on my writing. It is fitting, then, to have a very nice profile of myself published in this month's Buzz (PEI's arts and entertainment newspaper) as reminder of how far I have come as a writer (and how far I still have to go) since making this island my home.