Not just offline. Haven’t made much progress on any projects for about two months.
Want excuses? I got tons. Good ones, too. Excuses that would make you shake your head and mutter, ‘Gosh, poor Matt.’ Especially if I could tell you my excuses in person. Because I can sure spin a story.
And I can still work on new excuses, too. There’s always something going on to take my mind away from my work. I have enough excuses lined up to put everything off for the rest of the year, really. I could do it. Don’t imagine I haven’t thought of it. It wouldn’t be hard.
And I would do it, too. And you wouldn’t blame me. My excuses would leave you with nothing but sympathy for me. Wouldn’t that be nice? To play the role of the martyred writer, desperate to tell my story but, alas, the universe is working against me. Was a gloriously tragic tale! How romantic! How pathetic! How … common.
That’s what every failed writer/artist/musician/dancer/chef/yogi/spiritualist/humanitarian/idealist does. And their dreams are stillborn.
Sympathy is a pat on the head. Nice. Kinda warm. But giving birth is better on every level.
Your sympathy is not worth nearly as much as my story.
If I give in to the excuses that call me, I’ll get a friendly pat on the head.
If I flip the bird to the excuses, climb the obstacles and write my stories, I’ll give birth to a world of characters and emotions and stories and lives.
And, who knows? I might even get that pat on the head anyway.
There are a few new developments regarding our dear friends stuck in prison here in Pakistan. Some of them are a little hard for me to understand because they are high legal things. I’ll do my best.
The Barnett’s lawyer and a representative from the Canadian High Commission met with a judge yesterday to discuss the case. Now they are waiting for the investigation officer to create a charge sheet. This is the next step in the process and leads to getting our friends in front of a judge. They hope the charge sheet will be completed by the end of the week. So, from my perspective, things are moving forward nicely.
In other news, the lawyer has recommended that we foreigners in Karachi adopt a hands-off approach to the situation. He’s asked us to no longer seek meetings or drop things off in person because of the potentially bad publicity it could bring to the case. Since I was able to see Hillary last week and Jodi was able to see Nate, we’re pretty much fine with this.
So now what?
Hard to say. I have been out of my element since arriving here. Karachi is a city I have never understood. I’m so thankful for friends in this town who, though they don’t know my friends as well as I do, have bent over backwards to help and help and help again. I don’t think I could have been able to pull off a tenth of all the amazing things they’ve done in this situation. And now that we’re being told to lay low and back off, I’m at a bit of a loss for what to do. Ruth is ill, so we may stay in the city until some of her medical tests are done. Or we may visit my in-laws for a couple days while Jodi and her new husband hold our place here in Karachi. Regardless, it’s good to know that the whole situation is moving forward and there is a whole bundle of hope at the end of the tunnel.
I’m encouraged and I feel optimistic. Everyone involved in this has been stellar. The lawyer, the friends in Karachi, the Canadian government, all you lovely people in Canada. I felt encouraged for the first time this week this morning. Just a settled sense that things were going to be okay eventually. Everything will be alright in the end. So if it isn’t alright, it’s not the end.
It’s been an interesting time so far. For any of you who do not know what’s going on, I’ll start from the beginning.
I arrived in Pakistan at the beginning of this week, eager to visit my family, in-laws and friends. During the very first night, my dear friends, Nathaniel and Hillary Barnett, were arrested by the Pakistani police.
They had seen that their visa was going to expire a few weeks before their flight out of Pakistan. They sent their applications to to the government just like they had been told. But the application took much longer than they were led to believe and their visa expired while the process was still ongoing. Nate was arrested in the streets near their home in Karachi. Hillary was picked up at my in-laws house in Sanghar as they were busily preparing for a wedding.
They are now in a federal penitentiary.
They have a very good lawyer. His hope is that they can get the government to release them into house arrest until their flight, which is booked for the end of this month.
Why is this happening? To throw people in prison for such a small thing is not common. Some people suggest that the current political is making things worse. Or maybe a few over-zealous police officers or magistrates have made it worse. It’s anyone’s guess. The result is the same.
What can you do? You can do more than you think. I was just thinking of a neat passage uttered by the prophet Isaiah.
“You who put the LORD in remembrance, take no rest, and give him no rest until he establishes Jerusalem and makes it a praise in the earth.”
I’d like to propose Operation No Rest. The first aspect of it is for those of you who pray. Just like Isaiah told his people to give God no rest until he restored Jerusalem, give your God no rest until he moves and takes his people out of prison.
The second aspect is for those of you who are Canadian citizens. The lawyer has said one of the best things you can do on that side of the ocean is to contact ever MP and government official you can and tell them what’s going on and what you’d like them to do about it. And then to do it again. And again. And again until it becomes clear that the only way you’ll leave them alone is if they get mobilized and get our people out of prison.
What are their conditions like? I was able to see Hillary yesterday. She’s in the women’s section of the prison and has not been able to communicate with her husband at all. Food and clothing are an issue but some friends and I are taking care of that for them both, making deliveries daily. She is strong and in reasonably good spirits. Her only real complaint is that she does not know what is happening to her husband. I hope to be able to see him in a few days.
How are they being treated? Well, actually. The prison officials are kind and know that if Canadian citizens are mistreated there will be a lot of problems for them. They are guarded and protected. Which, to be honest, is a lot more than can be said for many of the others in that prison.
My family and I plan to live in Karachi until this matter is resolved. I’ll be trying to get more information and keep you updated as best as I can. Hopefully daily.
I’m sitting by gate 173 at Pearson right now. Stress-free. I’m always stress-free at airports. I think most people get nervous here. But I love it. The airport is a place that I basically have figured out. I zip through lines and security with ease. So, to pass the time, I figured I’d share my little list of things that make air travel easy.
Show up early. The lounge is a comfortable place. Boredom is better than panic. Show up early.
Smile. Most nervous people are cranky, irritable people. And that’s a shame. It’s also a time-killer. When I first arrive and go to check my luggage I make a point of greeting the clerk with a wild smile and a hearty ‘good morning.’ And you know what happens when I do that? They smile back. And that’s something special because that poor guy has been standing there for hours listening to cranky, nervous passengers complain about their oversized luggage and how they don’t want an aisle seat. A ridiculously cheerful face will smooth the entire experience more than you would believe.
Pack light. The security desk is the next stress-point for most people. I see people taking off shoes and belts and emptying pockets full of coins and pens and keys and God knows what else. And then they still set off the machine and you can see the panic in their eyes as they try to remove more and more from their person. You know what’s in my pockets? Nothing. I’ve no use for coins and my keys are clipped to my carry-on. I don’t wear a belt. I have flip-flops instead of shoes. The only things in my carry-on are things that I’m actually going to use in the airports and on the plane. Seriously, security guards smile when they see me. And it’s great to see them smile.
Satchels. I get mocked for my satchel. But when I see poor people fumbling with boarding passes and passports and ID and all those other things you think you need, I shake my head. A satchel is amazingly useful at an airport. My pockets are empty and my passes and passports are close at hand.
Relax. So much stress is self-inflicted. Airports are an adventure. Enjoy yourself. Take in the sites. Write a blog. I enjoy looking out the massive windows at the technicians preparing the planes.
That’s really all it takes. Lots of smiles. Little possessions. Almost seems like a good model for life, doesn’t it?
I always approach the subject of music … cautiously.
For one, I know next to nothing about it. Though not for lack of trying, really. I learned to play guitar, but without a chord sheet in front of me I’m useless. And don’t you dare ask me to tune the thing. Music doesn’t flow from me. I get it and I appreciate it. But it will never come from me.
Also, there is always an element of judgement that comes in when people talk about their favorite music. Claiming to like, say, Justin Bieber will get you either ridiculed or praised depending on where you happen to say it. So deep in the part of my brain that is still insecure and self-conscious, I fear judgement if my preferred musics are not cool enough for whatever crowd I’m talking to.
But some music is special. Some music has that neat ability to reach inside my creative centre and stroke it gently to life. And I want to share those albums that do that.
1) Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog – Joss Whedon
If you have not seen Joss Whedon’s classic short film, you are missing out. On life. Seriously. It’s a mere fortyish minutes long and it deserves to be watched. You can find the entire show on Youtube. It’s witty, zany and full of fun. It’s a creative masterpiece. Go watch it. Seriously, don’t finish reading this blog until you’ve seen it. It’s better than this blog. And so is its soundtrack.
2) Siren Song of the Counter Culture – Rise Against
A fellow can get used to anything. Even screaming. Rise Against has been a favorite since I first heard them in Pakistan. Their anger-charged music touches something primal and pure. That righteous dissatisfaction with a screwed-up system. I was seriously sad when I found out they are coming to Toronto the day I fly to Pakistan.
3) Introspection – pjt
I went to school with this guy. Isn’t that cool? This whole album is great. All the songs cry out for freedom and authenticity. “I don’t believe it’s right / to let others define your life / I can do anything I’m interested in / And I’m interested in all that I can do.”
4) Aaja Nachle – Salim and Sulaiman Merchant
This Bollywood gem is about a girl returning to her hometown to convince her conservative neighbours to put on a play. It’s a celebration of the creative spirit and every single song carries that flag. “Stand apart from the crowd / Show us your dreams / Show Me Your Jalwa (glory)”
5) The End is Near – Five Iron Frenzy
These guys were huge with the Christian white kids in the 90s. But don’t hold that against them. They are worthy in their own right and rise above the shameless preaching of a lot of their contemporaries. This is one of their last albums and, I think, their zenith.
6) Last Night on Earth – Noah and the Whale
It was hard to pick only one album for these guys. I’ve only known about them for a little while but I’m seriously in love with them. Their songs touch on every part of humanity, from it’s highest to its lowest.
7) First Love – Emmy the Great
Silky sweet voice and melancholy songs. What could be better? She just came out with a new album, too, though I haven’t had a chance to hear it yet. She lives up to her name.
8) Exodus – Bob Marley
You’d be hard pressed to find someone who doesn’t love Bob Marley, at least a little. His wild optimism and spirit of Love is infectious.
What songs and albums and artists have inspired you?
Do you ever give yourself advice? It’s a good process. Because you’re much more likely to value what you say to yourself than what other people say. That’s just the way things go.
I’m going to Pakistan on Saturday. It’s been two years. In the scant moments of free time I have while I prepare for the trip, I remember what it was like and I wonder what I need to do to prepare myself for the trip. I drew up a list of advice I am giving myself to make the trip the best it can be. I hope I listen. I should. I’m experienced, after all, having lived completely immersed in rural Pakistani culture for about four years.
Chill the hell out! Seriously, Matt. Just freakin’ relax. You get too stressed out over tiny cultural annoyances. Yes, people are going to stand too close to you when they talk. Yes, you are going to get offered more food than you want. Yes, people are going to follow you around when you want to be alone because they are afraid that you might be lonely. Deal with it. The problem doesn’t lie in Pakistan, it lies in you.
Remember it’s more complicated than it looks. When you see poor kids on the street, resist the urge to raise your fist at the first rich guy you see. Issues of global poverty, women’s rights, and religious turmoil are as complex as the cultures they are born from. You think you’ll walk in there from your comfy suburb and have the insight to fix it all? Fat chance. Odds are you’ll just try to work against fringe symptoms and end up pissing people off with no real benefit.
Go to learn, not to teach. I hate to have to say this, Matt, but someone has to. You are an arrogant S.O.B. I know that you think you have the insight of the gods with which you can smite every root of suffering and injustice. But you don’t. Because, frankly, you’re a bit of an idiot. So stop trying to tell everyone what to do. You’re ignorant and ill-informed. Why don’t you just shut your mouth and take this opportunity to soak in the viable and unique way of looking at the world that Pakistan offers. You cannot put water in a glass that’s already full, after all.
Quit being right all the time. Remember all those neat cultural quirks that you hated and took it upon yourself to attack? Quit doing that. You can’t get rid of them and you just piss people off. And, let’s face it, you don’t know what you’re talking about anyway. Like when you used to bitch about having to wear nice shoes to church when you just ended up taking them off at the door? Yeah, don’t do that. You’re not right. Or when you rebuked people for doing their work in a way that you deemed inefficient? Yeah, don’t do that. You’re not right. Because when you try to be right all the time, people get the (accurate) impression that you’re just another white guy coming over to tell the natives how they ought to live. For the love of God, Matt, do not be that guy.
Expectations work against you. What? You expected that Pakistan was full of nothing but charming, quaint people who smile all day and sing Bollywood tunes? What? You didn’t expect that there would be a similar ratio of jerk:nice as there in in Canada? What do you really know about Pakistan? After four years, nothing. Say it with me Matt, ‘I know nothing’. Because you don’t. You read books and you lived there, but you know nothing. It takes a lifetime to know and understand a single individual. It would take a thousand years to understand a culture (by which time the culture would have evolved into something totally different anyway). Don’t expect anything. Don’t fall into the deathly trap of thinking in terms of ‘the Pakistani way vs. the Canadian way’. Just roll, friend. Just roll.
Eat slowly. Yeah, you remember how long it takes a white stomach to get normal over there. Take it easy, champ.
Smile. It’s a cool place filled with cool people. Enjoy them for what they are. Laugh with strangers, dance with friends. Give joy and be willing to receive it when it’s offered to you.
Embrace. The people you meet are more like you than you realize. There is not us vs. them. There is only us. If there is a them, it’s God (or aliens, I suppose). That Hindu fellow in the village who cannot read and works in the fields? He’s a man like you. That Muslim woman, all covered up as she floats through the bazaar? She’s a soul like yours. That kid on the street, that angry-faced preacher, that smiling shopkeeper. They are all carriers of the Divine. And so are you. Look around at that strangers and remember that they are not strange. Greet those strangers and call them ‘brother’ and ‘sister’. Rejoice in the things you have in common. Learn from the things that are different.
Love. Matt, I realize that your memory isn’t the best. And that’s okay. I love you anyway. So if you manage to forget everything I’m telling you know, just try to remember this last one. Because if you can pull this last one off, you’ll be alright.
They say that Canadians are not patriotic. I guess that’s because we get compared to our American neighbours. Have you ever been to an American July 4th celebration? Kinda scary. Like … rabid.
But while I’m not the type to paint my face in the national colours or chant in the streets every time we kill an enemy, I still love Canada. And for lots of reasons.
Pluralism. More than any other country I’ve been to, we tolerate each other. Muslim, Hindu, Christian, we generally get along here. You worship trees? Come on over for dinner anyway. You voted for the communist party? I think that’s strange, but let me buy you a beer anywho. The only thing we don’t really tolerate is intolerance, I think. And I can live with that.
Spelling. Ah, the blessed letter U. Colour! Favourite! Neighbour! My spell-checker is trying to throw red underlines on all these words, but it just doesn’t understand.
Global Rep. We’re so well-liked across the world that Americans are sewing our flag onto their backpacks. I got great comments when I lived in Pakistan. “You American?” “No, Canadian.” “Ah! You don’t hate Muslims!” “No. No I don’t.” The joys of not throwing ourselves into every war.
Tim Hortons. Double-doubles and Timbits for everyone!
The Land. The Rockies. Temagami. The East Coast. It’s a seriously pretty place we’ve got. And, at least more than most countries, we seem to care about it. Not as much as we should, but we’re getting there.
Multiculturalism. Salwar Kameez and Karahi are as Canadian as blue jeans and hamburgers. I delight in the fact that so many different people with different ideas and cultures and backgrounds can get together in a wild country like ours and live in peace. It allows a sheltered white boy like me to learn from the combined cultural democracy of the entire human race, because the entire human race lives next door.
Social Benefits. The average Canadian was scratching their head when the Americans were yelling about public health care. Because, seriously, public health care rocks. Whatever abuses of the system there are, as one who has been on the receiving end, I contend they are worth it.
Food. What other nation has the guts to get fries, deep-fried in oil, and smother them in cheese curds and gravy? What tastes sweeter than fresh, hot Beaver Tails? Nothing. That’s what.
Eh. We actually say it.
It’s my place. What can I say? I fell in love with a darker country across the sea. It’s true, Pakistan is my lover. But Canada, Oh Canada, you are my mother. You are my comfortable place. My warm, gentle place. You’ve molded me in wild ways and I wouldn’t trade my Canadianism for anything. When I finally leave you, I’ll be taking you with me. Thanks, Canada.
Pen and Paper
I used to resort to this quite often. I was enamored by the organic classiness of it. I was in love with that conservative idea that whatever we did in the past is better than whatever we’re doing now. It made me feel pretty cool and puritanical. And, yes, sometimes those two can go together.
There were even a few benefits to this system. It forced me to write slower, which gave me a chance to think clearer about what I was writing. But, in the end, I did not accomplish much. It was too slow and my hands are not used to long periods of pen-writing.
Typewriter
I nearly swooned when I saw the electric typewriter in Goodwill. It was glorious. I bought it instantly. Visions of becoming the trendiest writer in the world danced in my head. I could see myself, in the middle of the night with one light hanging above me from the ceiling, pounding away at the typewriter, the gratifying tack-tack-tack encouraging me as I went.
I imagined that the typewriter would have freed my eyes from the distractions of a word processor. And it did, I suppose. But that tack-tack-tack got mind-numbing rather quick. And it was hard to read what I was writing, as the paper kept falling backward. In the end, I packed it up and put it away.
Generic Word Processors
Not very romantic, I know. But what do I care about? The romance I write or the romance in the way I write it? I wrote my first novel using Microsoft Word. It was … fine. Nothing especially good or bad about the experience. It only became difficult when the novel inched toward 100k words and the chapters threatened to get disorganized.
Scrivener
And then I found it. And, lo, great was the finding of … it. Scrivener is a word processor made for creative writing. When I first downloaded the demo version a little voice in my head started to whisper. ‘Another fad for your writing, Matt? Another nifty thing to distract you from the work you’re supposed to be doing?’
I’m so very happy I did not listen to that voice.
Scrivener has blown my mind. I’ve been using it for months and I can hardly imagine what it was like to use anything else. Why so cool? I tell, I tell.
Scrivener organizes your work into parts, chapters, scenes, notes, research and more. You can write them together, move them around, organize them however you want. All your work goes into one file.
Scrivener has a very sexy full-screen mode. All you see is your writing. Distraction-free.
Scrivener formats your entire project automatically according to traditional manuscript standards. Or according to whatever standards you want.
Scrivener helps you to take a step back and look at your entire work at once. It’s hard to do that when your manuscript is over 130k words and spread across different files on your hard drive.
Scrivener automatically backs up your work to wherever you want it backed up. This is important, as I learned the second after my daughter poured a glass of milk over my old laptop.
I was only two weeks into my demo version when I bought it. And I haven’t looked back since. At the time of this writing, it’s only available for Mac. But I hear rumors they’re making a Windows version. Check it out. It has taken a lot of the clutter out of my process.
My wife is asleep right now, in Pakistan. When she wakes up, it will be our anniversary.
She’s been gone a week or two. I can’t really tell, truth be told. Living without her is like living on night-shifts. I can’t really gauge the passing of time well. So here I am doing night shifts and away from her. So, yeah, I hardly can tell what day it is.
What can I say about Ruth this year? What can I say about where we’ve come and where we are?
I never could understand poets and story-tellers who would compare their lovers to gods. I could never understand that idea of worshipping a spouse. It was distasteful. Worse, it seemed forced. Because, since I did not understand it, I assumed it was not nearly as real as they were making it out to be. Because any spouse, at best, is flawed. And how can you worship something that is flawed?
But I get it today.
Ruth, are you there? Are you awake yet, my beloved Devi?
I love you.
I offer my life and my heart as a sacrifice to you. I do not say any of this out of ‘oughtness’ or duty. No. My heart yearns for you, even when you are with me.
When you are away, I have trouble finding the point for anything I do. I try to write and my mind whispers ‘What is the point? Your Devi is away.’ I try to study and my mind whispers ‘What is the point? Your Devi is away.’ Suddenly I understand in what way you are my muse! The muse does not grant ideas and creativity. Those things are already in each of us. No. The muse shows the importance of those things. And you, Devi, are my muse.
What can I say? I look back over all the years that I have called you ‘wife’. And here I stand on the tallest mountain of love I have ever seen. It makes all the other years look like bumps and hills.
What can I say?
Remember when we used to joke that we were Sita and Ram? We are not really like that, because Ram drove Sita out in the end, because he felt his responsibilities as king demanded it. A kingdom is not worth as much as you to me.
Or when we joked that we were Layla and Mujnun? We are not like that, either. Because Majnun gave up when Layla’s father refused him. I would have never relented.
Or when we joked that we we Romeo and Juliet? We are not like them. Because our story is not a tragedy.
Who are we?
We are Matt and Ruth. We are the greatest love story the world has ever seen. Other readers may roll their eyes and think I exaggerate. But you know. I know. We have the sort of love that stories are made of. And that is the truth. That is the truth.
See you soon, Devi.
In kadmon mein saansein waar de
Rab se zyaada tujhe pyaar de
Rab mainu maaf kare
Rabba khairiya, haai mainu maaf kare
It was a dark and stormy, bright sunny day. Or week. Or something like that. Anyway, it was rough. Ruth was leaving earlier than we had planned. I wasn’t sleeping well. Things were piling on. So I slowly walking into a dark place. Ever been there? Not fun.
Then she left. Got darker. Hadn’t written a thing in days. Maybe a week, even.
But it’s getting brighter today.
I took the bus down to Danforth. Walked for hours, carrying my leather case with my notebook and computer. Wonderful day for walking. Too cool to stand still. Once I got into a good rhythm my body warmed itself up. I passed a church that was having a hamburger cookout. They invited me in. It was nice. I declined, mostly because I didn’t want to create an awkward situation because they had nothing a vegetarian could eat. But I hugged the guy and thanked him for his invitation. It made him smile. That made me smile.
I kept going. Crossed the road. Started walking the other way. Came across a vegetarian restaurant I hadn’t seen before called Teatree Cafe. Had a grilled brie sandwich with honey baked apples on oatmeal bread and a potato oatmeal soup. Children played and laughed behind me, talking about their Sunday School class. It was good. My body thanked me for the sandwich. I started feeling strong and I smiled again.
I left and kept walking. Found my way to the Tsaa Tea Shop. I forget what kind of tea I ordered. Something that had to do with eyebrows (seriously). I sat in my place and opened my computer. Found the section I was supposed to be working on. Drank a cup of tea while staring at it.
My throat was wet and my insides were comfortable. But my mind and heart still wanted to throw the computer away and join a circus. I poured myself another cup of tea.
I was feeling more positive. The other customers started to fade and I reached down to my characters to see if they were still alive. They were, it turned out. I poured myself another cup of tea.
I dared to put my fingers to the keyboard. They moved. Slowly at first. Awkwardly. With horrid spelling. But that wasn’t a problem. I’m a worse speller than my mother-in-law. And she doesn’t even speak English. I poured myself another cup of tea.
I was rolling, suddenly. It started to work. It started to make sense. It was fun and real again. I poured myself another cup of tea.
I stopped typing. Looked at the wordcount. Smiled to myself and closed the computer. I finished the tea and stared out into the street.
I left with a grin. I’m all alone, still. But not really. I have love in my life. The love of an orchestra. And a guy was giving out free samples of Stella Artois on the way back. And I know how to make killer tea.
On the bus going home, I read this line from Lotung, the Tang poet, concerning drinking tea:
The first cup moistens my lips and throat,
The second cup breaks my loneliness,
The third cup searches my barren entrail
but to find therein some five thousand
volumes of odd ideographs.
The fourth cup raises a slight perspiration,—
All the wrong of life passes away through my
pores.
At the fifth cup I am purified;
The sixth cup calls me to the realms of
immortals.
The seventh cup—ah, but I
could take no more! I only feel
the breath of cool wind that rises
in my sleeves.
Where is Horaisan?
Let me ride on this sweet breeze
And waft away thither.
Matt W Cook 