Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Behind the Scenes: Publishing Kindling the Light


     Preface part 2. Didn't read the preface? Don't worry there's more. Here is a retelling of a major event that affected the printing of KTL.
~~~
      I smile and duck my head at passing employees in the hall so they feel secure at their workplace. It would be awkward if one were to give me assistance or run in panic at the sight of me.
     When I get to the washroom mirror I can finally see what they see. The scrapes and bruises on my face look like they could be from a brutal fight. However, I've been with Elaine, my warmhearted and soft-fisted writing mentor. We communicate through words and trips to the coffee shop, not whatever back-ally dispute you were imagining. Elaine also tells me that she trusts me; she said those words twice from the passenger seat as we drove into Calgary.

      I'm driving southbound on 64th street when we spot our destination and slow to make a turn. In an explosive shudder we are impacted from behind. Like the distorted refractions of streaming water, perception is blurred. Tense but feeling nothing.
     “Karla.” Elaine says my name softly as if over parched lips.
      My name, from a parent or friend, means either pay attention or you need to perform an action. We are drifting toward the opposite side of the road into oncoming traffic. I guide the car to a stop, parallel to the curb, though not legally parked.
      With the sounds of breathing in an artificial quiet, I take stock of my body. Television often tells me that shock can mask a serious injury from sensation. I push the 'shifter' into park, having to brush past Elaine's knee to do it. Her arm is around me. We stay in place.
      A knocking on my window yanks me out of the moment. A man is there; he wants to know if we are all right. I open my door and the words “I'm good” are meant to be the equivalent of “I don't need to be carted off to the emergency room at this moment”. Later I discover he was the oncoming traffic that could have caused a second impact if he hadn't been paying attention at the right moment. He commits to never text and drive.
      Witnesses and onlookers gather. Elaine gets out. Fire, ambulance and police show up. I spend most of the time resting rattled limbs and being thankful the emergency people are nice and not grumpy about being made to come out here because of us. A postcard sign at the base of a pole reads: 'Junk cars for cash' with a phone number. I laugh and point it out to Elaine. She laughs too. Elaine gets back in the car to give thanks to God. I shudder with a perspective on this reality and my dry eyes are ready to tear up.
      Employees from the adjacent business come out, having heard or seen the accident. They ask where we are trying to get to (as the car is no longer a viable option). Elaine explains the humour of the situation, that we are coming to see them.

      Back in the washroom, available at the hospitality of the printer business, I finish inspecting my visage and return to the board room. Here awaits the printed proof of my self published book of poetry. A tangible copy to embody the persistent work, time and creativity that went into creating it.
~~~
     This is just one chapter in the journey that ended in the publication of Kindling the Light.









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