culture – Page 14 – Britt Skrabanek

The Grit and Grace of Montreal

old port of montreal — Mr. H at Old Port of Montreal

If Brooklyn and Paris mated, their love child would be Montreal.

Grit and grace. Hard asses and romantics. The ones that won’t look you in the eye and the others who stare right at your ass.

This paradoxical city is emphasized further by its language tug-of-war. French is everywhere: the parking signs, the menus, the spoken greetings.

Yet, a sorry attempt at some high school French by an American tourist (yours truly) flips the switch. Seamlessly, as if “Bonjour” were never stumbled over, the conversation morphs into English with a peculiar flourish.

Walking down the street is a puzzling treat as English and French interlace. A couple at a table next to us bounces back and forth – a French question, an English answer, then one, then just the other – like a nail-biting tennis match for the ears.

Taking a road trip will only confuse the American more. Living in the U.S means conquering an ocean to hear that steady foreign hum.

Although Ontario looks a lot like Wisconsin, there are doors like these in the rest areas…

Eventually, there’s no more English. None. Our foreign experience creeps up on us in the form of construction signs and unpronounceable roads.

Where the hell are we? North America? Canada?

No…Montreal, Quebec.

Each languid day is strange – no schedule, no obligations. And, Mr. H. and I wander around this land without time.

One of the deepest ways to connect with someone means surviving together in a place where nothing makes sense, somewhere that is the antithesis of home, routine, and grind.

Travel makes the heart open to possibilities. And, so we opened ours to Montreal and did all of this…

And, we got down at Piknic Electronik at sunset on an island. Yeah, it was cool…

But, what about the food, Britt? Montreal is one of the foodie capitals of the world, isn’t it?

Indeed, it is. So, food gets it’s very own post next week. Get ready to drool.

The Falls of FUBAR

Flowing energy rushes toward the edge, a slave to its inevitable fate. It builds and builds and builds some more, unwilling to compromise.

Suddenly, it slips.

For a few precious seconds it suspends high in the air, engaging in a soundless symphony.

Then, it falls.

The finale is deafening, like cymbals clanging against the bottom of an unforgiving pit. This masterpiece draws us in – millions year after year.

Niagara Falls.

Embarking on a road trip to Montreal made this a no-brainer overnight stop for us. Mr. H and I booked a crappy chain hotel on the Canadian side, followed our trusty electronic maps, and strapped Ken Follett the cow in his seat.

Along the way we admired ~~Provence~~ upstate New York…

Ten lengthy hours after leaving Milwaukee, we arrived.

It was dark. And the border crossing at Niagara Falls, Canada was completely FUBAR.

Labor Day weekend. Border strike. FUBAR.

There’s something bittersweet about driving across North America, making it to your destination in decent spirits – cramping with hunger, aching from head to toe, delicates lodged in places – and being trapped with all the other bleary-eyed, naive tourists in this…

…for a freaking hour.

Naturally, Mr. H. wasn’t havin’ it. I love him even more for rescuing us from our gridlock hell to nowhere. My hero!

Destined to sleep in our truck on the side of a potholed street, we stumbled into a nearby hotel and luckily they were able to accommodate us. (Nothing like flushing money down the shitter on that unreachable hotel on the Canadian side, eh?)

As usual, we made the best of the situation. We lowered our standards and gleefully stuffed our faces in the familiar chain restaurant attached to the joint.

Mediocre fried food. Cold beer. We were saved.

Feeling tipsy, our sanity obviously questionable, we decided to go to the casino across the street to drink our touristy sorrows away and people watch. We’re not gamblers, so this environment fascinates us.

After a while, what initially seemed intriguing became ho-hum, borderline depressing, and our eyes became heavy. So we stumbled back to our hotel, scented with cigarettes and defeat.

The next day, despite our irritation with the whole charade, we went to the damn falls. We were a tough crowd, but Mother Nature won us over with her minxy appeal.

The credit card bill, the slot machines, and the traffic disappeared in that moment.

Niagara Falls…are they really worth it? The blood, the sweat, the tears?

Hell yeah they are!

Gone Road Trippin’

My dear, fantastic, rad, amazing sweet ones…

I will be out of the blogging office starting tomorrow, August 29th. No social media, pix, comments, likes, etc. – I’m going dark.

Mr. H and I will be embarking on a road trip (or, le road trip as we are lovingly calling it) to Montreal. It’s been almost an entire year since I’ve had a vacation.

(Gasp.)

Tell me about it!

I’ll be back on September 10th with some North American tales. In the meantime, stay cool, be cool, and…I’ll miss you guys!

Yours truly,

Britt

Love Thy Editing

Say it with me…I

love

love

OK, guys. Here’s the toughy…editing.

silence

editing (she repeats in a firm, but encouraging tone)

extreme silence

Alright, writer pals. We’re getting there. Baby steps.

I just so happen to be one of those weirdos who doesn’t mind the editing process. (Notice I still didn’t say love.)

When it comes to a systematic approach, mega details, and cutthroat decisions devoid of emotion. Well…meet my dark side, folks! The editor.

On a less intense note, I see editing as something to cherish. Because at the end of the day, you just wrote a freaking book.

A novel is no joke, pumpkins.

The love, commitment, and devotion put writing a book on par with the most important people in your life. That book is the buddy you tell all of your secrets to, the lover you think about endlessly, and the spawn of your imagination.

It’s your soul in written form.

Man, oh man. There’s just something magical about seeing your first draft all printed out.

Sure, it looks like shit. But that shit is yours.

Currently, I’m working on my second draft of The Bra Game. In other words, I’m murdering my baby with a cheap red pen.

Now I don’t claim to be an expert, nor am I anything in the vicinity of a bestseller. In fact, I’m a self-taught writer who gets her jollies by bending the rules.

But, I do have three books under my belt, so I’ve learned a thing or two about editing.

Specifically, how to try to love it a little.

Change location Rather than being chained to your desk with a sad face, take your printed baby outside. Fresh air will do your pasty ass some good.
Check out some resources As writers, we will forever remain students. Recently, I picked up “Self-Editing for Fiction Writers“. Some parts boosted my confidence, while others slapped me on the wrist. But, it was all good. I learned some shit.
Read it out loud For the sake of your loved ones, try to do this in private. But, do it. When it comes to the rhythm of your writing, especially dialogue, it is crucial to mouth off.
Sporkforge Hey, what’d you just call me?! I stumbled across Sporkforge from another writing blog once. It’s ghetto as hell, but it’s a life saver. The word counter/text analyzer is a free online tool that dishes out your repetitious words and phrases. I’m sure there are fancier programs you can buy to do the job. But, Sporkforge is free for us poor indies.
Use caution with find and replace One time I replaced “purse” with “handbag” throughout my entire fourth draft. Let’s just say, my editors and I had a good laugh over “handbagged her lips” instead of “pursed her lips”. Whoopsy!
Marry it, then divorce it You will live with this story every day – you will get into spats and you will comfort each other. No matter how much energy you put into it, you will never be satisfied with the finished product. Never. So put your big boy or girl pants on, sign the divorce papers, and go your separate ways.
Pat yourself on the back You wrote a damn book for crying out loud! Pat yourself real good.

Montreal suggestions, s’il vous plaît

So at the end of August, Mr. H and I are taking a road trip. Not just any road trip, because naturally…it’s going to be super awesome!

Milwaukee to Montreal.

Originally, we were looking at a European excursion, but let’s face it – plane ticket prices are a bit of a buzz kill. And while we’ve been to Europe before, we’ve never visited our upstairs neighbor…Canada.

The closest thing we have to Europe in North America is unarguably Montreal. The runner-up to Paris, it is the second largest French-speaking city in the world.

I imagine a land of crepes where the air is scented with savory and sweet tones. Mmm, crepes. Delicious crepes. Mouth-watering…I apologize. I keep falling into this crepe trance lately.

(Britt slaps her face twice and continues with her blog post.)

Instead of flying, we decided to enjoy the summer drive. All fifteen hours of it.

As cheesy as it is, we are definitely stopping at Niagara Falls on the way. Don’t judge me…I’m a big sap.

We rented a kick ass apartment for our five-night stay through Airbnb, complete with a ginormous terrace and fancy furniture. You can check out our digs right here.

Obviously with Montreal being one of the culinary capitals of the world, we plan to eat. And, we shall eat like there is no tomorrow.

One adventure on our radar is Piknic Electronik, which is one of those outdoorsy shindigs where we listen to rad tunes and get a little silly.

Other than that, we don’t have any plans. Here’s where you come in.

Calling all Montreal natives or previous visitors…what should we do? Any tips or recommendations for restaurants, sights, etc. would be splendid.

Also, give us the tough love. Are there any tourist traps we should avoid?