Yikes - developing a web-presence and other issues

Authors need a web-presence, my publisher explains. “Develop a website, sign up for some on-line groups, write a blog,” he adds breezily.

Yikes! A blog would necessitate that I have something to say that would be of interest to the public.

Hmmm….I sit here on a Sunday night and review my week for anything fascinating – okay – I’ll settle for mildly interesting. Again Hmmm…The toilet plugged yesterday and we bought a new toilet plunger. It has a totally novel design and looks more like an accordion than a plunger. Or maybe the design is not new – I actually can’t remember when I last looked for toilet plungers so my knowledge of plunger history is limited.

I took down the Christmas cards which were still strung around out family room. Plus, even more exciting, the remnants of the winter’s eight feet of snow have disappeared. Finally, those huge drifts, piled so high that the road sign protruded like a green flag of surrender, have dwindled to nothing more than a collection of pebbles scattered in sparse yellowed grass.

The disappearance of the snow actually had an impact on my photo shoot – now that’s a phrase I never expected to say. It all started when my publisher stated that, in addition to the website and blob, I needed a new photo.

After a few grumbles, I took the proverbial bull by the horns, picked up the phone and found myself having a serious conversation about possible locations, clothing and hair. We decided against a studio shot and agreed to wait for the weather to improve so we could use a beautiful spot beside a waterfall. I felt there would be considerably less pressure for good hair in an outdoor shot. My hair and I do not always enjoy a happy relationship.

So last Sunday, I tossed every solid colored sweater, jacket or shirt I own into a huge bag, pulled on my daisy patterned gumboots and headed to the river. The first thing I learned was that my boots leaked. The second - it didn’t matter. The ‘stream’ had risen so high from the snow melt that it had become a raging torrent. It rushed by me, its white froth splashing over the tops of my boots and soaking my jeans.

Undeterred, we hiked upstream to the waterfall which now passed as a junior Niagara Falls. Unfazed, my photographer planted the tripod firmly in the river, assessing various angles in a concentrated artistic way. Unfortunately, communication was limited due to the water’s roar and a large portion of the area was cloaked in a dampening gray mist.

Still I was soon perched on a semi-dry rock, smiling like a toothpaste ad while trying to follow my photographer’s gesticulating directions.

After a crazy amount of clicking, my photographer declared himself satisfied and we traversed the river again, the ice-cold water seeping unpleasantly between my toes.

I was ready to head for the warmth of my car but my photographer stopped again. A small bridge spanned the river, its grey concrete foundations decorated with the bright splattering designs typical of graffiti.

“Let’s try a shot here,” my photographer suggested.

I complied, unenthusiastically. It is hard to be enthusiastic with cold feet. Besides, the underside of the bridge seemed bleak, hidden from the bright spring sunlight.

But that evening, when I saw the shot, I felt surprise and pleasure. I liked it. It was good. It was one of the best of the bunch. The colors of the scrawled streaks of paint matched my shirt – perfectly. It looked edgy, I thought.

All of which leads me to believe that you can’t plan for everything – plugged toilets, snow-melt and gushing rivers happen even in the best regulated households.

But with a little luck, the unexpected pops up and sometimes it is even better than the original plan.