Detail from a painting by Frances Anne Hopkins (1838-1919)
Public Archives of Canada.
BTW, I live at the site of the biggest fur heist in Canadian history.
Bear with me for another internet joke. I promise not to inflict these too often.
An old cowboy sat in Starbucks sipping his coffee when a young woman sat down beside him and asked, "Are you a real cowboy?"
"Well," he replied," I've spent my whole life working cows, going to rodeos, fixing fences, bailing hay, doctoring calves, so I guess I am a cowboy."
She said, "I'm a lesbian. I spend my whole day thinking about women. As soon as I get up in the morning I think about women. When I shower I think about women. When I watch TV, I think about women. It seems that everything makes me think about women."
The two sat sipping in silence.
A little while later a man sat down on the other side of the old cowboy and asked, "Are you a real cowboy?"
The old cowboy replied, "I always thought I was, but I just found out I'm a lesbian."
Everything makes me think about writing.
The picture attached to this post makes me think, not of voyageurs exactly, but of writers.
Writers congregating in genre canoes, writers about to set out to search and trap the wily book deal, sharing information about rapids and portages. Tales of endurance, deprivations, and warnings of danger. Mon ami, avoid that lake...Mon cher, I've heard that he is an honest factor...
So maybe I'm a writer after all.
I have to set the WIP aside for the nonce to write a promised short story.
But I've just finished a scene that would stand alone as such.
And therein lies a temptation.
I've heard that... it's wise and best to avoid flogging chapters from an uncontracted-but-hope-it-will-be work.
Credits are one thing; the complications of rights, another.
What's your take on the question?