I heard about a CIBC study on the radio. It seems that engineering graduates make 117% more than high school graduates, but fine arts grads make 12% less.

TWELVE PERCENT LESS?!?

I know I haven’t chosen the most lucrative profession in the world, and I suppose I could have figured out for myself that working full-time at Blenz would earn me more, but this, CIBC, is rubbing salt in the wound.

More than that, I makes me wonder if I’m doing the right thing when I praise my kids’ story-writing efforts. Should I be hiding their notebooks and doubling their math homework?

I’ve been stewing over this for weeks. At first I told myself that people in the arts are happier people, so their earning potential doesn’t matter. But I’m not sure that’s true, either. I’m a happy person. But every artist? Every writer? Hmmm….

More recently, I’ve decided that writers and artists, if not happier, are at least more free. Free to work when and how we want. Free to share our ideas (unlike scientists working for, say, the Canadian government). Free to dither over random radio news for days.

And if my kids end up eking out a wage in the arts, I’ll be proud. If they’re working for Enbridge… not so much.

I had coffee last week with my friend Liisa, a teacher with one of the coolest jobs I know as a coordinator for the Poetry in Voice recitation competitions. We talked about a friend of hers who has a book in flux, and about the dangers of “how’s your writing going?”

It’s a tricky question. Ask at the wrong time and you might have a blubbering writer on your shoulder.

It’s also an impossible question. Because unless a writer has just sold her latest work to a major publisher in a six-figure, six-book deal, the answer is never going to be “fantastic!” And realistically, even if she did just sign a major deal, she’s probably already stressing over books two and three.

I wrote a thousand words or so yesterday. A decent writing day. But I’d hesitate to say my writing was going well because the work I did may or may not get included in a finished manuscript. It may prove hopelessly tangential, or disgustingly self-reverential, or simply unnecessary upon revision. Or, saying it’s good might give me delusions of granduer and leave me unable to write a thing for the next 30 days.

It’s all a bit silly, I know. But the core problems with “how is your writing going” are these:

1. Writers are hopelessly superstitious,

2. Writers are often trying, unsuccessfully, not to analyze their work… not yet; and,

3. Writers are never satisfied.

If I ever meet Margaret Atwood or Michael Ondaatje, I’ll ask how their writing’s going. Maybe they know the secret. But I’m guessing they’ll choose some variation of what we all say:

“Oh… it’s going.”

I ran into a Scottish friend yesterday and she told me that pumpkin carving has reached Scotland. Until now, apparently, people there have been carving turnips.

“Turnips?” I said.

“Yes. It’s really hard to get your spoon in, though. They take days to hollow out.”

I thought she must be joking, but Google says: turnips. And check out this traditional Irish jack-o’-lantern from Wikipedia. Yikes!

On a less scary note, here are my three favourite costumes of the year. These have been making their internet rounds.

The senior citizen:

I tried to convince my sister and brother-in-law (both RCMP) to choose this one for their new baby, but no luck:

And this has got to be the year’s best:

Happy trick-or-treating tonight!