A stellar debut for North Bay Nipissing Life and some, ahem, bragging

Ok, I have to do a little bragging for a moment. I apologize in advance for making you roll your eyes and skip through to a more interesting non-bragging blog, but when a short story you write gets published in the debut issue of a slick new magazine, ya gotta share the news, know what I mean?

The magazine is North Bay Nipissing Life and it just hit newsstands in North Bay (a city about four hours north of Toronto, depending how fast you drive). Our company, Metroland North Media, started a weekly community newspaper there almost a year ago called North Bay Nipissing News and it's been doing extremely well. Readers are excited about the comprehensive community news coverage and the casual vibe. Advertisers are starting to realize that it's the paper everyone's reading and are responding accordingly. All in all, things are looking up, which is why Metroland decided to launch a slick quarterly magazine to supplement the News and provide a vehicle for celebrating the people of the area in a more in-depth way.

I designed the magazine, laid it out and made it pretty so I'm proud of it for those reasons but I'm extra pleased to have one of my short stories in the magazine. The caveat is I WORK for the magazine so it's not like the editorial heavens opened up and said, "You are the best writer known to man and we must print your story." No, it was more like I asked the editor if he was interested and he read it and said, yeah, okay. Also, I didn't get paid.

STILL. The editor has very, very strong opinions on certain things. If he didn't like my story, it wouldn't have been published. So I'm hanging on to that knowledge and celebrating it.

Kiosk is a perfect story for NBN Life. Kiosk is a ghost town in that area, about halfway between North Bay and Mattawa. You've heard me blog about it before – Dave and I go there every spring and every fall to do some fishing and camp in Algonquin Park. What used to be a lumber mill town is now nothing but ruins within the park. Which is great if you're an outdoorsy person who loves camping and loves nature, but is heartbreaking if you're one of the people who used to live here.

"Claire" is one of those people. She runs a bakery out of her log home just north of the park. She makes and sells amazing, almost legendary, butter tarts and delicious pies with crust just like my mom's. She also makes jams, jellies and sells coffee to everyone who goes by. Claire (I hope I am spelling her name correctly) grew up in Kiosk. For her the story of its demise is pure sadness. It was with people like her in mind that I wrote the short story Kiosk and year or so ago. The original story is posted here on my blog.

Gotta love that byline!

Second page spread of the story. The old photos are from Kiosk.

Last page of the spread. In case you can't see the tiny yet IMPORTANT
photo of the girl in the blue sweater, I've blown it up bigger for you, below!

That photo was taken during our honeymoon trip to Newfoundland. I love that place. Yup, chubby bare toes in a mag.
Yup.

The cover.

The masthead. Look Mom, that's ME! :)

***

As an aside, today is a sad day for the people of the Muskoka community. We are mourning the death of Gillian Brunette, a much loved local writer who used to work for the Huntsville Forester and freelanced for many of our other publications. I can't believe cancer managed to claim her. She had such incredible enthusiasm for life, such indomitable energy and she will be missed. Today is her "Celebration of Life" and, in Gillian's case, it is a perfect term because she lived her entire life like it was a celebration. We'll miss you so much, Gillian, and in your own wise words and sunny English accent, "BLOODY HELL."

Bizarre questions for Tim VanSant - numero uno

Gus Van Sant, not Tim. Cool picture though, eh?

I felt like asking Tim VanSant some dumbass questions.


Q: Are you Gus Van Sant's brother? And was Steve Van Zandt your other brother only he was the black sheep of the family so all you other Van Sants ganged up on him and made him change his spelling? 

A: Short answers: no and no. And you didn't ask, but here are a few other people I'm also not closely related to: Townes Van Zandt [singer/songwriter], Ronnie, Donnie, and Johnny Van Zant [brothers and musicians, most notably with Lynyrd Skynyrd and .38 Special], Peter Van Sant [television news reporter], and Tom Van Sant [artist]. God, now I feel like such a loser.

Here's a bit of trivia though. Gus Van Sant and I were born in the same city and on the same day, but not the same year. Here's another bit of trivia. The original [Dutch] spelling of my last name is Van Zandt. So if there were any black sheep forced to change the spelling, they would have been one of my ancestors, not Steve's. The black sheep idea is a lot more interesting than what probably really happened; the name changed due to Americanization and illiteracy. There are more than a dozen variations that all trace back to a few original Van Zandt families.

It just occurred to me, I'm a bit of a black sheep in my family [okay, more of a dingy off-white or slightly grey, but I got street cred] and I always write my last name as VanSant instead of Van Sant. Yeah. That's right. I'm bad. So maybe your theory is right after all.

Bored yet?

~Tim

******************************************

On the Interweb: www.timvansant.com

On the Blog: www.timvansant.com/otoh

On the Twitter: www.twitter.com/timvansant

On the Facebook: www.facebook.com/tim.vansant.writes

On the Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/timvansantwrites

On Dasher, on Dancer, on Donner, on Blitzen....

The Van Zandts of Lynyrd Skynyrd. None of them are Tim.

Steve Van Zandt from Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band
as well as Silvio from The Sopranos.
Also not Tim.

Hangin' with Johanna Garth

Johanna Garth, how cool are you? Lawyer, author, mother, sexy woman with cleavage mojo and flattering sunlight – you mean to say you’re not a doctor, too? Or an inventor of cold fusion? What, were you slacking one day?

"Is cold fusion that thing where you ignore your kids and discover odd pieces of frozen fruit fused together with questionable chunks of chocolate in the freezer? If so, then I think a major scientific breakthrough has occurred at the Garth household. Actually, it might not be cold fusion but it’s definitely the answer to how I live my life and maintain some semblance of sanity. Sometimes we eat breakfast for dinner. Sometimes I shut the door to my office and when I open it two hours later I discover other people’s small children foraging in my kitchen snack drawer. And sometimes the blogosphere or the Twitter account gets ignored and we all play in the backyard. Whatever I’m doing I’m focusing on it as though it is the most important thing at that given moment and I let all the rest go."

I look at you, Mizz Garth, a regular visitor to this silly blog (again with the slacking? Johanna, you could be hanging out with Stephen Hawking, helping him solve math problems or crossword puzzles or something) and I am plump with admiration. I just finished reading Losing Beauty, a romance novel that dances with fantasy while keeping both feet firmly grounded in real life, and I most thoroughly enjoyed it. I took it with me on a camping weekend and it was the perfect read for curling up into the hammock, camp coffee in hand. A little spice, a lot of adventure, a spunky heroine and some hunky men. Really, what’s not to love? But I have to ask, how does a legal eagle decide to become an author?

"I love the term ‘legal eagle’ because it makes me think of Daryl Hannah who was my teenage girl crush ;) But seriously, it wasn’t something I ever thought about. However, in retrospect, it was something I could have easily predicted. I’ve always loved reading and writing but I was very focused on my law career. After my daughter was born I woke up one morning, sat down and started writing a (terrible, awful, very bad, will never, ever be published) book. Then another and another and then Losing Beauty. The idea came in bits and fragments and then took hold one night while I was brushing my teeth."

I'm about three-quarters through my novel and sometimes it feels like I'm never going to finish. What inspiration can you give me, and the rest of us wannabe authors, to get the job done, even on the toughest of days?

"Just keep writing. I spent an entire week writing a scene in Losing Beauty where Persey goes to the grocery store and picks out groceries. Dialogue was written, organic tomatoes were described. In the first edit I realized how ridiculous and boring it was and cut two chapters (yep, I wrote two chapters that talked about nothing but grocery shopping) but it was useful because it kept me moving towards completion."

Are you pleased with Losing Beauty's reception? Is it doing as well as you had hoped?

"There are days I’m thrilled with its success and days I’m despondent. The highs are very high and the lows are tummy on the ground low. It’s a good thing I like roller coaster rides." 

And what's next? A sequel? There seems to be lots of room for Haden to make another appearance...

"Yes. Losing Hope is going out to beta readers as I write this! I’m really excited about it. It’s a little bit sexier, some new characters and has a lot going on. One of my friends already refers to it as The Empire Strikes Back of the Persephone Campbell Series."

I just want to say, Johanna, that you've made an impression on me. Sure, I love your book but I also love your blog – your kind, candid words are always fresh and feel like a dip in a mountain spring. I admire that freshness – it's the reason I picked up your book in the first place. And thanks for dropping by my blog. Means a lot whenever a Real Published Author reads my dribble! Thanks for your comments and thanks, above all, for your inspiration.

From Goodreads:

Losing Beauty

by Johanna Garth (Goodreads Author)

 3.94  ·   rating details  ·  47 ratings  ·  11 reviews

Child abuse, cross-dressing, theft, adultery—people in Persey Campbell’s town have terrible secrets and she is the unfortunate repository for all of them. What she can’t figure out is why everyone is so desperate to tell her their worst secrets.

Daniel Hartnett is a lawyer who has it all. People think he’s lucky. What they don’t understand is Daniel has a crap-o-meter that lets him hear the meanings behind other people’s words. He used to think his crap-o-meter was a gift from God. It made him successful with his career and women. Except now he’d like to meet someone and settle down and he can’t turn his crap-o-meter off. As long as it’s on, there are no surprises, no rush of anticipation and no falling in love.

When Daniel meets Persey he discovers the first girl he’s ever met who is immune to his special talent. The only problem is someone else discovered Persey first and is hell-bent on claiming her as his own. Haden is the king of the Underworld with a plan to make Persey his immortal queen. What Haden doesn’t plan on is Persey’s unique ability to compel secrets and how far the people who love Persey will go to protect her from the inner darkness that threatens to destroy her soul.

About the Author: Johanna Garth is a writer of urban fantasy and mythic fiction for adults who resides with her husband and two children in Portland, Oregon.

Epic wardrobe fail

I am not wearing this t-shirt to work again EVER. And if I do, somebody kick me! 

I feel like such a tart right now. 

It didn't look bad this morning, this so-called designer t-shirt that cost me a bloody fortune a few months ago when I bought it. 

In the dim pre-dawn light of a Monday morning it actually looked cheerful.

Now I look like a middle-aged hard-bit floozy. The t-shirt is tighter than a coconut skin in the rinse cycle. It's more see-through than that thing Tiffany-Amber wore to the wet t-shirt contest the night she got pregnant with Billy-Bob's unwanted cloven-hoofed wench-whelp.

I was expecting compliments when I trounced into the office this morning. "Gee, Cathy, is that a new t-shirt?" But nobody said nothing. After seeing myself in the reflection of the washroom mirror a while ago,  I think it's safe to say they're following the "if you can't say anything nice don't say anything at all" rule.

I'd give anything to change right about now. Or throw on a sweater. That being impossible I'm kinda hunched under my desk, only my chin poking up as I reach my trailer trash pudge-knuckles over the keyboard in a vain attempt to keep the boss from seeing my bra strap.

And it's not even my good bra. It's the one that isn't white anymore having picked up a putrid grey-blue hue from going through the washing machines with my jeans. It's kinda saggy in the back, too; well, saggy in the bits that haven't fallen into the vast crevasses of back fat that are remarkably better endowed than the cheese biscuits I've got drooping off the front.

Treasures

My mom had been bugging me for some time to "come and get your crap" and I kept saying "yeah, yeah, just throw the crap out, I don't want it." Thankfully she persevered.

Mom has a big house with a big, dry basement. Because of this, all her three lovely children and their assorted sundry children, former husbands and heretofore unknown acquaintances have stored their junk there. I was the worst offender. Because of my marriage break-up and multitude of moves I had a lot of boxes in that basement. As far as I was concerned, if I hadn't used anything in those boxes for the last eight years, I didn't need it and therefore didn't want it. I am NOT a hoarder. I detest yard sales. Generally speaking old junk makes me gag.

So –

"Mom, just take the damned crap to the dump! Or leave it there and I'll take it to the dump!"

"But Cathy, there's some really nice crap in there ..."

My mom, my lovely mom, was near tears.

OK. Fine.

Last week Dave and I went to my mom's house and collected all my "crap." What a revelation! There was all kinds of really cool crap in those boxes, crap I LOVE, crap I had forgotten all about, crap I wouldn't part with for anything, now that I remember I have it! I have had so much fun going through those boxes. Each item has a special memory or a story attached. In fact, I had such a good time that I thought I'd share my crap treasures with you!

The photo on top is a cheese dish that used to sit on my Grandma Hazel's farmhouse kitchen table. Grandma and Grandpa Hooper had aged cheddar cheese at every meal so the cheese dish was never put away. I loved that dish. Years later, after Grandpa died and Grandma was "downsizing" into an apartment, she gave a lot of stuff away, including this cheese dish. She gave it back to my mom, who had, I just found out, gave it to Grandma after she had babysat us brats one weekend many, many moons ago. I was probably still a toddler, which makes the cheese dish nearly 50 years old.  A while back Mom gave me the dish because I loved it so. Can you imagine me wanting to throw it out? Sometimes I'm such a fool.

Which reminds me of a story my father used to love to tell. He was also a great lover of aged cheddar cheese. One day he was at the farmer's co-op buying something for his hobby farm, when he spied a fresh shipment of artisan cheese in the co-op fridge. He wanted to know what kind of cheese it was, since it wasn't labeled, so he said to the teenager behind the counter, "Is that old cheese?" And the kid said, "No sir, it just came in yesterday."

My mom, who turns 75 this month (happy birthday, Mom!), is in the process of "downsizing" and is giving away stuff she doesn't use anymore. A lifetime of stuff. Incredibly sad, isn't it? We spend a lifetime accumulating "stuff," only to have to give it away again. Makes you wonder how important "stuff is in the first place. Anyway, without further adieu, some stuff:

I gave this teapot to my mom for some occasion many years ago. She gave it back to me last week. I just love it! The gorgeous colours, the whimsical cartoony characters – it makes me happy, just looking at it. As you can see our dog Misty was my photo assistant. She gave everything a sniff before the big shoot.

I just wanted to show you the evil grin on the mouse's face. Hilarious, eh?

Back when I was a smoker this was my favourite ashtray. How adorable is this? I remember buying ashtrays as souvenirs because they were "practical." Well, not so practical anymore – I've gotten rid of all but this one, which I believe is an antique. Visiting smokers have to use coffee cans on the front porch.

A long, long time ago when I was a reporter for the Port Perry Star, I did a story about a woman who was selling her creamer collection. Like my mom, she was downsizing into an apartment and was going to be selling the hundreds and hundreds of creamers she had displayed throughout her neat-as-a-pin house in Blackstock, Ontario. We had a lovely time talking and taking photos and drinking tea, so she let me pick out two or three creamers to take home. I loved this pink bunny – you pick it up by the tail and the cream comes out his smiling mouth.

When I got married the first time in 1986, my Aunt Judy worked in an antique shop in Goodwood, Ontario. Her gift to us was this antique cake plate in a brilliant blue colour. It is so precious to me – and not just because it's a beautiful plate ... mostly because Aunt Judy was a special kind of woman, all heart, and she died way too young. 

My mom has a tremendous collection of china knick-knacks, including many fancy miniature cups and saucers. This one came from China, before the days of Communism and, as well as being beautiful, it's old as the hills.

I remember Old Mother Hubbard in the parlour of our home in Midland, Ontario, when I was just a squirt. Mom also had an Old King Cole figurine. I have both now. She gave them to me decades ago because she thought they were "ugly." Not me.

My father was a railroad engineer with the CPR. I spied this bean bag doll in a gift store years ago and gave it to him on Father's Day. After he died Mom returned the gift to me and I have it in a place of pride on my bookshelf.

HA! I love this bobble-head salt and pepper shaker set. It's the main reason I got into collecting salt and pepper shakers. Whenever there's any kind of breeze the porcelain skeleton heads rock on their bony hinges, clacking against their bottom teeth. This is an old and extremely collectible piece. I think it was originally sold in a tacky souvenir shop in Niagara Falls. No, Laura Eno, you can't have it but I can will it to you if you really want...