Crazy Days and Old Friends

Our snowy subdivision this morning.

Hang on a sec. I need more coffee for this post.

I've been so busy this last little while. Busy and depressed and hyper-excited and... did I mentioned depressed? Yah, it happens. Depression hits at the oddest times and for the oddest reasons, but the reason I'm feeling down in the dumps is I'm questioning Nanowrimo and my ability to get it done. Can I whine for a sec? IT'S SO BLOODY HARD. I don't mind writing when I'm in the thick of it, the "zone" as Stephen King describes it and I LOVE writing when it's fecking DONE. That's my favourite writing, the done stuff. I don't mind writing short stories, I enjoy blogging, but sitting down to an entire novel just hurts my lazy-assed head. It literally scares the shite out of me. See? There it is on the floor. A big pile of steaming shite. (Oh wait, sorry, that's cat puke.) There. I'm done whining. I'm behind, yes, but I'm not giving up. In fact, I had a satisfactory session this morning and plan to knock off another 1,000 words this afternoon.

Did you know it's snowing here? Like fecking Christmas, it is. I hate mentioning the weather here in Cold Lake, Alberta, because my Mom is coming to visit us in December and she's freaking out about the cold. Note to self: call her and tell her we paid our gas bill so she doesn't need her parka.

I saw on Facebook this morning that Alberta music icon Jann Arden was working on her novel AT THE SAME TIME AS ME. So I sent her a message, saying we're sameys (which means "stalker," no doubt) and then I had the audacity to send her a link to my free book! HAHAHAHAHAHA! I crack myself up, I do.

So today is FREE BOOK DAY! Starting today, and for the four days after, I'm giving away Friday Girls on Amazon. I'm really trying to get it on Amazon's Top 100 Free Books list. Why? Here's my evil strategy:

1. Being on the list attracts attention from PEOPLE I DON'T EVEN KNOW so I can stop annoying my friends. With me so far? I thought you'd like that part... Getting noticed is the hardest part of being an indie writer. Right now poor Weezie is buried under hundreds of thousands of books. Nobody would notice her if they fell over her, and if they don't notice a book, it doesn't matter if it's the next 50 Shades of Purple, nobody will buy it and Weezie will die. *sob* (She told me she wants lots of crustless sandwiches and good church coffee at her wake.)
2. People who read my free book will be so enamoured of my mad writing skillz that they will seek out other books by the same author and they will buy Green Eggs & Weezie, by the thousands, and I will be rich and famous and be able to afford to order pizza three nights a week. 

That's my whole plan. I know. You're thinking genius, right?

So please. Go download my book. You don't need a Kindle. You don't need a credit card. You just need a computer to download the thing. I don't even care if you read it. Oh wait. That's a lie. But I'll start with you downloading it and then I'll pester you for more ... (evil plan part deux).

Here's the links:

In the U.S., go to Amazon.com.

In Canada, go to Amazon.ca.

In the U.K., go to Amazon.co.uk.

***

I wonder if Jann Arden downloaded my book yet?

***

More about the book. Sorry. I know. You want to punch me in the face right about now. I'd like to thank the following bloggers for mentioning Friday Girls. If you've got time, drop by and say howdy!

William Kendall says he's something of a rogue and a scoundrel but he's always been super nice to me. Plus he really loves cat photos. How bad can he possibly be?

Kristy, over at Ramblings of a Mad Woman, shoots straight from the hip. That's why I love her. I also love her because she says she loves my writing. You know, which never hurts, right?

Sue Harding over at I Refuse To Go Quietly, is a wonderful gal. We have a lot in common, we absolutely do – like we're old and we hate writing sometimes. Only she knits and I have no idea what a freaking purl is. I tried to be witty over on her post. You can be the judge on whether or not I succeeded.

Alex J. Cavanaugh is probably known to most of you – and to most of the planet! He's the bestselling author of three space/science fiction novels and he's probably got the most popular blog on the whole wide web. Lucky me, everyone's favourite ninja gave me a shout-out.

If I've missed anybody, please let me know. And if anyone else wants to post a link, I will be your BFF forever. Y'know, or for a day or two. Depends how much coffee you have ...

***

Maybe Jann Arden will want to be my new BFF now. Wouldn't that be great? She lives just down the road from me. We could eat nibs together. And walk our dogs. And wear each other's clothes...

***

Today is the Oh, How I Miss You Blogfest in which participants, like me, list the bloggers I miss and list the bloggers I would miss, were they to drop off the face of the planet or be eaten by maggots or accidentally fall in their chipper shredder.

The way things are going in blogland, my list of absentee bloggers could be really long. But I'm going to limit it to three:

Alan W. Davidson
Alan, I miss you... you and your Newfoundland shenanigans and your gentle nature and that fecking ridiculous red fez you sometimes wore. I miss you so much I even miss that stupid fez. I met Alan through #FridayFlash and was wowed by his storytelling skills. He wrote a story about a dog in a Walmart parking lot that I still think about, years later. Please come back to the bloggy world, Alan. It's not the same without you, bud.

Laurita Miller
This seems to be a theme. Laurita – dear, sweet Laurita – has the classiest blog I've ever seen. Calling Shotgun combined her thoughtful, wonderful writing and beautiful photographs. She told stories about The Rock that inspired me so much I just had to visit. And meeting Alan and Laurita was one of the highlights of my entire life. Unfortunately I can't provide a link to Laurita's blog because it's open to invited readers only. But trust me, it was wonderful.

CJ Hodges MacFarlane
CJ introduced me to #FridayFlash, which literally changed my life. For a while there we were hot and heavy, writing back and forth, talking on the phone but, unfortunately, life got in the way and we drifted apart. She doesn't blog anymore either, and that is just a crying shame. I loved her spark, loved her talent, loved her whole big generous personality and I miss her like crazy.

Honestly, I don't want to list bloggers I would miss. Because I would miss all of you. And that's the truth. Y'all make the world a better place and I may not get around to you all the time, because I'm a selfish idiot, but when I do I'm always impressed with what you've done with the place. Keep on keeping on, because you're special, and if you were to stop writing, I would miss you. oxo

To see other bloggers taking part in the blog hop, visit Alex's blog. He's got the list!

***

Jann Arden hasn't called yet. Damn!

***

Today is also my friend Mark's birthday. Happy birthday, ya old fart! (He's the same age as me. I'm allowed to say that.)

***

And one more thing... are ya still there? WAKE UP!!! Geez Louise...

Fellow #FridayFlash writer Janel Gradowski released her second book in The Bartonville Series this week. The Queen of Bad Decisions follows up on Must Love Sandwiches. These books are well-written, smart, funny and FAST. Janel's idea is to give busy people enough of a taste to curb their reading appetite, so each book in the series includes a novelette, two short stories and a few recipes.

The characters in her books all live in an artist's colony and, because Janel's a foodie, she always makes food as important as her lively characters. Happy launch, Janel! I hope you sell books like hotcakes!




***

Oh wait! Come back! I lied – I do have one more thing. Recently I won some bling from CBC's Canada Reads promotion and yesterday it arrived! Check out that awesome book bag and three books from Canadian writers. Jealous? You oughta be! Now go download my free book. Go on! Git!

Friday Girls

Swishing skirts, high heels and Cadillac-bound,

It's the Friday girls, the Friday girls, the Friday girls.

When I was trying to come up a name for my short story collection I just fell in love with "Friday Girls." The very idea conjured up images of kick-ass women, confident in their abilities but all too human, kicking up their high heels and heading brashly into the weekend. But the name was also practical. Most of the stories were, after all, written about "girls" of all ages, and most were written for #FridayFlash, the Internet meme that transformed me from a journalist who wrote just-the-facts-ma'am into a bonafide fiction writer.

If you've never heard of #FridayFlash, let me quickly explain. It's the brainchild of Jon M. Strother who came up with the idea of writers, from all over the world, concocting a story of 1,000 words or less and posting it on their blogs every Friday. These stories were tweeted and Facebooked with the hashtag #FridayFlash, which enabled other writers (and readers) to find the stories, comment on them, share them and give positive feedback – thus boosting the confidence and visibility of the writers.

I have bloggy friend CJ Hodges MacFarlane to thank for turning me onto #FridayFlash, something I immediately fell head over heels with. There was such a rush in seeing what other people said about my stories. And there was such immense satisfaction in sitting down in front of a computer screen, with little more than an idea, and coming up with a real live story. Usually I had no idea what I was going to write until I started writing and it always amazed the heck out of me when a story turned out right.

Plus, I met the most amazing people. People who were just like me – struggling writers with the self-confidence of fleas. We shared the same dreams, the same goals and the same fervour to get those stories written, week after week.

I wrote a story the week before my wedding. I wrote one on my honeymoon. I wrote when I was crazy busy, and I wrote when I was ill. Bloggy friend Alan W. Davidson said I was "addicted" to #FridayFlash and he was absolutely right.

As my confidence increased I turned my attention to my novel, Green Eggs & Weezie, and, for the most part, left #FridayFlash behind. But I never stopped thinking about my "Friday girls" and I tried not to lose touch with the writing community that changed my life.

I'd like to thank Paula Boon for editing my stories, and Lou Freshwater and Jon Strother for providing introductions, as well as Steven Novak for the beautiful cover. Mostly I want to thank the writers of #FridayFlash who liked, or at least pretended to like (!) the stories that took a little bit out of my heart.

I think you'll like these stories. I'm hoping they make you smile, or make you cry, or at least make you think. These are my girls, the daughters I never had, my friends, my relatives, and they're as special to me as the women in my real life.

Starting tomorrow, for five days, Friday Girls will be free to download on Amazon. I'm working on getting the paperback version together (as well as writing a new novel during Nanowrimo, gawd help me) and should have that together in the coming days. (That one won't be free, however!)

Would anyone care to post a blurb about Friday Girls on their blogs? Doesn't have to be a big deal. Just a blurb that it's out there and it's free for five days. And if you read the book, and you like it, I'd sincerely appreciate a review on Goodreads and Amazon. It's a jungle out there in book publishing land and you really need the help of your friends to get a book launched. I hope I'm not too big a pain in your butts but please know you are soooooo appreciated.

E-mail me if you need cover art or a blurb or a link or money. Oops, sorry, don't have money. I'm a writer, remember?

It's Launch Day!

Angus and Sam at the beach two summers ago,
Inverhuron Provincial Park, Lake Huron.

We were on holiday a couple of summers ago and everything was as it should have been: laughter carried on the lake wind and secrets shared around the crackling fire. Sunburns and sleeping bags. Long days at the beach.

It was all there, a glorious week of it but, when I think of that time, it is only one moment that I recall. One small but shining moment, when time stood so irrevocably still that memory etched a potent tenderness in my heart.

It was late in the day, after supper, and we were down at the beach for one last swim. Our good friends Tammy and Richard were there with their daughters, playing in the waves that were pounding against shore. Lake Huron is a fickle playground – one minute her water is serene; the next it can be dangerously rough. It didn't seem too bad that evening, enough big waves to give everyone a thrill, but not enough to scare anyone.

Not until the plastic rafts Tammy and daughter Megan were on began pulling away from shore in the grip of a needy undertow. Tammy screamed for help and it only took a few minutes for Richard, a former lifeguard, to bring them to safety.

I have to say, Richard is one of my favourite people on earth. He's kind and gentle, and he'd give you the shirt off his back, he would, but he's got a few rough edges and is particularly good at scowling and cussing and teasing his wife.

Tammy, mind you, gives it right back. When I first met them I thought for sure they were headed to divorce court but that's just the way they carry on. Besides, I know they love each other. I saw it that evening on the beach. I saw it as clear as I've ever seen anything.

The way they stood, her hip snugged against him, her smile full of gratitude, and of love. They stood there while the sun set and the beauty of this long-married couple suffused me with pure and unbridled joy.

I'm smiling as I write this, just remembering.

For some reason I associated what had happened with Gordon Lightfoot's classic song If You Could Read My Mind. I played the song over and over, thinking about Tammy and Richard, about heroes, and feeling such overwhelming emotion that I would cry every single time the song played.



A few days later I sat down at my computer and wrote But Heroes Often Fail, a short story for Friday Flash. When I finished, I looked up from the computer and tears filled my eyes. I felt pretty good about what I had written, and I still feel good about it. I've written more than 50 Friday Flash stories but it's one of my favourites and I am thrilled it was included in The Best of Friday Flash Volume 2.

I often refer to Friday Flash and how it changed my life but just because I say it all the time doesn't make it less true.

It's simple, really. You write a "flash," which is a story 1,000 words or less. You post it on your blog on a Friday (or a Thursday night if you're a keener, like me) and then add your blog url to the Collector at FridayFlash.org. You then "advertise" your story on Twitter and on the Friday Flash Facebook page.

The first time I ever did this I was AMAZED at the instantaneous results. Within minutes there were people visiting my blog from all around the world. I remember shrieking, "THERE'S SOMEBODY FROM FLORIDA!" Within a couple of days I had visitors from England and even Australia, all writing heartfelt, insightful and helpful comments about my story. In the meantime, I used the Collector and Twitter to read other people's stories.

What I had discovered – what all people who write Friday Flash had discovered – was an incredible community of writers. They might have been based in Rhode Island or Newfoundland or England, but they became as important to me as my "real" family and friends.

Even better, Friday Flash was a teacher for me. It taught me to be a better writer, both by writing and by reading. It was also a confidence builder. If it wasn't for Friday Flash I never would have written a novel. I wouldn't have joined a writers group. In fact, I'd probably still be mired in a soul-sucking miasma of depression. Not now, though. Now I wake up with purpose, with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step.

And this is all due to Jon Strother, the writer who dreamed up Friday Flash and made it a reality. Thank you Jon, from the bottom of my heart.

Now, enough maudlin! Today is a day for celebration! Today is LAUNCH DAY for The Best of Friday Flash Volume 2, a collection of 58 of the finest short stories I've ever had the pleasure of reading.

And if I can brag a little bit, I have not one but two stories in this collection. As well as the story I submitted, But Heroes Sometimes Fail, a story called Running Away was nominated for – and won – the Reader's Choice Award. I actually have to laugh about this. It's a horror story and I almost never write horror. Basically it's totally different than my usual drivel, so it's funny to me to see it included. Regardless, I owe my nominator, Virginia Moffatt of Oxford, a great deal of thanks. Virginia also has a story in BOFF2; called Breakfast News, it is laugh out loud funny.

There are some tremendous stories in this book – I swear you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll be scared and you'll think. There are stories for all tastes, for all moods, and they're all in these sweet little bite-sized lengths that are perfect for when you don't have time for anything else.

As writer Dan Powell so eloquently said in the Foreword, "Flash fiction is all about the moment. A snapshot of an event, an emotion, a conflict. A glimpse of something important that flickers in front of the reader. It hints at a whole world beyond the borders of its modest word count and when gone the characters, ideas and images sit in the head of the reader for far longer than the story took to read."

Only five of the stories in BOFF2 are written by Canadians, which makes me even prouder, I have to admit. Canada may be a big country but it hasn't got anywhere near the population of some other countries so we Canadians always think of ourselves as underdogs to some degree. When we succeed at something, we're like Sally Field at the Academy Awards: YOU LIKE ME, YOU REALLY LIKE ME. Silly, I know – that's just part of our identity.

To celebrate Launch Day, I've joined up with my four fellow Canucks on a wee blog hop. I do hope you drop by their blogs and say hello. They are all really wonderful writers and wonderful people, as I have come to know. They are:

Alan W. Davidson

Lauren Cude

T.S. Bazelli

Jen Brubacher (who lives in England but is definitely Canadian - in fact, Jen is a little jet-lagged and may not be able to post today but she's hoping)














One more thing: I hope you consider buying The Best of Friday Flash Volume 2. It's available in paperback for $9.99 plus shipping and as an e-book. You can buy it from the publisher, eMergent Publishing (thanks to Jodi Cleghorn for all her efforts) and from Amazon. When you buy a paperback from the eMergent, an e-book is bundled in at no extra cost.

To all my family members I have this to say – guess what you guys are getting for Christmas!

Alan Davidson - Letter from a Friend

Complete honesty. I'm always calling for it, so here's the honest truth: I have a bit of a crush on Alan Davidson. Oh come off it with your high horse and your even higher eyebrows – I know damned well you do, too. 

It's the hair, for starters. That thick silvery hair and beard, so manly that whenever I think of it the words to Irish Spring commercials leap to my lips: "And I like it too!" Alan's hair and beard bring Kenny Rogers to mind, pre-plastic, when he was, ahem, hot. (Fecking celebrities and their fecking plastic surgery ... give it a REST, people! Here's more complete honesty: you all look like fecking FREAKS.)

So Alan has great hair. He's also got these Paul Newman-ish baby blue eyes, you know, when Newman was still alive, not dead corpse eyes, just so we're clear.  And he's got a fez, which is uber-attractive, as all breathing heterosexual women and homosexual men will attest. Nothing like a man wearing nothing but a smile and a fez. Of all things, the object of my desire sent me a photo of His Handsome Self wearing what looks like the tablecloth from our picnic basket – he explains it all in his letter but, I gotta tell you, this may have been a tactical error, abandoning the fez. It's like Richard Simmons abandoning his silk gym shorts or Tom Selleck shaving his moustache, or worse, me shaving my legs. Still, if anyone can carry off the tablecloth look, it is Alan, the fashionista of Newfoundland.

Looks aren't everything, of course. I tell myself that all the time. When you look like me, it's the only thing that gets you through the day. And even though Al is hotter than an October day on The Rock (it was freakishly hot the day we met. I blamed the weather for my sweaty self but, looking back, it may have just been a reaction to Alan's general hotness), he's got plenty going on in that noggin of his – plenty of smarts, plenty of charm and a wicked-good sense of humour. On top of all that, he's a writer. A really, really talented writer. One of the best I know.

That's how I came across Sir Alan of Newfoundland. Through the writing. Like me, he was a regular participant in Friday Flash, an online community of writers who post flash fiction every Friday. Anyone can do it. Anyone. I hadn't written any fiction, at all, ever, when I started writing flash. It was such a stellar experience that I encourage everyone to give it a whirl. Not only did it train me as a writer, it introduced me to some of the nicest people on the web – including dear, sweet, handsome Alan Davidson. 

The first story I ever read of his remains my favourite, A Tale of Love, Misfortune and Nasty Wee Dogs. A Valentine's tale of love and yappy small dogs that was touching and funny and all the things good fiction should be. From that point on I became a fan and an avid follower of his blog, Conversations from Land's Edge. When Dave and I got married in September 2010 we decided to honeymoon in Newfoundland, partly because we'd never been there and partly because I wanted to lay eyes on the Silver Fox of the Friday Flash circuit.

We had the BEST day. Alan is just as charming in real life as he is online. He is genuinely nice, as nice as anyone I've ever met. Unfortunately for all of us who crush on the suavest man on The Rock, his heart belongs to the fair and lovely Ginny, who is also an amazing cook and makes the world's very best cheesecake. I've had it and it's true. Alan and V, as she is known, have an energetic and handsome teenaged son he calls "The Boy," and a rather lazy rescued greyhound named Jet, who leaves turds the size of station wagons in their backyard.

While I love my husband and would never cheat on him (that, too, is a complete truth), I can't help but crush on the Man in the Fez. Even if he's now the Man in a Tablecloth.

Dear Cathy,

I hope this letter sees you and your family well.

Yeah, I know. It’s been ages since I’ve written. Sadly, I owe a ton o’ letters to friends and relatives that I had promised to write over the holidays. Each year I am sucked into a chocolate and turkey induced ‘holiday vortex’ and each year it takes me longer to fight its heavy current and flounder to freedom.

From about late September (when the stores start peddling their Christmas wares) I begin to fret about the upcoming holidays. I view the season with the same trepidation as getting a filling, or hearing the snap of latex glove at my doctor’s office…or even the presentation of my wife’s famed sweet potato soup at the supper table  *shudders*.

But I digress…

We don’t get many visitors here, so it was really nice to meet you in person when you and Dave visited eastern Newfoundland as part of your honeymoon fifteen months ago. It’s crazy…the time has flown by so fast. I am convinced that our lives are best expressed in mathematical terms: our childhoods begin as simple sums, but morph into quadratic equations and then complex exponential formulae in our ‘golden years’. And don’t get me started on the topic of turning 50 this year! 

As noted, it was great to see you folks and tour you about for the day. That guy of yours is a real keeper and I wish your visit could have been longer as there’s so much more to see on this unique island. I hope you both can visit again. Bring your boys, your dog and your camping gear and stay a spell! Also, don’t forget your travel insurance and provincial health cards because the moose do tend to wander onto the highways.

I know, you’re probably saying, “Why is Alan still living on that windswept island if he finds it so isolated?” Good question, my Muskokian friend! It’s that isolation that has kept Newfoundland somewhat ‘insulated’ from the rest of North America, allowing it to maintain its unique culture and language (the islanders have mainly Irish roots with smaller numbers descended from English and Scottish immigrants). 

I suppose that my move here is really just another phase in that accelerating life journey. Life for me began in Scotland, but I was soon relocated to the west coast of Canada (Vancouver Island). As an adult I moved again to Canada’s industrial centre in Southwestern Ontario in search of work—the ‘promised land’ as it’s often referred to by those on the coasts. Over five years ago I chose to move even farther east to ‘The Rock’…to escape that same promised land. Some have jokingly said that I may find myself traveling full-circle and end up back in Scotland. Or at least planted there after I die. Interesting thought, but I think I’ll avoid the family crypt for a few years yet.

Perhaps this moving thing is simply in my blood. My grandfather was a career army man and traveled all over the world with the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. And my dad always used to say, “You’ve got to move to where the work is.” It was kind of a family motto. Then again, dad also used to say, “Run up to the store and get me a pack of smokes” and my personal favourite, “If your pipes are leaky, have them seen to.” 

The old man stayed true to his motto and often worked in remote locations of British Columbia. It was probably for better money…or perhaps it was simply to escape the five screaming kids at home. We Davidsons must have gypsy lineage or perhaps a nomadic streak in our background to account for this constant desire to move—this state of flux. I’ve given this plenty of thought and have decided to put away my fez for a while in place of a new head covering that better reflects this family past (see enclosed photo of Jan. 22/12). I know…a lot of people love me in that fez, but I think my new look is less Peter Lorre-esque and more Omar Sharif-ish. So please…don’t send me any hate mail.

I know that I have enclosed two photos, but please post only the one with me clothed…I may want to run for political office one day.

In closing, I must thank you for throwing me a rope and helping to extricate me from that holiday vortex. For prompting me to write something…anything. Because really, my writing of late has been restricted to grocery lists and work memos hastily jotted on sticky note paper. I’m not prepared to say that I’m now walking tall in the world of writers, but at least this Letter to a Friend is a step in the right direction.

Best Wishes,

~A

Sue Harding – Letter from a Friend

Oh Sue. You're so much like me it isn't even funny. You and me could form our own Writer's Angst group only we'd have to arm wrestle over who was gonna be club president because we're both equally unsure of our talents as writers.

Say hello to Sue Harding, everyone. Sue, this is everyone.  Just about every one of the four people (!) who read this blog are also card-carrying members of the writer's-angst-society of those who feel the need – deep down in the bowels of their souls – to put words on a page and yet we all berate ourselves with the notion that we don't deserve the title "author." That our work isn't good enough. That we're fooling ourselves if we think otherwise.

Sue is a very talented writer. She needs to know this. She needs some encouragement to pick up that pen again and start writing. And Sue, please don't get mad at me for this – we all need encouragement along the line. Heck, I am extremely needy in this department. I can't even tell you how many people I have kicking me in my frozen white arse on a regular basis to keep writing. I feel like I'm a sled dog and all my writer friends are in the sled with the reins and they're yelling, "MUSH, MUSH, MUSH!" 

Sue's a retired librarian. She's an avid reader and a rabid knitter. She's a wife and a mom to two grown kids who need her now more than ever. She lives somewhere in the U.K. and I imagine her to have a lilting accent that would absolutely charm the bejeebers out of me. She is kind and she is encouraging. She thought she was going to be able to participate in National Novel Writing Month and we were going to be writing buddies but her busy, busy life put a kibosh on her own involvement – still, she managed to send me much appreciated words of encouragement along the way.

Sue is one of my Friday Flash friends, one of the small circle of talented writers I have somehow glommed onto. They're the best people – my friends in every sense of the word. Sue lives so far away that unless I win a lottery it's unlikely I'll ever make it over the pond for a visit. Still, she's on my bucket list of folks I'd like to have tea with. Maybe even a scone with a nice pot of jam and butter. Because if it's a bucket list, who cares about calories?

Dear Cathy:

We’ve known each other for a while now, keeping up with each other’s lives in snippets and snaps, via Twitter and blogs but as we can’t exactly pull up a chair and have a cup of tea and a natter, given the vast geographical distance between us, perhaps a letter will have to do for now!

Just how long have we known each other? It seems like for ever, but in reality it can have only been a couple of years at most. I ‘blame’ that Alan Davidson – I’m pretty certain I first noticed your name whilst I was reading his blog. But perhaps ‘blame’ is a bad choice of word – after all, it was only through reading his work and then being nosey enough to trawl through to yours that I found your blog and came to know a little about you and what makes you tick. Incidentally, the family photo on your blog always makes me smile!

I’ll always remember the first comments you made on my blog, responding to some flash fiction I’d written. What a breath of fresh air and encouragement – I swear I could hear a chuckle in your ‘voice’!

Writing has been an on-going pursuit, right from way back in school. That’s not to say I’ve stayed true to it since then, it sort of comes and goes in cycles. There have been a number of times I’ve grown disillusioned with it and I don’t know how many novels (finished and WIPs) that have been discarded in mad purges over the years when my ‘sensible’ head convinced me that I’d never get published so what was the point!

Well, setting up a blog a few years ago gave me a platform to display my wares, so to speak. However, it was a while before I took the plunge and was brave enough to let anyone actually see what I’d written. Thanks to encouragement from people like Matt Hilton and David Barber (and you, madam!) I began to investigate different online writing groups – and what a diverse bunch I found!

Meanwhile I plugged away with a couple of novel-length pieces, hawking them round various agencies…..but I think I am resigned to never getting anything published, having lived through the process vicariously as other writing buddies had their hopes repeatedly raised and then dashed.

But, hey – life’s too short…!

In fact, at the moment my life is seriously far too busy for the single-minded obsession of writing, anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids, but just as the nest emptied and I got used to time and space that hadn’t been there for so long, back come the fledglings, along with their problems and their needs (and their furniture!) and I’m back into Mum-mode.

Even though I’ve now given up my job in the library (and just as well, as far as coping with the family issues are concerned!) my life is still very firmly entrenched in the world of books – though rather more reading them than writing them, for the time being.

So, now, (in between being nurse-maid, cat wrangler, general housekeeper and library-runner for my daughter recovering from major eye surgery, whilst also being counsellor, soundboard and ‘spirit-buoyancy’ mentor to my currently unemployed son) the few treasured moments to myself are often occupied with reading or knitting – or both at the same time! (a multi-tasking action achieved with the discovery of a book-easel!)

My husband laughs as I knit away regardless – he once said I should have needles surgically implanted – but it is a great stress reliever, and I often find myself weaving plots and arguing the merits of proposed characters as I knit1, purl 1, pass slipped stitch over……

Besides, the wonderful David Barber once dubbed me the ‘Knitting Assassin’ as needles and wool occasionally drifted into my stories – it is a moniker I have adopted for my identity on certain forums, and even the title of a sister-blog I set up.

Well, that’s all for now, dear; if I’m quick I can snatch a couple more chapters and another few rows….given the financial recession, if ever I can’t afford the heating bills I can always wrap myself in wool and lose myself in a good book!

Bye for now!

Regards, Sue

You can check out Sue Harding's work in three places on the web:

http://www.irefusetogoquietly.blogspot.com/

http://knittingassassin.blogspot.com/

http://onesmallcogwheel.blogspot.com/

Laurita Miller - Letter from a Friend

Laurita Miller - bundled up because baby, it's cold outside.

I was having a bad day. In the throes of getting a chest cold, exhausted from a four hour car ride and a weekend of winter camping, emotional because I was picking on that lovely husband of mine, for absolutely no reason, I wasn't in the best of shape, to be sure. Then I opened up my laptop and saw I had a letter from a friend.

I opened it eagerly and didn't even read it all the way through before I started sobbing like an idjit. The idea of Laurita Miller, visiting her beloved homestead, was so beautiful, so simple and yet so vivid, that I was overcome.

Maybe it helps to know how ingrained rural Newfoundland is to someone like Laurita; maybe it helps to know Laurita a little bit. Because, to me, she is a poster child for everything that is warm and wonderful about 'The Rock.' We met in the fall of 2010. Dave and I were on our honeymoon. He'd barely been out of Ontario before. I'd never been to Newfoundland. We wanted to go somewhere neither of us had ever been, and we wanted to explore more of Canada. We also wanted to meet two of my favourite blogging buddies, Alan W. Davidson and Laurita Miller.

We had the best day imaginable. Alan and Laurita are truly good people. The best – and I don't say that lightly. You just don't meet up with folks like them often. When you do, you realize what treasures they are, and how lucky you are to have come across them.

Laurita is thoughtfully intelligent, funny and sassy, warm and generous. She shaved her head to raise money to fight cancer. She is deeply involved in her children's lives. She loves her husband fiercely, like she married him yesterday. Family, I think, is more than just a word to Laurita. It's everything, as important to her as breathing. I'm just guessing, when I say that – I know, pretty presumptuous. But I do believe it's true.

Laurita lives in a suburban environment near St. John's, the capital of Newfoundland, but she was raised in the countryside, next to the ocean, and salt and honest Newfoundland spirit runs thick in her veins.

My father was a railroad engineer and we moved several times in my young life, to the point that I don't really know where my hometown is. I don't feel any kinship to any particular place. Laurita knows exactly where she's from. And when she writes about it, my heart sings.

Laurita Miller is one of the finest writers I know. Her blog, Calling Shotgun, is one of my favourite haunts. Some day, mark my words, she will be famous. I can hardly wait to say I knew her when.

I am so honoured to share her letter with you.

Dear Cathy:

I hope this letter finds you well and making fantastic progress on that novel of yours. I can’t wait to read what you’ve done.

Things are quieting down here after the holidays. The kids are back to school and I think I’ve finally managed to eradicate all the glitter from the house. That stuff gets everywhere.

I hopped in my car today, taking advantage of the lull, to go check on my old homestead. After all the craziness, I needed the break. I love the drive, though it takes over an hour to get here. It’s relaxing to travel a road that’s so familiar.  

The first thing I did was take a walk around the house, through the garden and the woods, checked the barn and filled all the birdfeeders. The pond was well frozen and, once I made sure no one was watching, I had a little slide around. I ended up on my behind more than once, so I’m glad there was no one to see.

It was one of those damp days, where the cold just seeps into your bones, so I lit the fireplace as soon as I went inside. The wind was up by then, and from the window I could see the whitecaps on the water. White horses on the harbour, my grandfather would call them. I always loved that saying. Newfoundland is a bleak place in the winter, but I think it might just be my favourite time. Sitting there, warm in my old home, looking out at the wind and water – can you think of a better way to spend some quiet time?

There’s also something very comforting about sleeping in my old room. I loved waking up in that room, to the sound of the birds in the trees outside, the boats in the harbour, and that stupid, clumsy seagull who would land on the roof – whump – and then run the whole length of the house – thump, thump, thump, thump.

Tonight I’ll walk down the harbour and visit my aunt and my grandfather, sit in that nice warm kitchen for a cup of tea and a chat. Then tomorrow I’ll head back over that familiar road to my house in Chaos Town. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I start to miss the madness after a bit.

I hope you come visit me again someday. I would love to take you to all these places, but maybe in the summer when the temperatures and landscape are a little more friendly.

Take care, my friend. I look forward to chatting again soon. Give my best to all your boys.

Laurita

2,745 words!

HELLLOOOOOO NANOWRIMO!

CATHY OLLIFFE-WEBSTER IS IN DA HOUSE!

Can't talk now. Am wooting around the kitchen... look at me woot, shaking my thang. See that thang? I got some junk in my trunk, baby, and it's shaking, look at that thang shake!

FIRST day of National Novel Writing Month is DONE and I have slammed 2,745 words down on that keyboard, surpassing my goal of 2,000 words. THIS, in spite of a busy day at the office!

I got involved with NaNo at the last minute, only because a couple of other girls in my writers' group (we are all girls, even though we're as old as Alan Davidson's fez, and we always will be) were signed up and I thought, yes, this is what I need to get my novel finished. A primo kick in the ass deadline with tons of moral support.

So far, so good.

Like a recovering alcoholic, I am taking this 50,000 word challenge one day at a time.

And today was sooooooooooooooo suwheet ...

Kiosk Fall 2011 and Bear Poo

Got an e-mail from my friend Alan in Newfoundland who wondered why I've been so quiet lately. I've been fishing, Alan! Dave'll tell you – I haven't been quiet, I've just been noisy in a different, internet-free place.

Kiosk is one of the northernmost camping areas in Algonquin, one of Ontario's most famous and largest provincial parks. The are no roads into its vast interior, just a loose waterway of canoe routes, lonely dark lakes and black forests. The bottom end of the park has a highway and several campgrounds running through it (we go to one of those campgrounds regularly, Lake of Two Rivers), but there are really only two campgrounds in the north part, Brent and Kiosk. Both are at the end of long dirt roads stretching through Crown land. Both are former sawmill and railway villages, now ghost towns with only foundation remnants as clues of once thriving communities. And both are launching points for adventure-seekers looking for true wilderness experiences.

While Dave and I have camped in the interior, our trips to Kiosk are far more comfortable. We bring our trailer and our aluminum motorboat and spend four days every spring and every fall looking to catch and release some big fish, spend some time together and catch our breath. No jobs, no kids, no pressure.

The weather was downright terrible. Grey skies and rain the whole time we were there – except on Sunday, when it was time to pack up and leave. Oh well. We've never let the weather put a crimp in our style. We fished, we rode our bikes, we read our books, we played cards. We celebrated our first wedding anniversary in a place we have both come to love as much as we love each other.

I took this picture to show you the difference between water levels in the spring and in the fall. This past spring we couldn't get under this bridge because the water was so high. Last weekend the water was so low there was barely enough water for our boat – the difference is at least four feet. The bridge, by the way, is part of the abandoned railway line built by lumber baron J.R. Booth in the 1800s. It's the main reason Brent and Kiosk existed, with sawmills cutting up the rich forests of Algonquin and shipping them, via railway, all over the world. Before Algonquin was cut bare of trees, it was mostly giant pines and spruce that grew here. The regrowth has brought maple to the park, making Algonquin a gorgeous place to be in the fall.

Normally you would never be able to perch on a rock in the rushing Amable du Fond, the river that connects Algonquin's northern lakes: Kiosk, Manitou and Tea. We've never seen the river so quiet but took the opportunity to walk up the waterfall and take some photos. Dave brought his line and tried to wangle a brookie onto his line but even the fish thought there wasn't enough water.

This was my fish, a nice 4 pound bass. Dave, of course, did fish holding duties, baiting the hook duties and looking good in his rain suit duties. I did all the real work, wrestling that beauty in, kicking and screaming. We posed him for a pic, than he flicked his tail and disappeared into the water. 

Dave also caught a nice bass - not as nice as mine, though. .. jest saying...

And a trip to Kiosk just isn't complete without a lake trout. Dave was happy to snag this one.

Isn't this ridiculously cute? I know. You should have seen her waddling around in it.

When I was taking this photo I couldn't see Misty in the viewfinder – she completely blended in with the orange leaves and dark water of the Amable du Fond waterfall.

Because my friend Linda requested it, here's the bear poop in our front yard. Yup, we went all the way up north to see wildlife and we come home to see that a bear had ripped down our bird feeder and then crapped in our front yard. Linda, you can see the pitts of the choke cherries the bear had been eating. Judging by the freshness, the bear had been there within the last day. And judging by the size, it was a BIG bear. For ages we were under the false impression that there were no wild animals in our neighbourhood, other than a few foxes, raccoons and skunks – but now we know there are bears so we have to be a little more careful. We did see some wildlife in Kiosk – on our way there we had a rabbit run right towards our vehicle – Dave had to swerve to avoid it. The hare had eyes as big as saucers. A little bit down the road we saw the reason why: a fisher hunting it. "Run, bunny, run!" we shrieked out the window. Dave honked the horn and scared the fisher into the bushes. We hope we gave the bunny enough of a break to survive.

Our busted bird feeder with poo in the background.

The top of the feeder the bear had ripped off.

The wire that had held the feeder until the bear decided to have a closer look.