Please Welcome Muskoka People

On our wedding day, wearing a new suit, shirt and tie and all his wedding
bling, Dave had to do some fixing on our old outboard motor.
Photo by Erin Monett of Everimages.

It's a special day for me!
No, not Hallowe'en (although I am looking forward to taking young Sam out trick or treating and I do wish all of you a happy and spooky evening).
Today I have officially launched a new business venture. It's a new blog called Muskoka People and it's all about putting the spotlight on people and their businesses in my community. Muskoka is a big place, encompassing the towns of Gravenhurst, Bracebridge and Huntsville with all kinds of smaller villages in between. It's the jewel of Ontario's cottage country, less than three hours north of Toronto, and its beauty is legendary. Clear, beautiful lakes. Unending forests with towering sugar maples and majestic pines. Craggy outcrops of the Canadian Shield. No wonder so many cottagers and tourists come here year after year. No wonder people like me call it home.
Muskoka People is a place where local people and their businesses can be showcased with a professionally written profile, a photograph, a logo and contact information. Customers will pay one low fee, and their story will be online for as long as blogger exists. Every time someone googles their name or their type of business, their story will show up. As far as I'm concerned, it's the best advertising money can buy. With this, they pay a one-time fee (I'm starting out for the unbelievably low price of $100) and that's it.
I know with my experience from this blog that people searching for stuff online continuously hit old stories of mine, especially posts with specific titles. So I know that if I label each post with a general title, like Muskoka Mechanic, anybody searching for a mechanic in this area will see my website.
Anyway, that's the idea.
 I hope you like it. I hope you can support me. For now, I would appreciate comments, followers and pimpage on your own blogs or through facebook or Twitter.If you live in Muskoka or in the area (I'll definitely take Almaguin, Parry Sound and Haliburton) and would like a profile written about you, don't hesitate to send me an e-mail. I would love to do it. And, at the risk of sounding like an infomercial, if you're among the first few people to contact me, I'll do your profile for free, just to get the ball rolling.
Speaking of rolling balls, my first profile is my new husband, "the most photographed man on the internet" according to Alan W. Davidson. My Dave is an awesome mechanic, one of the best, as honest as the day is long. I figured he would be the perfect first profile.
Above is a photo of him on our wedding day, all gussied up in shirt and tie, making a quick fix on our old outboard motor so our photographer, Erin Monett, could take photos from the river.
Please drop by the new site, say hello, and spread the word for me. I appreciate all of my internet friends so much and hate to bug you, but I know you'll help because you're special as they come. What would I do without you?
Hugs to you all.
oxoxox

The Fine Print - #fridayflash

The widow of Scarlett Pimm's ex-boss placed a red rose on top of his coffin, then stepped back.

Scarlett watched this from a hill overlooking Craggy Bluffs All Saints Cemetery. Gangly and string-tied, she stood hollow-eyed in the shadow of a dying sugar maple, waiting for the graveside service to end. From this angle the mourners resembled fat black beetles, blundering blindly around the widow, licking up to her painted sorrow like it was a dark jewel. Their shiny umbrella backs swarmed around the widow, carrying her to her limousine on a sycophantic cloud, then skittering to their own mini-vans to follow her for pickle-wrapped sandwiches and tepid funeral tea.

A backhoe rolled in, covered the corpse with dirt, then rolled away.

Scarlett waited for a while, waited until the sun was starting to flatten in the tender sky, waited for the world to forget the man in the hole, then slid down the hill on the skin of her own shadow.

She stood in front of the tombstone, so fresh that marble dust still lay in the letters of his epitaph.

Andrew Joseph Williams 

Born June 1, 1942. 

Died October 28, 2010. 

Husband & Corporate Giant 

Respected by all.

She took the hammer and chisel from her tool belt and began inscribing an epitaph of her own. She had waited 12 years to do this, ever since her job had been outsourced to some febrile curry town across the ocean.

"You may have the people of this community fooled into thinking you are someone honourable but I know who you are," she told him on the day she was fired, "and I am going to put it on your tombstone some day."

He had just laughed at her. Laughed, and had security escort her out the front door.

But now it was Scarlett who was laughing as marble chips flew, as sweat soaked her hair, as grave dirt crusted into the knees of her jeans, as four words emerged on the back of Andrew Joseph Williams' tombstone: Lying Sack of Shit.

She finished by chiselling a neat little asterisk beside his name.

"Unlike you," she said, "I always keep my promises."

Why I'm Lucky

No matter what happens, I am lucky.

Luckier than most.

He loves me.

Goldilocks & the Three Critiques

One day Goldilocks entered a novel marathon.
She got three critiques from three different judges.
Each critique came on a form with three different categories:

Manuscript Strengths

Areas of Improvement

Final Comment

All three judges had vastly different takes on Goldilocks' manuscript.

One judge seemed to really, really like it. This was probably the mommy bear judge.
Manuscript Strengths: Terrific dialogue - you've got a really good ear! These folks sound very Maritime-y – is that intentional? This is very funny and I enjoyed reading it. You conjure up the small town cheating husband with real credibility & humour.
Areas of Improvement: The sex is a bit more graphic than some readers will like. You've got a knack for hilarious similes but be careful not to overuse it – there are four great examples on the first page alone and you may want to be judicious about them. I want to believe in Lou as a journalist but perhaps this case needs to be made a bit more strongly? Mostly we see her as a last-to-know, angry wife.
Final Comment: Don't stop! This has potential and I hope you press on with it. Will Lou find Lavalife love? Will Jimmy redeem himself somehow? I'd love to know.

One judge had balanced comments, like the porridge that was just right or the chair that fit Goldie's butt perfectly.
Manuscript Strengths: Intriguing opening. Good description, metaphors and similies. Humour and drama intermingle quite well.
Areas of Improvement: Some of the dialogue is inappropriate for the character - for instance, Lou's dialogue seems too rustic/rural for a career writer, and Spencer's is too sophisticated for a four-year-old. (ex. a young child wouldn't say 'woman' or describe eggplant as 'disgusting' or wish that he could be rid of the 'damn backpack' ... and 'flake out' on the couch.)
Final Comment: It's difficult to judge the plot's direction on a small portion of the intended novel: certainly there are good possibilities here, and you clearly have a talent for descriptive narrative that is engaging and entertaining. The characters are interesting and I hope you enjoy continuing to develop them.

The last judge (grumpy old bear) didn't like anything. 
Manuscript Strengths: (this area was left blank by the judge. apparently nothing was strong about the manuscript, not even the spelling)
Areas of Improvement: Where are the likeable characters? Jimmy's revolting. Lou doesn't seem to have any redeeming qualities. Aside from extramarital sex, sexual problems (which are described in way too much detail) and needing to have sex, nothing happens.
Final Comment: If you're going to write a story about a dysfunctional family, I'd suggest inventing a town name and not set it in actual small town Ontario.

Um, in her own defence, Goldilocks wants to point out that she stumbled over a name for the town but decided to let the muse take her and keep writing, rather than wasting time thinking of a town name. She figured she'd change the town name in the editing process.

Oh sod it, Goldilocks is me, of course. I just wanted to share what the judges had to say about the marathon. And I'm a little perplexed by the third judge's comments.
Although, seriously, I shouldn't complain. Some of my fellow marathoners got just plain nasty critiques. I mean, terribly nasty. On balance, mine were pretty fair. And I did get a big giggle out of the last judge not writing ANYTHING in the strengths category.
I'm not sure how to take them, though. Do I believe the happy judges? Do I believe the judge that had nothing good to say? Do I find a happy medium?
I'm curious to hear how other people handle their critiques. How much do you "take in" what they have to say? How much do you change?
Must go now. I suddenly have a craving for porridge.

Behind

I took my own advice this afternoon, taking some time, taking some photos.

It was a gorgeous day here in Muskoka. Wish you were here.

I am so behind.

The car rattles along the highway.

Going home. 

Going to work.

Doesn’t matter. 

It just goes.

On a track. 

On a one-way street.

On a wheel that never stops turning.

Behind at work. 

Deadlines loom like

monsters in grown-up closets,

hiding behind the dresses

and the sensible pumps.

I start one thing.

Almost finish another.

I lose myself in the middle

of three more.

People interrupt.

Phones ring.

Tempers burn. Hearts race.

I hide in the bathroom

because it is safe.

Behind at home.

Dishes grow black in the sink.

Laundry moulders in the machine,

wrinkles in the dryer,

breeds on the bedroom floor.

Stuff overwhelms me,

begging to be put away.

I don’t know where that is,

Away.

Maybe, if I find it, 

I could go there myself.

And let the dishes, the laundry,

and the dusty knick-knacks

find their own way.

Behind everywhere.

Cards to write.

E-mails to send.

Stories to read.

Apologies to make.

Thank you for the crystal vase,

it will look perfect in the hutch

with the doors shut

alongside the dishes

I only use at Christmas.

Hey friend, how are you?

I’ve been busy, I’m behind,

I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner.

I’m sorry I haven’t read more.

I’m sorry I said those awful things.

I’m sorry I’m not the person

you might have thought I was.

I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother,

daughter, sister, wife, friend.

I’d try harder but I’m so behind.

Unread books pile up

beside my bed.

They are guilt, printed on paper.

Unwashed hair,

unmade bed,

unsomething else.

Alone in the car,

on the way home,

or to work

(does it matter?),

I catch my breath.

Sunlight filters through the forest,

golden leaves, the stubborn ones,

still clinging to hope,

glow yellow in waning afternoon.

I want to stop the car,

jump out, take a moment

to walk through the forest,

crunch brown leaves underfoot,

smell the earthy wonder

of the changing seasons.

I know it would be magic.

It would bring me back

to childhood wandering,

destination-less, timeless.

Stop the car,

my heart sings.

You won’t be sorry!

This moment won’t last,

I tell myself.

Take it while it’s here.

But the car rattles along the highway.

On to the next thing.

The next thing.

The next thing.

I am so behind.

By the way, if you have a moment, pop over to the Canadian Blog Awards, where my good friend Laurita Miller's blog, Brain Droppings, is up for a prize in the Culture & Literature Blog category.

Just go to the Canadian Blog Awards website and cast for your vote for dear Laurita. She is an outstanding writer and has a most elegant blog, full of wonderful stories, poems and photographs.

Good luck, Laurita! Hope you win!