Caught By The Christmas Build-Up

Christmas is just around the corner, and of course I'm not ready.
Every year, I swear I'll be more organized next year...and the next Christmas season still sneaks up on me and catches me flatfooted.
Sigh.
We always hear that Christmas isn't about gifts, it's supposed to be about friends, family...those we hold dear to us.
After nearly losing Mom earlier this year...I can finally say I understand it better than ever.

This week, I'll be digging out the decorations, the miniature village, the wreath and all the stuff for the tree. And the snowshoes.
This year, we get to trek through the snowy woods for a real tree.
I better borrow the neighbour's saw.

Speaking of Christmas trees, here's a cool little article about a family owned and operated tree farm.
Gotta love when a family turns convention on it's head.

Of Mice and Other Fears

Few things inspire such fear in people as mice.

Sure, there's  "standard" fears; heights, snakes, bugs, spiders, dark places, tight places and so on. None of these are to be made light of, but as a person who is afraid of mice, let me tell you that there is, sometimes, no rationale to fear. Let's take mice.
Please, take them all.
My eldest son tells me, mice have fear too. Personally, I don't believe this for a second. But many will tell us that they are more afraid of us than we are of them.
I don't care!

Apologies to my eldest son, and others who think mice make cute pets.

The little bastards have no place being in homes. They belong outside, not in my house.
Living out in the bush, I can tell you that mouse fertility comes in waves. It doesn't take a mouse long to get pregnant, carry and give birth to more  vermin. The gestation period of the common house mouse is just under a month, and they can give birth to a litter anywhere from 3-14 young. Mother Nature has pretty much ensured the continuation of  the house mouse with a range that covers North America. It's not like they're a threatened species!

My fear is not unfounded. The common house mouse can carry deadly diseases. Leptospirosis, Murine  Typhus, Lymphocytic Choriomeningitis, Bubonic Plague, and the list goes on.

I don't really care if they live outdoors and remain part of the food chain, but I do not want them in my house.
To that end, we have lifted every vent cover and inserted common window screen, then replaced the vent cover. We did this because a couple of us have spotted mice coming up from the basement this way, then returning to it's dark sanctuary the same way.
I have scattered mothballs throughout the basement because it's said that mice don't like mothballs.
(I can understand that, those things reek!) We've also invested in sonic rodent repellers for every room, and while the house was empty, they seemed to work.

So of course, after doing all that to keep the mice out, wouldn't you know, we got a mouse just the other night.
Sigh.
We had gone three or four nights without seeing one, but then Betty and I heard one in the walls of the back porch late one night. With a growing sense of dread, I knew it was only a matter of time.

We have mouse traps in the kitchen and back porch, but when Eldest Son saw it, it was quite happily exploring the kitchen. Eldest Son talked to it while I tried not to have a melt down and secretly prayed the mouse would bolt for a peanut butter baited trap and die quickly.
Of course not. That would make my life simple!

In the end, Eldest Son was able to capture Micky with a peanut butter baited bowl, flashlight and a piece of cardboard. Mouse was taken down the road (not far enough for my liking, but Son was in his pajamas) and released!

I respect my son's mouse-whisperer gifts, but I subscribe to the "the only good mouse is a dead mouse" belief. I know I am not alone in this, lots of folks are afraid of mice. But we can fill all the holes we see, keep our homes as clean as possible and yet still have to deal with them!
On behalf of all the mouse-haters, we do not apologize for our fear any more than someone who is afraid of heights can.
All we ask is that you bear with us.
And clean up those crumbs!

How do you feel about rodents?

Mice, Minimalising and Mojo!

Change is never-ending.
We never really get used to it, no matter how many times it hits us in the ass.
Our circumstances here have changed yet again, and all of the lessons I learned the last time we moved are nearly useless.

I say 'nearly' because the only lessons that apply this time are
-change always comes again
-this too shall pass

So what lessons did we learn this time?

We have too much stuff!

I se now the benefit of "realistic minimalism"

We are a family of four people and two dogs. Two of us are teenagers, two of us are crafters.
We have stuff.

So now we embark on the interesting journey of downsizing. Do I need ten favourite coffee cups? Not really, no. Do I need twenty t-shirts? Nope. The challenge will be in getting the family, as a unit, on board with the downsizing.

We are fortunate this time to have a wood/oil furnace.
The prepper in me likes this, because now we have a choice in how we stay warm, not to mention the simple matter of control over this issue.

I can also use the firebox to help stay on top of garbage.
Whatever trash we generate that is flammable goes into a separate bag and used for fire-starter. Wood heat is a more thoroughly-warming kind of heat, and I'm not exaggerating when I tell you our senior Chihuahua appreciates the heat!
Although it took me a little while to find my fire-making mojo again, I'm sure I'll get back into the swing of keeping a fire going by the time the snow flies.

Either that or we'll be chilly!

How is autumn progressing where you live?

Next time, the war of the mice!

No Sheeple Here

Where does a "prepper" end and self sufficiency begin?
When one realizes that prepping is all well and good, but unless you have the incredible fortune to have 5 years worth of supplies squirreled away, you're going to have to learn how to be self sufficient.
In fact, many advocates of self-sufficiency started  on the path to prepping.

When I say "prepping", I'm not talking about tinfoil-hat-wearing-rifle-toting-live-underground types.
Generally, I'm talking about the folks who put food and basic supplies aside in times of just-in-case.
Just-in-case could be shortage of work, extended power outages, store shortages, road closures, natural disasters, and the list goes on depending on geography, financial climate, etc.


Digital Journal explains it like this;
"The heart of the prepper message: No power, no stores open. No stores open, no food. During the Los Angeles riots, truckers refused to deliver to supermarkets because it was too dangerous. People living day-to-day who have consumed the limited amount of food they have begin to get desperate, and, in the case of a massive or multiple disasters, government assistance may or may not be forthcoming. Indeed, the government itself may be the problem."

It's an easy stroll from a "prepper" mindset to one of self sufficiency.
For example, one day I can be thinking about buying freeze-dried fruit online and three days later I'm planting my own strawberry beds so that I won't have to buy strawberries online next year. The money I save not buying the fruit online can be diverted into a dehydrator.
See? No message of doom and gloom, but rather, think ahead.

It's an engaging, a creative use of the grey-matter between our ears. One that takes responsibility for ourselves. One that says we can think for ourselves, no sheeple here, thank you very much.


Read more: http://www.digitaljournal.com/news/world/doomsday-prepping-comes-of-age-reaches-cities-affluent/article/384096#ixzz34og7c5uA

Rough Beauty

There is a kind of rough beauty out here. The kind that can kill you, or cure you, depending on how you step, how you breathe and how your heart beats.
One step can either break a leg or take your breath away with rapture.
That's how it is out here.
The trees can whisper wisdom to you if you only stop and listen.
Of course you must stop yourself first.
Stop the mind-chatter, the ego, the judging, the "tapes" that lecture on your inadequacies....stop it all and just listen.

To the wind, the water, to the birds and to the voice of the Divine in everything around you.

If you can do that, you will leave this place a different person.

A better, less-fractured, universe-touched person.

Elliott Brood - Write it All Down For You

This is what has my toes tapping on our grey rainy morning. This is the best version of this song. I didn't care much for the live versions.

Enjoy!

Cold Weather Planning In Your Vehicle

For most of us in Northern Ontario this winter, these past few months have been crazy. It has been snowing, cold, windy, sometimes freezing rain and occasionally sunny. While we have been lucky enough to not have any freezing rain up here, I know folks who have. As I said, the weather here in Ontario is crazy this winter.
Because of all this, the boys have had a lot of snow days lately. In the midst of a conversation about traveling conditions for a school bus, it occurred to one of my parents that the van had no emergency kit should anything happen  during one of the trips to and/or from town. We live an hour away from town, by vehicle, and -30 is not the time to be stranded along a road! So it has been decided that the van needs some kind of emergency kit.

Top of the list, for winter, is a wool blanket or two, which can be easily found at a thrift shop. Barring wool, a fleece blanket will serve, but wool is the fiber of choice up here! Candles and a way to light them are of equal importance. A couple of small tea candles could keep the interior of a vehicle above freezing. Not as comfortable as home, but enough to keep us alive. Of equal importance, water. Bottles of water would need to be circulated and obviously NOT kept outside. There's no point in having 6 water bottles in the back of the van if they've all frozen and split, only to soak everything when the ice inside thaws. To my mind, this would require a small backpack that would need to be taken out and brought in before and after every trip. Yes, it takes a little more effort, but you can survive for weeks on only water. Not true with food.
Because one of the parents is diabetic, we will need some kind of food in the kit to keep those blood sugar levels up.

I'm thinking too that one of those signs that go in the windshield "Call Police" might be a good idea too. Especially since we, and by extension our cell phone, don't always travel with the folks.

Of course this is not a proper or complete list by any means...merely a jumping off point.

What about you? Do you have an emergency kit? Do you need to build one? What would go into, or is already, in yours?

Books Should Go...

Books should go where they will be most appreciated, and not sit unread, gathering dust on a forgotten shelf, don't you agree? 

Christopher Paolini

November 17, 1983: Happy 30th birthday, Christopher Paolini! The young science fiction author was home schooled and managed to graduate high school at 15, after which he published his first best seller, Eragon.

To Make A Farm

Indie films are an interesting breed unto themselves, but I find them most fascinating when they examine a topic very few others have looked at. In this age of mass-produced entertainment, films that make us think are gems indeed. I'm excited to share this with you, an indie film that follows five farmers on three Canadian farms as they try to make a profit. Farming is difficult enough these days with all kinds of challenges, but up here in Canada it is even more so. Not many people in these modern times are connected to their food, although that number is growing, and even fewer understand the person that lives a way of life that was largely abandoned for decades. So I invite you to follow the link to a fascinating article. Make the effort to find the film and watch with an open mind.
It's worth it.
Best of all, you might just come away with a better understanding of those that are doing what they can to reconnect with their food and the land.
You can find the interview at Scratch magazine.

Empty Lots, Grand Visions

So what's more important? 75 units of housing for people that are going to make more than $150,000 a year, or a park that will benefit AIDS sufferers, the elderly that may never see wild spaces again and youngsters.
It's a conundrum. Housing, or a green space that helps people in ways difficult to quantify? The units won't even serve as many middle income families as the city needs because the rules for affordable housing there are far removed from what folks need.
The complete story can be found here

Pigeons From Hell

Strangely enough, I enjoy horrifying fiction, scary stories and other frightening things that make my mind race in the dark. I can't watch horror movies though. There was once a commercial that aired on tv for some horror movie, The Ring I think it might have been. The commercial gave me nightmares, I just kept seeing the same image over and over again. When I was working night shift, I would be walking a mile home in the wee hours of the morning before the sun rose with only a flashlight and my imagination for company.
Let me tell you, an overactive imagination in a weary mind is a traitor at 4:30 in the morning. Every rustle in the woods becomes a starving, rabid wolf. Every snap of a branch becomes a Sasquatch waiting to commit horrible atrocities.
Even though I knew every inch of the road, every pot-hole of the bridge, some mornings I saw our door and I could almost taste my relief.

And yet I seek out horror stories. I have my own in the works.
I can't explain it. Perhaps my imagination enjoys being terrified, but my muse does not want readily made images, but would rather conjure its own? To that end, I found this story this morning, by Robert E. Howard.
Pigeons From Hell.
It should be a classic, if it is not already. It has all the best markings of a Twilight Zone episode, or perhaps The Outer Limits.

It is frightening and horrifying in its implications, descriptions and quest for its own truth. Here's a snippet;


'He blinked his eyes. The beam of moonlight fell across the stair just as he had dreamed it did; but no figure lurked there. Yet his flesh still crawled from the fear the dream or vision had roused in him; his legs felt as if they had been plunged in ice-water. He made an involuntary movement to awaken his companion, when a sudden sound paralyzed him.

It was the sound of whistling on the floor above. Eery and sweet it rose, not carrying any tune, but piping shrill and melodious. Such a sound in a supposedly deserted house was alarming enough; but it was more than the fear of a physical invader that held Griswell frozen. He could not himself have defined the horror that gripped him. But Branner's blankets rustled, and Griswell saw he was sitting upright. His figure bulked dimly in the soft darkness, the head turned toward the stair as if the man were listening intently. More sweetly and more subtly evil rose that weird whistling.

"John!" whispered Griswell from dry lips. He had meant to shout -- to tell Branner that there was somebody upstairs, somebody who could mean them no good; that they must leave the house at once. But his voice died dryly in his throat.

Branner had risen. His boots clumped on the floor as he moved toward the door. He stalked leisurely into the hall and made for the lower landing, merging with the shadows that clustered black about the stair.

Griswell lay incapable of movement, his mind a whirl of bewilderment. Who was that whistling upstairs? Why was Branner going up those stairs? Griswell saw him pass the spot where the moonlight rested, saw his head tilted back as if he were looking at something Griswell could not see, above and beyond the stair. But his face was like that of a sleepwalker. He moved across the bar of moonlight and vanished from Griswell's view, even as the latter tried to shout to him to come back. A ghastly whisper was the only result of his effort.

The whistling sank to a lower note, died out. Griswell heard the stairs creaking under Branner's measured tread. Now he had reached the hallway above, for Griswell heard the clump of his feet moving along it. Suddenly the footfalls halted, and the whole night seemed to hold its breath. Then an awful scream split the stillness, and Griswell started up, echoing the cry.

The strange paralysis that had held him was broken. He took a step toward the door, then checked himself. The footfalls were resumed. Branner was coming back. He was not running. The tread was even more deliberate and measured than before. Now the stairs began to creak again. A groping hand, moving along the balustrade, came into the bar of moonlight; then another, and a ghastly thrill went through Griswell as he saw that the other hand gripped a hatchet -- a hatchet which dripped blackly. Was that Branner who was coming down that stair?

Yes! The figure had moved into the bar of moonlight now, and Griswell recognized it. Then he saw Branner's face, and a shriek burst from Griswell's lips. Branner's face was bloodless, corpse-like; gouts of blood dripped darkly down it; his eyes were glassy and set, and blood oozed from the great gash which cleft the crown of his head!'

I'd love to know if you followed the link and read the whole thing. If you did, what do you think? How do you feel about horror fiction? Sound off in the comments section!
(Royalty free pigeon photo found at dreamstime)

A Bit of Spook For You!

Today, I'd like to do something different and share an excerpt of a new piece of fiction that I'm working on.
Be warned, it's horror. Mild right now, but it'll get freaky later.
It doesn't have a title yet, but I'm open to suggestions. Suggest something in the comments section. When it sees publication, if I use your suggestion, you'll get a shout-out in the acknowledgements! You could be famous...
Anyway, here's the excerpt, please let me know what you think!

****

They say I’m mad, the people here. But I’m not. Not really. They just don’t understand because they’ve never been face to face with the evil that I have.
You asked what I saw? It wasn’t just what I saw, but what I heard and smelled. Hell, the whole thing.

Have you heard of Christina Mine? No? I’m not surprised, it’s not much now. Back in its prime it was a small village of maybe 60 buildings; a store, some homes, a train station, outbuildings for the mine, a hotel and a mill that took in logs from the surrounding woods and prepped them for the train trip south. By the time I saw the area a hundred years later all that was left was the skeleton of the mill, the train station and a boarded up entrance to the mine. The closest collection of people was ten miles away. I thought it was going to be a peaceful summer, the real estate agent never said a word about anything hinky going on before I bought the place. I thought it was just a sad, neglected train station.

I replaced the windows and doors before I ever stayed overnight. A couple of times I thought I heard kids playing in the hall, but of course, when I went to look they had left. I replaced the locks after that. The day after I replaced the locks, I was out in the front yard having a smoke and happened to glance up at the second story. When I saw someone’s face looking back at me from the corner of the window, I ran inside, grabbed my gun and charged up the stairs, mad as hell. It was my place, you know? I didn’t want kids coming back in, ruining what I’d done to fix the old place up. It never occurred to me that the closest kids would have lived ten miles away.  Of course I found no one else besides myself. I double checked the locks and kept my gun close by. It never really bothered me then.

The next time something weird happened, I was up a ladder, painting the outside of the building. I had picked up a few gallons of simple white on a trip to town and only had to wait for the right day. Well, the day finally came. The bugs were scarce, there was a slight breeze and it was as bright a day as I’d ever seen. So I set my stuff up, leaned the ladder against the building and took my tray and roller up the ladder. I had been painting for a couple of hours when I heard someone laugh, kind of a chuckle, right beside me. Like anyone else would, I looked. Of course there was no one there, I was twenty-something feet off the ground! I shrugged to myself and kept painting. When I heard the chuckle again, it came from my other side. Yeah, I looked again. Nope, no one there either. This time though, I got goose bumps up and down my arms. I got off that ladder as fast as my feet could carry me.

TBC

Brilliant Achievements Take Planning

"If there is no dull and determined effort, there will be no brilliant achievement."
Hsun-Tzu

When I read these words the other day, I felt my blood chill. Honestly! I used to think that line "their blood ran cold" was a load of crap. I found out otherwise.
Anyway, I spent the rest of the day thinking about that quote. I think it can apply to a lot in life, and I think every procrastinator like me can take it to heart. It can apply to writing, to becoming more self-sufficient, to crafts like knitting or clay-work, homework or...anything really.

I've been reading "The Shy Writer Re-Born" by C. Hope Clark, and I've found her inspiring as well. She gives solid advice, and because she is an introvert like me, I tend to pay more attention when she assures me that I really can lay down a plan for success in my writing. If she can do it, so can I.

If I can do it, brave ahead despite my self doubt and negative crap, you can do it too. Doesn't matter what it is, if it's something you believe in, you can do it.
I'm talking reasonable dreams here.
Ask yourself these things:

• What do I want to be doing six months from now? A year? Two years?
• What needs to happen to achieve my six month goal?
• Do I need someone else's help? How do I get that? Where do I have to go?
• What can I do today or tomorrow to be one step closer to that goal?

I remember years ago, someone I trusted asked me what I wanted to be doing in five years time. I answered her with "I want to be a writer."  She asked me, "What do you need to have that happen?"

Well, I don't remember my answer all these years later, but whatever plan I came up with didn't stick. At the time, I was distracted by a custody case, family court and an ever-tumultuous life. I wish now I could have stuck with it, but I wasn't ready. So I came to my goal late, but I did eventually acquire my goal. I got a book published, my life settled down, I got a couple of articles published, I won custody of my boys, I wrote stories about a young dragon that I loved, and so did my boys.

My point here is that whatever it is, you can do it.

If J.K Rowling can write about a world of wizards, Hippogriffs, magical plants and evil magic while on a fixed income with a baby ... you can figure out what you want from life and work out a plan to get it!

Waaban: Dawn Kitten Accepted!

I am proud to report that my Christmas themed short story, "Waaban: Dawn Kitten" has been accepted for publication by Torquere Press! It will appear in a Christmas anthology titled "All I Want" Thanks again go to Betty Harmon,Nancy M. Griffis and Jacquelineand Mitchell !!!!

Prophetic dreams just before Christmas drive April to make sense of them before she can understand why she has been chosen to care for an abandoned kitten. It all leads to an unexpected holiday reunion and a heart warming surprise.

Garden Lessons and Other Wisdom

With our garden now offering up a small harvest, I thought I'd take the opportunity to share a couple of thoughts with you. Kind of a 'lessons the garden taught me' post.

I learned that planning is important, which we all knew anyway, but I learned to take that one step further and have a back-up plan. In this case, in case of unpredicted early frost. You might remember that we lost nearly everything to a frost no one predicted back in the spring. We had to start over with a combination of purchased plants and  whatever we could start from seed. So the lesson there was always have a back up plan. 

Second, fertile soil is of the utmost importance. Without fertile soil you won't get good fruiting, or good leaf production. Without good leaves, the plant starves because photosynthesis is hampered. In our case, we amended the soil with composted sheep fertilizer, peat moss and black earth, but we were starting with poor soil and it all wasn't enough. Which leads me to my next lesson learned.

Compost is king. 
Compost is so full of nutrients it's silly. It's worth every minute learning how to make good compost. That means, no coffee filters (an ongoing struggle at our house), no animal by-products, turning, paying attention internal temperatures and so on. There are so many different ways of making your soil fertile, I won't get into it all here, but it all plays a huge part in the life of your soil. No life, no produce.

Another lesson I learned, be patient. 
Not everything can be accomplished in one year. We had a good harvest of peas, an impressive 4-5 pounds of tomatoes so far with a lot more ready soon, we harvested approximately 6 cucumbers, we have a couple of watermelons that are coming along nicely, a good batch of onions, and perhaps 5-10 pounds of potatoes. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it's a much better yield than we had last year. That doesn't include the tomatillos I hope will come through for me or the tomatoes yet to ripen. Last year, our beets did well, but not the tomatoes and we hadn't planted enough peas. Our zucchinis flowered their little heads off this year but produced nothing else, our basil and cilantro however, produced beyond expectation. The rhubarb everyone said I couldn't start from seed grew and thrived and became part of a bigger patch out back. So every year is a learning experience and we can't expect to be a success right away.

That hasn't kept me from being frustrated that I got 1 pepper out of ten plants. As the edited saying goes, stuff happens when you least expect it, in my case a sprained ankle. So allow for some set-backs and failures and focus on the good that came out of your garden this year.

How did your garden do this year? Let me know in the comments!

Wordless Wednesday

Meet Hootie

Thankfully, I have no new crisis to report so I'll share a small accomplishment today.
See the little owl over there to the left? That's Hootie. He was born from a need for something challenging, because my knitting has gotten mindless and easy. He is my first piece knitted from a chart, and the first really successful two-colour piece I've made. I have been trying to cut down on my knitted UFO's (that's Un Finished Objects to you non-knitters) recently, and to that end, I try not to start something that I'm unsure might ever be finished. On my needles lately, as you know is

• an Irish Hiking Scarf for a friend's birthday, 
• the fuzzy baby blanket
• A Dr. Who scarf

A writer/geek friend and I were chatting online one day when she asked me how my knitting has been progressing. She lives out in Los Angeles, not where I would think one would need knitwear, but when she asked me for a Dr. Who Scarf, how could I say no? A few hours later, I researched the scarf, because all I knew at that point was that it was made of a variety of yarns and colours and that it was very long. I discovered to my horror that depending on the year represented, the scarf can be anywhere from 12' to 18' long! Out of concern for my friend's safety, I won't be knitting "to canon" as they say in Hollywood. I'll make hers as close to the colors of season 12 as I can, but likely not 12' long!

So why all this knitting on a blog that started out focused on sustainability and self reliance?

Knitting is not just a large part of what keeps me sane, it's also a handy skill to have. Think about it for a moment, when you can take sticks and string and make clothing from it, damn, you got skillz !(as they say) Serious skills that are not only for one gender or the other, either. Some of the most intense knitters I've heard of are guys! On a forum I follow, the question was raised about clothing manufacture and creation if the world as we knew ended. There was a lot of discussion about "making do" with clothes and putting up supplies of fabric, zippers and thread, hand-me-downs and so on, but of course, the conversation drifted back to knitting. Whether a zombie apocalypse or just a really cold morning at the bus stop, warm feet and hands will make the difference between happy, free-thinking folks or cold, miserable sheeple.
Or on the other hand, maybe it just all comes down to enjoying keeping people warm because I can.

Something to distract me from the always-green tomatoes out in the garden is good too. It keeps me from obsessing over the zucchini that flowered but never produced fruit, or the tomatillos that should not have lived, but did.

What about you? If you could pull off any fashion, any look, with any body type...no restrictions, what knitted clothing would you wear?

Knitting With The Future In Mind

This is just one version of an Irish Hiking Hat.
It turned out on the small side, but I'm pleased with it nonetheless.

Those of you who visit on a semi-regular basis know I enjoy knitting. I've shown off various projects here before. It helps me stay sane sometimes, and sometimes it makes me crazy. But usually there's something very comforting about  being about to create with pointy sticks and string/thread/yarn. There's so much room for individuality that how could one get bored? I've been trying to amass a pile of hats for my son's school This year.  Kids being kids, they always lose hats, mitts and scarves. So last year I thought I might knit kid-sized hats and mitts, keep them aside and then once the chilly weather comes, label them with approximate sizes and drop them off at the school. (Keeping in mind that my own boys will want new hats as well!)

I've also been knitting the occasional scarf.
Seen here is the Spicy Tomato Soup Scarf. So named because

• It has two different types of red in it to "spice things up"
• It was made to be donated to our local soup kitchen, who will then hand more scarves than just this one out to homeless and financially challenged folk

The goal here was to knit and amass scarves, donate them to the local soup kitchen, who would then hand them out to those who needed them.

Also on the needles as some of you know, have been baby blankets.

I enjoy knitting those, but to be truly useful, they need to be a good size.

There just aren't enough hours in the day!

*grin*

Do you knit? Crochet? Maybe you're crafty in some other way that doesn't require sticks?

Let me know what you like to do in the comments!

Hide And Seek

Let's play a little game of hide n' seek!
Come find me!
Twitter
Pinterest
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Deer Flies, Moose and Sex

My name is Carolyn, and I'm an author.
Who took a very long break.
Okay, now that my AA-type moment is over, let me explain.
Many years ago, I wrote a book, A Thousand Shades of Feeling. I had a publisher and a contract, and when I finally held the book in my hands, I was ecstatic! I wanted to tell everyone I saw, whether I knew them or not. But I couldn't. I didn't dare, because, I thought, what if they actually want to read it and they find out it has, gasp, lesbians in it? Even worse, what would they say when they come across the sex scenes? (Even though those scenes were very tame by today's standards) So there I was, a published author who was terrified to trumpet the news, out of fear.

At the time, I hadn't come out to my family. (I am very out now!) As much as I loved my book, my story and my characters, I wasn't sure I could face the world that actually knew me. To make matters worse, my then-publisher had issues with their printer, finances and a host of other problems I won't go into. I now know they were in over their heads. My manuscript had been edited many times over, but none of those edits made it into the finished book. My print-baby came into the world looking unpolished, falling apart and so very amateur that in time, I began to be embarrassed by it. And yet, I still loved the story. Despite it's flaws, the book drew a readership and fans. I remember going to a bookstore  and signing copies, and I still scratch my head over a woman who gushed and raved over the book. She asked if I would allow her friend to take our picture together, and I remember blushing fiercely as I agreed. While I still marvel at her unbridled enthusiasm all those years ago, her memory has encouraged me through the years, whether she knows it or not. The book lived through two print runs, although I don't remember making more than $150.00 in royalties. In time, the book died, the publisher closed their doors and I chalked it all up to a bad experience.

When my eldest son was very small, I left his father. We didn't have a lot of money, but we lived some interesting experiences! I have always loved dragons, and being a storyteller by nature, I would tell him tales of a young dragon to keep us both entertained. It was always the same dragon, Frizzle. (That's Frizzle up and to the left, as a part of my writer's group logo) Frizzle lived an interesting life, and I was constantly challenged to come up with new tales, but of course, as a parent, I wanted the tales to have a lesson. In time, we collected a few Frizzle stories. One of them was published, and I continue to be very proud of my Frizzle stories.
The last piece of my writing that saw publication was an article that my partner and I co-wrote on Cambridge, Ontario. It, along with accompanying photos,  was published in a magazine that was short-lived and very few people saw. We may likely have the only remaining copy.
For many years, the sting from A Thousand Shades of Feeling prevented me from writing anything else seriously. I struggle to remain impartial about it all these days, but I'll admit, it does still bother me. Not because of the lost royalties, but because of the legacy it left behind. Much like a persistent, horrible aftertaste.

For a long time I grappled with the big question, should I breathe new life into it, make it the diamond I know it can be and seek out a new publisher? In time, and with a ton of support from my partner, I decided against it. I'm not sure I can adequately explain why.

I have been writing a new novel these past few months, and it feels very much like a new beginning for me. Yes, there are lesbian characters in this one. (I am a lesbian after all, and writers should write what they know!) There are sex scenes in this one too, and they are not the polite fade-to-grey ones I wrote before! The story is more multi-layered, the characters far more real and gritty and flawed than my others. These ladies breathe. I love this story. I hear April and Lani in my head at night, while I do the dishes and while I stand over the grill. They're very insistent that I get their story just right. Someone once said that writing is a passion driven by the voices we hear in our head. I know that's true in my case at least!

So yes, I am an author who has taken a very long break.
I am on a new ride, I am very much a new person.
One who still hears character's voices, but one who does not worry about sex scenes or other people's judgements.
One who can bring back Frizzle and write the very next day about romance between women.
One who sees a story in the moose that stands across the road and comes up with titles while swatting deer flies.