Act the way you'd like to be and soon you'll be the way you act. —Leonard Cohen

Like many, I continue to contemplate what is happening in our world and wonder what we can do to make things better. I honestly do believe that it starts in our own backyard. If each of us took time to care for those in our communities, then, like the heat that radiates from of a ray of sunshine, everyone would feel the warmth. We all need to know that someone cares, that we matter in this life, that we are loved.

I have always enjoyed Leonard Cohen's songs. They brought peace and solace to me in times of stress. I was saddened to hear of his passing, but I know that he lived a life of his choosing and has left his mark. That is more than many of us can claim.

A few years ago, I had the privilege of performing Hallelujah. It was with the wonderful Madcap Players, the troupe that my husband and I were a part of for so many treasured years. And, in true Madcap fashion, I rewrote the lyrics to suit a Christmas show. Embedded in that rewrite is my belief that we make a difference with our everyday actions.

With the Christmas season approaching, I decided to share it here. If you sing solo, or in a choir or know someone who does, please share the lyrics. Encourage everyone to reach beyond December's good wishes and generosity. Idealistic? Perhaps. But simple and doable. Let's all make a concerted effort, throughout the year, to make our world everything that it can be, everything it should be.

         (Lyrics below)

Hallelujah

Christmas is upon us now

We bow our heads and take a vow
To live the good that really
should flow through us
We toss a coin
We give a gift
To charity we'll give a lift
We raise our heads exalting Hallelujah
Hallelujah , Hallelujah
Hallelujah , Hallelujah

Gestures grand and warmly meant

We do our best to prevent
A sad or hungry Christmas Day
for anyone
But Christmas comes
just once a year
Too many days they live in fear
Each day survived they bless with Hallelujah
Hallelujah , Hallelujah
Hallelujah , Hallelujah

Maybe there's a God above

Who gave us strength and gave us love
But what's the point if we don't
really use it
Make each day

a Christmas day

Help someone along their way
Then we'd all have cause to shout out Hallelujah
Hallelujah , Hallelujah
Hallelujah , Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Hallelujah , Hallelujah

 

A smile is the light in your window that tells others that there is a caring, sharing person inside. —Denis Waitley

I have not managed to get much writing done this week. Along with millions of others, my attention and thoughts have been focussed on, and ultimately derailed by, what happened in the United States.

I followed the American election closely for the first time in my life. It was difficult not to be drawn in by its reality-TV-like presentation. Filled with grandstanding, released "secrets" and jaw-dropping rhetoric, it was impossible to look away. And, it had become exhausting. So, happy that the show was coming to an end, anxious for a hate-mongering candidate to be shown the door and convinced that there was no way such a vitriolic person could represent the hearts and minds of the American people, I tuned in on Tuesday night.

Anticipation fell into disbelief which was ultimately swallowed by despair. I cried. I honestly wept. My heart broke for my American friends. Having read the man's 3 am Twitter rants, knowing that he's now going to be in a position to direct America's benevolence or its wrath, my mind worried for our world. And, then my anger bubbled. How stupid were the American people? And, that's where I got stuck for a few days.

As the cloud of emotion lifts, I see my anger as representative of the same ugly sentiments I am condemning in that vote. I am painting a nation of people with a single stroke. And America, like Canada, is anything but a single colour, a single texture, a single style. I can't pretend to understand the motivation of folks who would put a man who has clearly demonstrated throughout his life that he is not a decent human being in such an important position. But I cannot condemn a nation either. A country is populated by people, and people are fallible.

I do know that as Americans sort through their decision, there is much to ponder. They must figure out what has gone so wrong in their country that a man with questionable business acumen, a man with no political experience (Seriously, entry level position is the Oval Office?) and, most importantly, a man who is so proudly lacking in moral values can become president. I also believe that we, as a country, should also be looking around. If we scratch the surface of Canada, what lies beneath? I'd like to think nothing equivalent to what we've seen in the States of late, but then that's what many Americans wanted to believe too.

What can we do to ensure our country remains the idealistic vision we hold of it? What can Americans do to rebuild their optimism in each other and in their future? It starts with kindness and generosity. Extend it to all you meet. Pay it forward, pass it on. Don't wait for the phoenix to rise from the ashes. Build the fire, fan the flames of decency and goodness and light the world. 

 

There's no such thing as downtime for your brain. —Jeffrey Kluger

I was going to skip posting anything this week but, since I know many of you actually check in each weekend, I thought it unfair to just leave it blank. Images of you returning repeatedly, only to find the now stale GIFS from my previous post, are nudging me to at least leave an imprint here so that you can move on with your weekend. Busy days sneaking in yard work between raindrops, digging deep into revision and writing new words have kept my mind occupied. So, I'm fried. Spent. Depleted.

So, move on. Don't come back 'til next week. And, have a terrific weekend!



One of our recent visitors.

Why do you jump in a roller coaster? You want a thrill. —Fede Alvarez

Last weekend I attended the Surrey International Writers' Conference. It is a roller coaster of stimulation filled with the requisite ups and downs. Rather than wax eloquent about the emotive ascent and descent of such an event, I thought I'd give you a visual representation of the ride.

      1. Anticipation began before I left the platform.

2. Travelling to the conference was a slow climb, but it sped up
    when I met folks I've known online for years, as well as
    saw writer friends from last year.

                                                           3. The rush of reaching the pinnacle was rubbing

                                                               shoulders with published authors. (Yes, I could have

                                                               had books signed. Do I regret not doing it? A bit, but I

                                                               was busy. See #2!)                

 

4. Throughout the ride, I partook in a little of this...

5. ...a lot of this...

 

                                                                      6. ...and, a ton of this.                                              

 

7. I hit a bump saying goodbye.

8. But soared with joy at seeing my loved ones

who waited patiently at home.

 

                                                                       9. I hit bottom at withdrawal and depression.

10. Oh, wait, bottom was stalking Twitter. Why? Cuz of #9.

I was looking to share that feeling of being lost, to know that I'm not insane,

 that this is a normal reaction. Right? Right?

 

                                     11. In a few days, I returned to the platform. Accepting that the ride  

                                           was over, I reconnected with everyday life. I reviewed notes,

                                           which led to renewed inspiration, and I got back to writing.

 

12. And, now I sit, looking at the track in anticipation of #SIWC17 because, well, I'm a writer. Why wouldn't I want to take the ride again?

 

Looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them. —Lucy Maud Montgomery

Anticipation: a feeling of excitement about something that is going to happen; the act of preparing for something. —Merriam-Webster

That about sums it up for me at the moment. While the winds howl and the rain pelts, I am all smiles and laughter. For, next week, I am off to the Surrey International Writers' Conference. For the uninitiated, it is a cornucopia of stimulation, a full-out feast of inspiration and word crafting for writers.

My four day foray into the joyous muddle of writing and publishing begins with journey by float plane. Weather permitting, I will be taking my first itty-bitty plane ride. I am ridiculously excited by this. Not even the fact that I must minimize my luggage is putting a damper on my eagerness to see the islands from above. Not to mention, rather than a two-hour ferry ride, I will be on the mainland in twenty minutes. Nothing against the ferry service—it is comfortable and scenic—but, seriously? Twenty minutes?

I am taking a master class the day before the conference starts. The thought of this class has me doing a happy dance and, for those who know me or who have followed this blog for any length of time, you will recognize immediately why this particular class has me hopping up and down. It is "Writing Sex Scenes" with…wait for it…Diana Gabaldon! For folks who don't know why I am giddy over this, let me give you a brief summary. Diana wrote my all-time favourite series that begins with Outlander. It re-ignited not just my joy of reading for pleasure but my love of writing too, essentially sending me down this path of wordsmithing that I so enjoy. Outlander also led me to a forum where Diana is very active, supporting readers and writers alike. She has encouraged me and given me feedback, often at times when I despaired of moving forward in my writing. I met her briefly in Fergus. A highlight for me. Now, I get to learn from her in person. And, between the forum and having read her books, including the latest e-book, I Give You My Body, there is no doubt in mind that she is a master of the craft.

That forum I've mentioned? It has been a gold mine for me over the last eight or so years. Populated by published and wanna-be-published writers, it is a supportive environment where I have been encouraged to grow and learn. I consider many people on it my friends, even though I have not met many of them. That is about to change. An unprecedented number are flying in from around the world for this conference. At last count, I believe, we were at 40. Included in this number are two of my beta readers for Raven's Path—one from Germany and the other from California. I never thought I'd get to meet them and thank them personally for taking the time to read a novel and give feedback to a stranger.

Of course, I am also looking forward to the myriad of workshops and talks. Last year, I was entertained as well as enlightened. I laughed and cried and the cogs in my writer's brain got so well-oiled, they began to spin. Inspired, I came home and wrote Cutting to the Chase in a month. It literally spilled onto the page.

So, dear readers, these are the things that currently fill me with anticipation. I will not be blogging next week, but know that I will be immersed in my writer's world, embraced by friends old and new, and nurtured by the seasoned guard of authors who so kindly feed my soul.

 

 

Sometimes the best way to recharge our batteries is to unplug them. —Source Unknown

Like so many Canadians, we used to go away in the winter. One week a year, paying an exorbitant price because we were only able to travel during peak times, we would steal away from cold snowy Ontario and relax in the sunshine of Mexico or the Caribbean. During the winter of 2015, we were snowbirds for the first time in our lives. Thrilled to pay for a month what a week used to cost us, we enjoyed two months in Texas.

Since moving to Vancouver Island in July of 2015, we have not gone south. Actually, except for a stolen weekend on Hornby Island and a writers' conference last fall in Surrey, BC, we have not left the island at all. Inevitably, we are asked when we will be going, especially by those anticipating the long frigid months ahead in Ontario. While all things change and unexpected adventures arise, at this point we both can honestly say we have no desire to head for warmer climes. It's an easy decision. There is no reason to leave.

Our every day is filled with the spectacular beauty and moderate weather of the Cowichan Valley. We have basked in the sun on the decks of the seaside restaurants in Cowichan Bay, celebrated guests with brunches over the water at Bridgeman's Bistro and been shuttled with new friends to our favourite pub in Duncan—Craig Street Brewing Co. We have painted and sipped at Blue Grouse Winery, we have sampled crisp pinots on the mountainside of Averill Creek and we have laughed to the point of tears while being entertained and informed at Rocky Creek Winery.

Last weekend alone, we enjoyed Octoberfest on a barge temporarily located at the end of the dock in Mill Bay. We nibbled our way through the evening, relishing culinary treats and sipping local ciders and beers. The following night we had dinner at one of our favourite wineries, Unsworth. The food is of the highest quality, the service is stellar and their Charme De L'lle is one of my favourite bubblies. Add the best of friends and a flock of frenetic chickens, and it's the perfect night out. And, it's right here in our own backyard.

The weekend was followed by four days at a small resort on the Pacific coast of the island. Point No Point is nestled along the shore, far from anything except extensive and stunning provincial parks. It's somewhat off the grid—no TV, no Wi-Fi, no cell reception…not even a landline phone in the cabin, and I was worried I wouldn't do very well. I asked my Twitter peeps to pray for me. How would I survive, unplugged, for so long?

Well, I didn't just get by. I adored it. We walked the trails, we cooked our meals and we sipped wine, surrounded by a breathtaking ocean vista. In the evening, we talked and played games, and then we curled up in luxurious beds, drifting off to the sound of waves crashing on shore. I discovered that unplugged did not mean disconnected. Keev and I and our dearest of friends, Alice and Jim, spent four days uncluttered by technology, four days living in the moment, four days of truly spending quality time with one another. Amazing.

So, when once again asked when we will next go on a southern vacation, Keev and I will just look at each other knowingly, shrug our shoulders and smile. The truth is, when you love where you live, you don't need to get away.

Revisiting Raven's Path

These photos came across my Twitter feed last week and it reminded me of a scene in Raven's Path. The time is 1750 in the Ohio Valley. Brandan "Raven" Murray is in the woods considering abandoning Ana, a woman he has pledged to see safely to her father but who seems to be thwarting his attempts to do so. She is a woman he wants to protect and has grown to think of as his little deer, ma petite faonne. This moment brings him full circle back to her.


Some rustling caught his attention. He crept forward, crouching low, and hid behind a low-lying cluster of brush. A shaft of sunshine lit the dense forest. In the middle of the small meadow a doe casually pulled at random patches of new grass. He shifted his weight and she raised her head, sniffed the air, and began shuffling nervously.

A fawn stumbled into sight and the doe grew anxious, glancing toward her baby and back to the brush. The fawn, oblivious to possible threat, wandered aimlessly around the glen, its curiosity and enthusiasm a pleasure to behold. It blundered about the clearing, bouncing at its mother and at imaginary wisps in the wind. The mother’s nose flared and she became well agitated.

Brandan slowly stood so that she could identify the source of her anxiety. The deer froze as his eyes met hers. Eyes hauntingly familiar. Their gazes locked and she assessed his threat. He was captivated by her wary innocence. The fawn crashed into her side, yet she did not break eye contact. Seconds later, the doe made her decision, gently nudging the young animal, moving it toward the trees edging the far side of the clearing. She turned before entering the forest, her dark gaze acknowledging his gift of life, before she disappeared into the darkness.

The doe recognized his benevolence and accepted it. She knew he meant her no harm. Now, if only he could get Ana to see the same thing.