Dragonblade Authors Unplugged

Check out this interview on Dragonblade Authors Unplugged. Meet the host, the lovely Evelyn Adams, and two other Dragonblade authors, then hook up with me around the 12-minute mark. (I'm the bobblehead in the bottom right corner. J)

Love Denied is out in the world!

 

Publishing a book is a very different thing than writing one. ~Tara Westover

The release of Love Denied is less than a week away. It is always exhilarating and nerve-wracking putting a book out into the universe. Months spent alone with characters and their story creates a unique bond with a fictional world. You set it free, but you don't let it go. You hold it close and hope that others feel a fondness for your created peeps, too. While this is my first book with Dragonblade Publishing, it is my fourth heading off into the sunset. So far, it hasn't gotten easier.

I do hope you enjoy it. On Friday, I'll be over at Dragonblade Publishing's Reader's Group having a bit of a chat and doing a few giveaways. If you have some time, drop by and say hello. And, as always, thank you for supporting me along this crazy wonderful writing journey.

He must shape simultaneously (in an expanding creative moment) his characters, plot, and setting, each inextricably connected to the others; he must make his whole world in a single, coherent gesture, as a potter makes a pot. ~John Gardner

I've talked about how I choose a setting and about how I track a setting. Today, I'm going to discuss how a setting isn't simply a place to drop your characters and let them run loose. For me, it's about much more than that. It provides an opportunity to enhance character development, to give insight into why a character is who they are without explicitly telling the reader. I think of it as backup information to help explain a character's behaviour.

Nicholas Sinclair is the second son to a wealthy nobleman, an earl. While he was never meant to inherit the title, he did grow up in comfort with the advantages that come with money. Independent and sure of himself, he sought to become his own man and joined the army.

Catherine Baring is the only daughter of a baron who lives on the neighbouring property. She is comfortable with men, having grown up with only her brother and father in her home, and, of course, the neighbouring Sinclair boys. Yet, she is not rough and tumble. She is graceful, refined, and exudes a caring and warmth.

What does setting have to do with their character descriptions? Everything.

Both Nicholas and Catherine grew up without a mother's love. While Nicholas and his brother were left in the care of servants, Catherine's father took an active role in her upbringing. Nicholas can be cold and standoffish and easy to anger, whereas Catherine is patient and all-loving. Nicholas' home, Woodfield Park, is a massive building with clean impersonal aesthetic lines. Its rooms are big, its pillars intimidating, and it is cold.

Catherine's home, Stratton Hall, is a medium-sized manse, with smaller rooms, and the warmth of wood panelling of years gone by. In stark contrast to the austere marble décor that greets you in the entrance hall of Woodfield Park, Stratton Hall has a huge fireplace, a well-used table and a wall of taxidermy that adds personality to the room. (I know, yuck, but it was a thing. I decided to think of it as bringing nature indoors.)

Nicholas's father is often found in his private set of rooms away from the rest of the house. Catherine's father is usually in his library which is just off the main entrance hall. Can you guess who of the two is the more accessible emotionally?

Nothing reflects the differences in their childhood homes more than the entrances. I'll use the pictures of two very real estates and quotes from Love Denied to demonstrate it.

Entrance at Willey Hall

The vastness of the atrium mirrored his sense of hollow, his heels clicking on the floor as he moved to the marble stairs dominating the hall. ~Love Denied

The Hall Browsholme

The hall was not a grand entrance but a serviceable room, its high-beamed ceiling echoing voices of days long ago. She laid her hat on the weathered table, its etched surface testimony to the many meals that had been eaten on it once upon a time. ~Love Denied

So, the next time you read a novel, consider the setting. Maybe it will fill in some valuable information.

Remember, just because you're writing fiction doesn't mean that you can ignore facts. It is those details that make fiction compelling and, in many cases, very real for the reader. ~ Roy A. Teel Jr.

One of the difficulties for me as a writer is keeping track of the minutiae, the small things that should remain unnoticed but, if inconsistent, will throw a reader out of the story. Is it a desk or a table in the library? Is the settee facing the fireplace or perpendicular to it? Are the servants' quarters downstairs or in the west wing? Is the dining room to the left or the right down the hallway?

Over time, as I write, this knowledge becomes ingrained. But, when I begin, I am too focussed on character development and plot lines to hold onto all of those miniscule details. So, in advance, I draw a plan of the house. I sketch it out, designate rooms, and add necessary details to them as I go along. It helps me maintain continuity and, as an added bonus, it makes the world I am creating even more real.

Ground Floor of Woodfield Park

Upper Floor of Woodfield Park

Ground Floor of Stratton Hall

An apt quotation is like a lamp which flings its light over the whole sentence. ~Letitia Elizabeth Landon

I meant to take two days off at Christmas but didn't quite manage it. I ended up working until 1 pm on Christmas Eve. It seems I am consumed by all things connected to writing, and once I begin something, I cannot let it go.

In this case it was quotes. For those of you who have followed my blog, you already know that I have a thing for quotes. Sometimes the quote is my prompt, but more often than not, I am off searching for one that fits what I have written. That approach spilled over into Love Denied, and since I like continuity, it will be part of the entire series.

While there were moments during the search for quotes for Love Abandoned that I wanted to do a head slap, more often than not I tunnelled down the rabbit hole and happily rolled around in the words of Shakespeare and Wordsworth, of Keats and Byron. They paint images of the natural world, explore love and hate, happiness and despair, and probe the depths of what it is to be human. Their cadence, their rhythm call to be read aloud, and I would find myself whispering, lost in the music of their poetry.

However, I include them in my novels, not simply to share their beauty, but to enhance each chapter. And in doing so, I centre my own writing. As I review and revise each chapter, I look for its purpose. What role does it play in the story? Does it reflect the overarching theme? Do we gain insight into a character? Does it focus on a developing emotion? Is it a plot catalyst or a resolution? If I cannot name its goal, then it must be revised or eliminated. When I can name it, I know the essence of the quote that is needed and go off on my treasure hunt.

My husband says he skips such things when he reads. I suspect many do. Still, I am hopeful that I am not alone in enjoying the bards of yore or in looking at connections between pieces of writing—in this case, my chapters and their quotes. I hope like-minded souls enjoy them as much as I do.

LOVE DENIED

If you enjoy historical romance set in Regency-era England, I hope you'll check out Love Denied. It's the first novel in the series Honorable Intentions for Dragonblade Publishing. Release is scheduled for January 28, 2022. In the meantime, please enjoy an excerpt.                                                                               

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This life, which had been the tomb of his virtue and of his honour, is but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.

~ Shakespeare (Macbeth)

 

Nicholas tugged the bridle, pulling Taurus to a stop, and then slid from the stallion. Relief coursed through his cramped legs. He let the reins drop and brushed at his jacket and trousers, the rising dust tickling his nose, its chalky residue lingering on his tongue. He straightened, rolling his shoulders, and tension rippled down his spine until the muscles in his lower back contracted and released.

The domed roof of the addition to the manse rose above the tree line, the pearl marble gleaming in the sun. It reminded him of the folly, once his pride and joy. His dream of architecture long gone, he wondered if the sight of the folly would still bring pleasure. He glanced in its direction, but it was well-hidden by the forest, cloistered from the world as he’d hoped when he first envisioned it.

Taurus, nostrils flaring, snorted, blowing a warm stream of air across his face. He’d ridden him too hard. He patted the stallion’s neck, the hair moist beneath his hand. “You’re a good man.” A few feet off the main drive, the bridge beckoned. He left the horse knowing it would wait where it stood. Stubborn but loyal. Like Catherine. He scanned the ground for a small rock. Scrub grass and a few pebbles, but nothing worthy of a wish.

His boots clicked against the wood. He stopped midway. It was impossible to tell if the fish were well stocked. There was no sign of movement beneath the surface, but it was a deep lake. He couldn’t remember the last time he held a rod. Such indulgences were probably now and forever relegated to the past. There would be no hours to waste, no idle time to fill. Not that there’d been for years, but he’d always thought leisurely activities would enrich his life once again. And Catherine’s. All dreams included Catherine.

Reaching up, Nicholas ripped the epaulet from his shoulder, clutching it in his fist. He raised it to his mouth and kissed his curled fingers, the rough metallic threads coarse against his lips. “To simple pleasures.” The gold braid plopped ungracefully into the water, tilting awkwardly as it absorbed water. He watched the epaulet sink, wishing it took his shame with it, wanting to bury the last four years under the silt and sludge at the bottom. If only it were that easy.

The special license tucked inside his jacket brought some comfort. He traced its stiff outline, his heart lightening at the promise it held. The far end of the bridge beckoned. It would be so easy to cross it and follow the path to Stratton Hall. To see Catherine. To hold her in his arms again. He drew his shoulders back and pivoted. He knew too well how to stiffen his resolve as well as his back. Pleasure must be delayed for duty. Catherine would have to wait.

The rising specter of Woodfield Park summoned. It was time to face Daniel.

 

Pre-Order Now Available!

I am so pleased to announce that Love Denied has a release date! Order now, at this terrific price, and it will hit your inbox on 01/28/2022.

“This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.” – Richard III, Shakespeare

I've been getting a lot of questions lately about my writing process. Do I know my story when I begin to write? (Somewhat)  Are the characters based on real people? (Sometimes) How do you know all that "stuff?" (Research)

Those are the easy answers. Of course, writing, like life, is far more complex and so much more interesting and fun than those one-word answers. So, I thought I'd share a few insights to my approach to historical romance over the next little while.

LOVE DENIED is set in rural England during the Regency era—1812 to be more precise. I love looking at old houses near and far, so it was no hardship to root around in books and the internet looking for inspiration for my setting. When I came across Willey Park in an old book, I knew instantly that I had found the perfect place to land my story.

It has the majestic structural opulence of the new architecture of the times married with the sweeping grandeur of old-world bucolic land holdings. The story is founded on old-world values clashing with new-world ideals, so this combination was exactly what I needed.

Now, I write fiction, so of course I could not use Willey Park, but its inspiration breathed life into my own world. My characters roam Woodfield Park, an imposing manse and property that was built long before Willey Park, which only began construction in 1813. However, Woodfield Park does include an addition that happens to be designed and built by the same master architect who built Willey Park, the talented Lewis Wyatt. In my far-too-fertile imagination, I like to think that Wyatt practiced the Neo-classical style on Woodfield Park before moving on to Shropshire to build Willey Park.

Check out Modern-Day Willey Park

https://www.historichouses.org/house/willey-park/tours/

Now is my time. Everything I have done to this point is just a warm up. This is where it all begins. ~Rick James

 I started this writing journey many moons ago, mostly for myself. I've always had a brain that was more restless than my body, and creating has been the only way to effectively slow down that gerbil on a wheel that lives in my head.

Theatre was a major outlet for years, and along with performing, rewriting lyrics for our annual three-act cabarets was one of my favourite things to do. In the later years, we had reduced the content of our shows, and I turned to writing novels as an additional outlet. That was 2008. So, when our troupe wound up in 2010, after twenty-two wonderful years, it was a natural transition to focus more on my writing.

It was during these years that I began to write Regency era romance. It was during this time that Love Denied was fertilized, warmed and hatched. The final draft is date stamped 2013. The publishing industry was new to me and I fumbled a few times with submissions, but then gave up and filed it under Nice Try. I Hope You Learned Something From It.

After I left my career and life in Ontario behind to move to the west coast of Canada, I threw myself into writing. No surprise, after a career in education, teen voices began to whisper to me. So, I captured their stories. And, I have been incredibly fortunate to have three of those novels published. I have another one that needs to be spit-shined, and I hope it sees the world some day too.

Still, Love Denied pecked at me insistently. History has always been my thing. And romance? Well, what is life without love? So, I pulled Love Denied out, dusted it off, spruced it up a bit, and sent it out into the world. And, I guess, this was my time.

I couldn't be happier that my journey has led me to this moment, this publisher, and these strange times where we could all do with a little happy ever after.

Love Denied enters the world in 2022.

“The greatest part of a writer's time is spent in reading, in order to write: a man will turn over half a library to make one book.” ― Samuel Johnson, The Life of Samuel Johnson LL.D. Vol 2

One of the joys of writing historical romance is the research. I’ve been knee-deep in it lately, and I’m loving every minute. Here’s a peek at my Regency-era collection.

Work hard. Dream Big.

 

Sometimes the best news comes in a small package. Look at this lovely little announcement! I look forward to sharing the latest stage of my writing journey.

Now Available!

 

                Available for Pre-Order.

The Summer of 2021

The summer of 2021 has been a rollercoaster ride in every way. Covered by a heat dome, our little valley reached 40+ degrees Celsius, an oppressive and unusually high temperature on the coast of the island. We have moved on to temps in the mid to high teens, more like fall than late summer. The one constant has been dryness. With the exception of a few hours of light rain a week or so ago, we have not had rain since June 15^th. Climate change is at our back door, banging loudly, trying to grab our attention before it's too late. Our serious drought conditions have sparked fires, devastating forests and wildlife, ravaging homes and hopes.

And the world at large? Yikes! I'm hesitant to open news feeds for fear of what I'll see. The heartbreak of Haiti, once again suffering from the forces of nature, their plight overshadowed by the endless news cycle that excitedly pounces on the next traumatic or dramatic event. The people of Afghanistan, a seemingly endless war ending, yet they will continue to be torn apart as their country gropes for equilibrium—the fear that it will forever be out of reach and that women, in particular, will suffer for it. The US battle for democracy; unrelenting images of unrest, violence, and racism—politicians spewing hatred on all media platforms.

Closer to home, Indigenous nightmares exposed, people crying out in horror and solidarity, then moving on to the next news item. Our government seemingly insensitive to the plight of our forests, our waters, our people. Calling an election when none is needed rather than using funds more productively.

Then there's Covid. Containment was in sight in our little corner of the world. In reach. But we removed a mask mandate too soon. We tore them off and invited travellers to visit. At the same time. Did no one consider the scientific concept of introducing one variable at a time? There was always going to be a spike, but our spike is higher than it needed to be, and continues to grow. Rather than extinguishing Covid here, so that we can fully support needier countries in achieving the same goal, we have fanned the flames and will continue to focus on us. I'm also seeing the same unrest and racism, the same vitriol, spewing from mouths of citizens and politicians alike, that we see in the States. It is not the Canada I thought I knew. My naiveté is a hard realization.

Those are the dips in the rollercoaster this summer—scraping the bottom, sparks of anger and angst mingling with the weight of sadness. But just as daylight follows night, a rollercoaster car climbs after descent, right? That was the premise I opened with…a ride of ups and downs. I planned on highlighting the climb by listing counterpoints for each negative news story with equally large positive ones. Sadly, I couldn't think of any. At a loss, I Googled, and could find no major good news stories in the past few months.

Don't get me wrong. There have been many wonderful small moments, mostly locally, mostly in my own life. In the valley, good deeds abound and our charity organizations are well led and sustained. Local businesses are coming alive again, and in my community, they reach out and support one another. While the weather has created chaos, it has also allowed patios, outdoor markets, and outdoor activities to once again thrive. We are now able to gather with a few friends, and I am so lucky that my friends believe in science and are as diligent as we are in thinking about the safety of everyone in our community. I haven't been anemic for the last few years, so I was able to give blood for the first time in my life and look forward to doing so regularly. We expected to say goodbye to one of our pups last summer, but she's graced us with her presence for another year. A beautiful new baby was added to our friend-family circle. I have a new book coming out and several in the cooker. The goodness bounty is plentiful in my small sphere.

But what of its absence on a larger scale? Is it because media, social and mainstream, is powered by negativity and there is no money in "good" news? Or am I looking at it wrong? A series of small celebratory moments—active empathy, helpful deeds, personal successes, recognizing the goodness in people, the wonder of our planet—surely adds up? Analogous to the saying that a single twig breaks, but a bundle of twigs is strong, these small celebratory moments, banded together and wrapped in a hopeful ribbon, become as impactful as a single large positive event, don't they? Is it enough to power that cart back up the track to the top of the rollercoaster?

I sure hope so.

 

Coming Soon!

 

We are wired to be caring for the other and generous to one another. We shrivel when we are not able to interact. — Desmond Tutu

I've been absent for far too long. Not just from blogging, but it seems sometimes, from life. Like so many people, with each ripple effect of Covid, my morale ebbs further out of reach and with it, my motivation. A general malaise rides the current, at times threatening to draw all optimism under. I've been diligent in following rules and have led an insular life, my husband and my two pups pretty much my sole companions. They are also my soul compadres, which makes me incredibly fortunate.

I always thought that I would enjoy a quiet life. The concept of moving to one of the smaller islands and cloistering away from the larger world seemed serene and ideal. But the appeal of some quiet time is an entirely different thing than day in and day out of staid sameness. It seems interaction is not an optional component of life for me, but a necessity. I'm craving it. I want to be with friends and laugh. I want to sit in a park and watch children playing and teens hanging out. I even want to be bumped and banged and irritated in a busy mall. I want it all—the whole busy crazy mashup of humanity colliding.

I remind myself constantly about how very lucky I am. I am secure. I am loved. I am not mourning personal loss. These are gifts that an unfathomable number of people cannot claim. However, there is an emotional toll for all of us and the tension these days is both dissipating and swelling. A return to normal, albeit an altered one, is just around the bend…yet still out of sight. The heart buoys at the thought and sinks at the wait. Perhaps, because waiting is all we have been doing. And doing is what keeps our spirit up. That and people. People. People. People.

Anyone for a group hug when this is over?

New Resource & Giveaway Alert: The Occupation Thesaurus Writing Guide Is Here!

Hi everyone! Today I have something fun to share...a special chance to win some help with your writing bills. Awesome, right?

Some of you may know Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi of Writers Helping Writers. Well, today they are releasing a new book, and I'm part of their street team. I'm handing the blog over to them so they can tell you a bit about their Writer's Showcase event, new book, and a great freebie to check out. Read on!

---

Certain details can say a lot about who someone is, like a character's goals, desires, and backstory wound. But did you know there's another detail that can tie your character's arc to the plot, provide intense, multi-layered conflict, AND shorten the "get to know the character" curve for readers?

It's true. Your character's occupation is a GOLD MINE of storytelling potential.

Think about it...how much time do you spend on the job? Does it fulfill you or frustrate you? Can you separate work from home? Is it causing you challenges, creating obstacles, or helping you live your truth?

Just like us, most characters will have a job, and the work they do will impact their life. The ups and downs can serve us well in the story.

Maybe you haven't thought much about jobs in the past and how they act as a window into your character's personality, interests, and skills. It's okay, you aren't alone. The good news is that The Occupation Thesaurus: A Writer's Guide to Jobs, Vocations, and Careers is going to do all the heavy lifting for you. You'll be able to pick the perfect job for them and discover how to weave it into the very fabric of the story. (Here's one of the jobs profiled in this book: FIREFIGHTER.)

GIVEAWAY ALERT: THE WRITER'S SHOWCASE IS WAITING

To celebrate the release of a new book, Becca and Angela are running a giveaway from July 20th and July 23rd. You can win some great prizes, including gift certificates that can be spent on writing services within the Writer's Showcase. Stop by to enter if you like!

Resource Alert: A List of Additional Jobs Profiles For Your Characters!

Some of the amazing writers in our community have put together additional career profiles for you, based on jobs they have done in the past.

What a great way to get accurate information so you can better describe the roles and responsibilities that go with a specific job, right?

To access this list, GO HERE. 

Happy writing to all!

A Contemplative Study of Humanity...and Writing

Keep in mind that I am not a huge fan of television and, as such, I am incredibly judgmental and easily disinterested.

We just finished watching the Netflix series “Rectify.” I will mourn its end, but will savour and contemplate it for weeks to come. For those who like a good film or show, it is a slow burn with exemplary acting and a solid story line. 

For the writers who read my posts, buckle up. It is an endless lesson in craft. The dialogue is incredibly authentic. Simple and raw, it is peppered with the quietest sense of humour, bringing relief to the most angst-ridden moments. Conceptually it is metaphorical and philosophical, yet somehow remains grounded in earthy believability. The characters are drawn from (and the actors deliver) every man— people we all know...or someone we are. They’re thrown into this impossible “what if” situation. The writing has such contemplative depth and has the courage to let the space between the words speak for itself. It is a masterpiece of show don’t tell...both in the writing and acting. 

That’s it. All I’ve got to say. Check it out. Hopefully, it will help fill the void many of you are facing these days.

(Warning: Spoilers in the Vulture Article linked below.) 

There May Never Be a Show Like Rectify Again

I'm interested in history, in trying to relate the past to the present and to understand how people thought about their problems and pleasures. —Claire Tomalin

And so it begins...bagging and boxing, hoping my treasures travel safely to their new home.

I found packing my non-fiction books depressing. At first, I thought it was because it was like saying goodbye to old friends, but then I realized it was something else entirely. It was depressing because I registered how little time I’ve spent in their company in recent years. I miss them. I miss researching historical events and stumbling across minutia that make my heart hum. I miss writing historical fiction.

So as I placed them in their cartons and methodically dragged the tape across the top, snugging them closed, I made a promise to them and to me. If I can write YA and contemporary romance at the same time, why can’t I add a third? History will once again become my present.

Because an illusion is an illusion. Reality always exists despite the facade. ― Kasie West

A friend said that she doesn’t respond to my Facebook posts because they’re always so positive and they make her sick. Now, that is her unique and wonderful sense of humour shining through, but I’ve thought a lot about it. About how we present to the world, and the reality behind the pictures and posts. All is not what it seems. It never is.

There is a lot of ugly in the world, perhaps more so now than in many decades. In this day and age of social media platforms, the bombardment of negativity can be overwhelming. Many people use their Facebook as a place to vent, to share their frustrations, or to promote their political point of view. And that is absolutely fine. That is their choice, but it’s not mine. I share snippets of my life, for friends near and far. However, there is a caveat that led to my friend’s statement. I only share the positive which, I suppose, is not just misleading but somewhat disingenuous.

The posting of all things good creates the image of a seamless infallible life. While I believe I am blessed in so many ways, life is far from perfect. I have spent years writing, rewriting, agonizing over it, and rewriting again.  I’ve written far more than anyone will ever see. There are rejected novels and novellas in dormant folders on my computer, manuscripts sitting in a cabinet, yellowing with age. But what you see is a published author, thrilled to promote her books. This spring we worked endlessly on the yard, watering and weeding, cutting and digging sod until I literally popped a vein in my thigh, but what you see are lush gardens with vegetables and flowers in bloom. Due to a health scare, I reconsidered some of my choices. I began to work diligently at good eating and exercising, but what you see is—voilà—I’m looking better than I have in years.

Nobody’s life is flawless. Everybody experiences anguish and pain, worries and fears, and has to climb his/her own mountain, whatever it may be. This, of course, is not apparent in many posts, mine being no exception. But so often, the positivity of a photo is simply the trick of a distant lens. Zoom in and the reality can be very different.

These red chairs in my yard are the perfect metaphor. Look how wonderful they appear from far away. Look closer. Despite painstakingly sanding and painting them each spring, they actually are in terrible shape. And that is what we have to keep in mind when glowing images make us feel as though our own lives pale in comparison. Behind every cheery red chair, there is one cracked and peeling and dolloped in bird poop.

I am not a romantic, but even I concede that the heart does not exist solely for the purpose to pump blood. —Violet (Dowager Countess of Grantham)

I’m not much for television. I don’t even know the magical sequence of the myriad of controls that my husband uses to turn it on. During his absences, they lie dormant in a basket, and the house is filled with silence. Or music. Depends on my mood. But, as happens in everyone’s life, things change. This particular change has come in the form of Netflix. Oh my, what took us so long?

The absence of commercials is a terrific feature. Its intuitive design—tracking your viewing, knowing where you left off, analyzing your tastes and basing suggestions on them—well that’s crazy modern and downright convenient. The absolute best thing about it is that you can fall in love with a show and then just keep watching it. And watching it. And watching it. Which happened last month with Downton Abbey.

Now, I have always found the vast array of brainless gibber on television uninspiring and, often, downright irritating. I felt I gained nothing when I watched it, which led to years of avoidance. But apparently, I had simply been choosing the wrong programming. Not only was Downton Abbey vastly entertaining, it informed my writing.

It used every trope, some of them several times, and wrung every last drop of emotion from them: Edith’s rags to riches and Sybil’s riches to rags; Mary’s forbidden fruit…enemies to lovers, love triangle, friends to lovers, second chance at love (My, Mary was busy!); Violet’s strong character, a woman of steel with a heart of gold; The Grantham’s dabbling with the mid-life crisis in marriage. That’s a small sampling.

For me, there was no better story line than Anna and Mr. Bates. An unlikely pairing, they were perfectly suited but constantly challenged. Every time it looked as though they were going to enjoy their happy-ever-after, their worlds were torn apart. It is the stuff and business of romance novels. Seeing it play out on the screen, feeling the angst and rooting for their success, proved to me that it works. There is nothing entertaining about a smooth relationship. When all is well, put up a roadblock. Make them miserable. Give them hope. Then make it worse. The triumph in the end is so much sweeter for it.

There were so many small stories woven throughout, each one serving a purpose to the larger story. Poignant, philosophical, and at times, heart-wrenching, the tension is often broken by laugh-out-loud moments. It is an exemplary model of a writer’s craft enhanced by actors who are masters of show-don’t-tell and who have the courage to take the time needed with their lines. For it is often the spaces between the words that speak the loudest.

If I don’t post for a while, you’ll know what I’m up to—re-watching Downton Abbey. J

"Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."— F. Scott Fitzgerald

Every once in a while, I catch a hint of fall on the mid-afternoon breeze. The evenings are cooling down quicker and the nights are getting a touch chillier. As autumn gently eases in, a sense of excitement grows within me. Renewal. Beginnings. Possibilities.

Maybe, it’s because for two thirds of my life I headed off to school each September. As a student, as a teacher, and as a principal, each new year was filled with anticipation. There was always so much to look forward to—new people, new learning, new experiences. The nerves days prior, the sleepless night before, and even the anxiety as I drew close to the school, were all part of the hype of a new year.

Conversely, it was also a return to the mundane and the predictable. Everything became scheduled. You knew when you’d be in motion and when you’d be sedentary. Even your body readjusted to timing the sating of simple physical needs like eating and using the washroom. And there was comfort in that, in knowing what comes next, in being back in routine. There was also satisfaction in it. I knew, without a doubt, I was going to accomplish something each and every day.

This week marks the fifth fall since my last return to a new school year, yet I still respond the same way. After a whirlwind summer of visitors, social outings, and many fabulous outdoor adventures, I am excited and ready to restructure my days and get back into the groove. My pencils are sharpened. My laptop is charged. Story lines are unrolling and I am anxious to get them down.

For me, autumn is not the beginning of the end of a year, but the first shiny season of a new one. May it be the same for you. Happy fall everyone!

Repetition doesn't create memories. New experiences do. —Brian Chesky

When was the last time you did something for the very first time?

This is a question posed by a friend of ours. She uses it to push herself into new adventures. Well, my husband and I took up the challenge and went sea kayaking for the very first time…and loved it! Our fantastic guide, Brian, from Wilderness Kayaking gave us the perfect first experience—a five-hour tour with a delicious picnic lunch on the shores of the stunning Sansum Narrows. We’ve already signed up for a moonlight kayaking outing during the next full moon. How awesome is that?

And, next week? We’re trying paddle boarding. I’m not sure the photos of that adventure will be as impressive. J Still, I’m totally pumped to give it a shot.

So, what say you? What’s your answer? When was the last time you did something for the very first time?

When you pay attention to boredom, it gets unbelievably interesting. —Jon Kabat-Zinn

There’s nothing like a bright shiny new idea. My heart flutters, my hands get a little clammy, and as excitement races through my veins, I head to the laptop to get the thought down. Inevitably, I stare at the essence of the concept and then become a blank slate. As in barren, empty, blindingly vacant. No grand plot, no intricate details, no sense of what I am supposed to do with this glossy image in my mind. It used to frustrate me, but now I know what to do.

I bore my brain into submission.

Others may need stimulus to spark creativity. I need bland mind-numbing tasks. In the winter, I get on the elliptical. I despise the elliptical, not simply because I am not a fan of exercise, but also because it feels like such a waste of time. As the minutes tick by, my mind becomes desperate to escape the monotony. It digs beyond the stagnant frontal lobe into the corners, unearths that idea, and starts to rub it to a polish again. A little plot insight here, a little character trait there, and suddenly my brain is running faster than my legs. I quite literally chase my story, huffing and puffing the plethora of particulars into my voice recorder.

At this time of year, I don’t use the elliptical to outsmart the stubborn creative cortex of my brain; I use gardening. More specifically, weeding. Now, there is no more boring outdoor task on a beautiful spring day than kneeling in your flower beds and pulling out quack grass, clover, and creeping vetch (Yes it’s a weed. I looked it up. J). And while some may claim it’s satisfying in the end, it doesn’t negate that it is also one of the most tedious gardening tasks. Which is great for me. With each weed I yank, my mind recedes from reality and returns to its own garden, taking those seeds and nurturing them into full-grown stories.

I have a bright shiny new idea. It’s for a series. There’s a lot of thinking that needs to be done. I may have the nicest gardens on the block this year. J

The biggest adventure you can take is to live the life of your dreams. - Oprah Winfrey

Life on the island is unending indolent pleasure. We begin each day with coffee in bed with our fur babies. After a shared breakfast, we walk for an hour and enjoy the bucolic landscape that comforts us with its serenity. For the remainder of the morning, we are in proximity of one another, but for the most part, lost in our own activities. Keev journals, then plays piano or works on languages, and rehearses for his upcoming performance. I write.

We enjoy lunch together and then take a walk with the girls. Afterwards, at this time of year, the four of us curl up together ostensibly for a nap, but it’s usually just a snugglefest with quiet conversation and belly rubs…for the girls, not us. J Our afternoons are filled with shared house and garden chores, followed by quiet evenings of reading, or more often than not, socializing with the many wonderful people who share our lives.

It’s no wonder that we haven’t left our little corner of the world very much in the almost three years we’ve lived here. Celebrating a landmark anniversary, we decided it was time to venture further afield. Last week, we headed to the city. It was our first trip to Vancouver and we had a blast. We walked for hours each day, exploring the nooks and crannies of Stanley Park, Gastown, China Town, the Olympic Village seawall, and Granville Island. Our B & B was decadent and breakfasts were drool-worthy.

We had a fabulous time…and were entirely thrilled to come home. I enjoy travel. I enjoy new experiences. But I enjoy my life here more. Wrapped in the beauty of the island, surrounded by good friends, and warmed by a love that remains true and strong after all these years, there truly is no place like home. I am living the dream. 

Anniversary Giveaway!

It's the first year anniversary of the release of Cutting to the Chase. To celebrate, I'm giving away 3 e-book copies! On my Young Adult social media sites, I have been sharing glimpses into my writing life for #AuthorLifeMonth. Pop by one of them and leave a comment, or follow me there, for a chance to win. Contest ends February 28.

http://rosephillipsya.blogspot.ca/
https://www.instagram.com/rosephillipsya/
https://twitter.com/rosephillipsya

(Bobby, you need to set yourself up on Facebook so you can creep me there. I post about our lives daily. Seriously, do it. J)

Tears and laughter cleanse the heart. —Jonathan Lockwood Hule

On Tuesday night, we went to see the documentary Us & Them. Filmed in Victoria, British Columbia, it explores homelessness and addiction by following the lives of four homeless people over the course of ten years. It’s incredibly powerful, and their stories put a human face on folks we far too often pass with little more than a brief thought. While I highly recommend seeing it, it is not the film that I want to talk about, but the emotion that it stirred in all of us who attended.

As I watched, I stifled the urge to cry, sniffling as quietly as I possibly could. Beside me, a stranger’s shoulders shook as she wept, but she made no sound. When we left, my husband commented that he had a headache from fighting back tears. What is wrong with this picture? We were watching the pain of very real people. It was hard. We hurt along with them. We hurt for them. Why were we all so determined not to show that thing that we complain is lacking in our world—empathy?

Why do we suppress the public display of a very human reaction? Is crying not as natural as laughing? It’s not overtly taught, but somehow we have all gotten the message—it is embarrassing, shameful even, to cry openly. Stay strong. Chin up. Carry on. We hear these words of encouragement all of the time. Are they the wrong words? Is the subliminal message if you don’t do these things you are weak, you are cast down, you will stay down?

In reflecting on my own tears through the years, in my youth, I rarely cried. If I did, it was usually out of frustration or anger, and very much in private. I was perceived as a strong, competent young woman who was sure of herself and up to any challenge placed in front of her. I liked the image, so I fought any tears of pain, and certainly hid them if they fell.

As the years have passed, that has changed. Oddly, now that I truly am a strong competent human being, I cry more frequently. I think, in part, not because I feel more deeply but because I feel more widely. Years bring too much insight, too much knowledge, too much awareness of the larger hurt in our world. I rarely cry for me. I cry for others. What hasn’t changed is the fight against doing it in public. I don’t always win it, but I still struggle to contain tears when others are around.

Which brings me back to why? Our society, both subtly and explicitly, teaches boys that tears are weak. We’re working to change that, but it will be a long overhaul. As women trying to gain a level foothold in the world, are we also carrying the burden of that message? Do we think we are lesser if we show emotion? Does withholding our tears make us equal?

I don’t have the answer. However, I do know that I was more uncomfortable withholding my emotions the other night than I am when I let them loose. Like laughing, crying can be more than freeing; it can prove to be downright healing. And maybe tears, like laughter, need to be shared. Perhaps, that is how we create a kinder, more compassionate culture.