Category: Uncategorised (page 2 of 11)

Memories

I’m just back from a trip to my home province.  While there I had the opportunity to check out my alma mater, Queen’s University at Kingston. I’m so glad I did.  The last time I visited I came away feeling disappointed — so much had changed.  This time, I had fewer expectations and came away elated.  So much is still there!

 

The trees are gone from the boulevard but Grant Hall, the symbolic centre of the university still stands sentinel on University Avenue. Lucky me, it was open.  This is the hall where my convocation ceremony took place.

Ontario Hall with its beautiful curving staircase was a favourite place for pictures when I was a student.  There are matching wooden curved staircases inside. At one point there was a move to tear the place down as being too inefficient, but alumni sentiment proved stronger than money and this castle-like building graces the campus.

The student body is four times the number it was in my day, but their faces are still bright and eager and hopeful.  We stopped at the student pub for a sandwich and chatted with the wait-staff, all students.  They made my heart lift when they talked about school spirit and the importance of century old traditions.  In our world that changes so fast — all my computer programs were updated while I was away — it is reassuring that things like duty and honour and public service still matter. This corner stone is dedicated to Sir Sandford Fleming, past chancellor.

Today’s students have chucked textbooks for ipads, and Google has replaced the dictionary, but the desire to seek knowledge is still there. The fresh-faced students taking the first steps toward their future, are still excited and glad to be at this institution.

This is the address where I worked for a few years after graduation.  At that time it was part of the registrar’s office and a green, tin, temporary structure.  Now it looks like this! But it still houses the admissions office.

 

 

 

I came away from my whirlwind tour of the campus with a smile on my face and a lift of the heart.  For a few brief moments I relived the excitement of my first semester. I belonged to something good and grand.  I was part of a tradition. I’m still part of that tradition. Cha Gheill — College of the Queen forever!

 

Doors to History

A visitor to Victoria today is greeted with all the accoutrements of a building boom.  Cranes dot the skyline. Streets are torn up, traffic diverted and sidewalks are barred with portable fencing. On a recent trip into downtown I discovered that most of the antique stores I intended to visit, had closed up shop.  Welcome to the twenty-first century.

 

I guess today’s Victoria is somewhat reminiscent of the days when gold-seekers swarmed the streets. It all began on Sunday, April 25, 1858 when townsfolk were returning from church.  The “Commodore” – a wooden side-wheel American steamer, entered Victoria harbour and 450 men disembarked – typical gold-seekers, complete with blankets, miner’s pans and spades and firearms. Within a few weeks a town of approximately 230, had been invaded by over 20,000 adventurers and gold prospectors.

While the great majority of these people were transients, the rush of gold-seekers transformed the sleepy village of “Fort Victoria,” into a bustling centre for commerce.  A wild land-boom followed.  Lots that had languished on the market for $25.00 were snapped up a week later for $3,000 each.  For most of the nineteenth century, Victoria remained the largest city in British Columbia and was the foremost in trade and commerce.

I’m sure the original residents felt as bewildered as I do at the sudden and drastic change to their home town. Suddenly there was building everywhere. And what building it was!

The Empress Hotel greeted travellers arriving by water. Rattenbury had designed the elegant legislature building to replace the burned down “bird cages.”

Banks created cathedrals of finance, complete with coats of arms. Church spires dominated the skyline.

Victoria looked the part of a jewel in the British Empire.

Subsequent building booms have seen many historic buildings torn down and others altered dramatically. But there are still hints of Victoria’s Imperial past.  You find it in funky doorways. 

Morris Tobacconist

Many of the original rounded entries, with curved windows on the side have been modernized in the interests of economy and efficiency, but a few remain.  Look for them in “old towne” along Government and Wharf Street.

 

 

These are just a few of the treasures I found.  Do you have a favourite doorway in Victoria?  In your hometown?  Why do you like it?

Joy and Thanksgiving

Canadian Thanksgiving occurs this weekend.  It is one of my favourite holidays, celebrating harvest and the abundance of the land. During our stretch of sunshine at the end of September I got into Thanksgiving mode a little early.  

We picked pumpkins, 

                                                              harvested apples,

 

and gathered seed for next year’s flowers.

.  

 

  

                                    We were dazzled by dahlias and 

enchanted with a late blooming rose.

 

My world teemed with abundance.  My soul stretched and soared in gratitude.

Then, to top it all off, we attended a stage production of “Glorious” by Peter Quilter.  This is the story of Florence Foster Jenkins, the world’s worst opera singer.

And she was a terrible singer.  She tackled the most demanding coloratura repertoire and murdered it in spectacular fashion.  I couldn’t stop laughing.  Apparently her real life audience laughed too, but they loved her and she was invited to sing at Carnegie Hall in New York City.  Why?

I believe it was because of her exuberant joy.  She loved music, loved singing.  It brought her unparalleled  happiness and she wanted to share that happiness with the world.  I think she felt the same way on stage as I feel when I gloat over the harvest from my garden.  We are uplifted, exultant and full of joy.

At this time of thanksgiving, I wish all my readers overwhelming joy, the kind that cannot be contained in a safe, conventional life.  I wish you the exuberance of my dahlias and the bursting enthusiasm of Florence Foster Jenkins.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I

The Real Thing

I grew up with the iconic television series, “Perry Mason.” starring Raymond Burr.  It came on an hour past our bedtime, but if we got into our pyjamas and stayed very quiet and unobtrusive, we could usually stay up and watch.  I really wanted to be Della.

So, when I saw a classic movie channel showing a 1930’s film of Perry Mason, I tuned in to watch.  I thought it would be fun to see another actor in the role.

I was astounded.  the Perry Mason in the movie was nothing like the one portrayed by Raymond Burr.  This Perry moonlighted as a chef in a fancy restaurant.  He spent his off hours attending swanky parties and was a bit of a womanizer.  Long-suffering Della wasn’t invited.

What?!!!

I set out to find the real Perry Mason

I confess, I’d never read one of Erle Stanley Gardner’s books, but assumed they’d be easy to come by.  Wrong again.  My library didn’t have one.  My local second hand bookshop said they couldn’t keep them on the shelves and another dealer want $125.00 for a “rare” copy.

Finally, Amazon turned up an electronic copy at a reasonable price and I settled down to discover the character as written by the author. The result? The Raymond Burr version is much truer to the book. In the book version, Perry Mason worked all hours–nary a party or a socialite in view–and he certainly didn’t spend time in a commercial kitchen. He treated Della with great respect and affection, but no romance.  I am relieved.

The entire exercise taught me to not trust Hollywood for my research.

As a writer of historical fiction it is easy to fall into the trap of believing the tropes seen in the movies or on television are accurate portrayals of the era.

In my WIP, I decided it would make a good scene to remove a bullet from a wounded man.  A little research showed that instantly removing a bullet is not only unnecessary but may actually do more harm than good. Hollywood likes the drama of bullet removal from the flesh, usually without anaesthetic, because it makes good theatre. Not because it makes good medicine or is a true account of the practice of medicine at the time.

Lesson learned.  I’m still going to remove the bullet, but I’ll find good medical reasons to do it.

What about you? Have you ever seen favourite book characters mangled in a movie or television series. How did you feel? Shocked? Angry? Disappointed?

Kneading the Generations

I made scones for lunch the other day. I did it the old-fashioned way with a sifter, a pastry cutter and my hands. No machines.  Don’t get me wrong. I love my bread maker, but I miss the experience of working the dough. There is something eminently satisfying about kneading bread. I love how the dough changes from sticky and formless into a smooth, round ball as I work it.  I love the gentle movement of pressing the heel of my palm into the dough, flipping and turning it.  I like the way this timeless activity connects me to my foremothers.  Generations of women have performed this same task, turning flour, fat and yeast into tasty food for a family.

This photo of my grandmother, at an advanced age, baking bread at the kitchen table evokes feelings of warmth, and family, and connection. You can’t see it in the photo, but all around her, her daughters and granddaughters are preparing Christmas dinner. It’s one of my favourite memories.

In my wip, the heroine has devoted herself to making a home for her sister. She succeeds, but her success is hollow when she realizes that she had provided shelter, but not “home.” I think I’ll have her make bread.  The kneading will connect her to the place.  The smell of fresh bread will put heart in her hearth.

Any other fans of kneading out there?

Life and Roses

This week my blog takes a break from writing mode to real-life mode.  It’s my annual brag-fest. 

The fall fair in my region was held over the Labour Day weekend.  I entered a number of roses and I won a lot of ribbons, including a couple of “best in show.” 

Of course, I only enter the exhibit.  The roses grow and flower and fill the air with sweet scent just because they are roses.  How often we humans try to take credit for something the Creator has done. Still, I get a big kick out of being part of the fair — and the ribbons are nice too.

 

 

If you’d like check in on me wearing my writer’s hat this week, go to  the North of the Border — a segment on the Get Lost in a Story blog, where I am the guest of Jacqui Nelson.  You’ll find lots of information on some of my favourite spots in Canada and one of my favourite Canadian authors.  You can also enter a draw to win a book. The post goes up on Thursday, Sept. 6,

Writers Extraordinaire

Thanks to Marion Ann for the photo

Summer time and these writers are taking it easy.  This is my local authors group, VIRA.  On a hot, sunny Saturday we retired to the front porch to enjoy a picnic pot luck and talk writing.  The food was delicious.  The company was entertaining and the writing was downright terrific.  Part of the day included an anonymous reading for one or two pages of a member’s wip.  The pages were all dropped in a basket. Volunteers selected one submission and read it out to the group.  We then did a little kindly critiquing.  And we weren’t being kind just because we’re nice people.  We were kind because the writing was excellent.  We had to really nit-pick to find something that could be improved.

I’ve always enjoyed and admired the women in my group, but this week I really applaud them for their creative talents, their command of language, and their ability to spin a tale.

I recommend you check them out here.  There’s a new release page on the website.  I’d encourage you to look at both the romance releases and the non-romance.  These writers are funny, clever and daring.  Read one of their books.  You’ll be glad you did.

A Painful Lesson

This week I’ve been given the opportunity to experience what it is like to count the minutes until your next dose of pain medication. Complications from a dental procedure left me with a swollen face and an aching jaw that sent me to emergency over the weekend.  For two days I literally counted the minutes, day and night, until my next set of pills.  Of course, my pain was no where near that experienced by cancer patients or trauma patients, but I now know a little of how it feels when pain rules every moment of your day. Perhaps I can use that in a story some time.

Some writers will tell you that they use writing to get through the bad times. Not me.  I couldn’t put myself into an imaginary world when the real one demanded so much attention.  However, I could read.  I’m so grateful to authors who tell stories that, even for a little while, distracted me from my aching jaw.

And on that note, here’s a link that may interest you.

Summer Day

Ah, the thrill of the open road — on my bicycle. It’s summer time and tooling down a country lane on two wheels makes me feel like a kid out of school.  I wish I could enjoy the wind in my hair too, but I’m a grown-up and wear a helmet, as all sensible cyclists do.  But even with the helmet, there’s a sense of freedom in gliding down a hill, then pedalling furiously to keep the momentum and get up the other side without stopping.

On my journey I passed a field of new-mown hay.  Nothing says summer like the smell of fresh-cut hay.  That wonderful combination of green and dust and sweetness and a touch of engine oil fill the air with music and memory.

If this were the perfect summer day of my school days, my ride would end at a clear blue lake with a sandy bottom.  I’d dive into the water, gasp at the sudden cold, then settle in for a gentle swim, before turning on my back and floating while looking at the sky above.

We just celebrated Canada Day in my land.  It’s a day we commemorate the confederation of our country.  There’s a big party on parliament hill, but most of the population marks the day with a BBQ in the backyard, or a picnic at the lake.  Sometimes there are fireworks, but mostly it’s a day to enjoy summer and the freedom to bicycle down a country lane without fear.  A time to enjoy family and neighbours, maybe get a little sun-burned and collect a few mosquito bites.  That may sound dull, but to me it’s a lot like my bike ride — an exercise in freedom and the pleasure of summer.

Happy Canada Day to my fellow countrymen, and Happy Independence Day to my American neighbours.  

Cover Reveal

At last I’m able to show you the cover for my latest book in the Prospect Series. You may remember that it was delayed due to the unexpected passing of my cover artist, Dawn Charles.

Fortunately I was able to find someone who would pick up on the previous books and create a design that maintained the series brand. Thank you to Lori Corsentino/Harmony Creative Design.  She worked very hard to make the cover reflect my story. Notice the signs on the stores in the background? Those are all names of businesses I use in the story. The Prospect Photography Parlour is the name of the heroine’s business.

 

The picture on the right is one of the covers Dawn  did.  You can see how well the new cover artist picked up on the “look” of the series.

We played around with colours quite a bit and I’m delighted with the colour of the title and the ribbon behind the author’s name. We called it cranberry. I love names like plum, cranberry, mulberry, etc. for colours. They give the artist a wide scope in finding just the right shade. I guess you can do the same with “red” and “blue” but the “food” colours stimulate the imagination . . . and the appetite.

The book is not yet for sale as the formatting isn’t complete, but I’m giving you all a preview of the cover. Watch this space for release details in the next few weeks. Meantime, leave a comment telling me if you think “cranberry” is the right name for the colour.

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