Still Standing in Wakefield

 Oh my god, we're famous.

If readers of Iced Under, The Grey Lady and The River Bride have ever wondered where I got the inspiration for Stollerton, the CBC's hit show Still Standing with Jonny Harris has profiled my gorgeous little village in all its glory. You can watch it here:

Still Standing in Wakefield

Nikki Mantell, interviewed in the piece, was my former boss at the LowDown to Hull and Back News. It looks all slick now, but you should have seen the offices back in the day. Now that was a newspaper office. Her father, Art Mantell, gave me my first real piece of writing advice that I remember to this day: "Where's the story, Nadine? Start at the story!" 

The whole town looks slick and happening now. The train was responsible for some of the economic turn around, but the real change (in my opinion) began with the purchase and renovation of the Wakefield Mill. When it was turned into a stunning boutique hotel, it signalled that the village was a place people would pay to visit. 

From Iced Under (which was written back in the day): 

Named for the family that founded it, the village followed the tips and bends of the Gatineau River with cramped carelessness, squeezed between the mountain and the old railway tracks. Its logging roots showed in the clapboard buildings that were hastily constructed, no one anticipating they’d still be in use a hundred years later. The population hovered perpetually at eight hundred and the economic health of the region was equally stagnant. Nothing to buy, nothing to sell, and what there was, nobody wanted. Like many quaint, picturesque towns in West Quebec, Stollerton hung on to existence with the tenacity of a weed.

Wakefield is likely to suffer for its unique physical beauty and easy-going nature. With COVID, we've seen a dramatic increase in tourist traffic, and while I'm happy for the business owners who have hung in there through the bad times, it makes the village less familiar. 

I hope visitors get transformed by the vibe as I did, as so many newcomers did, into calmer, cheerier people who realize there is nothing more important than the person standing in front of you. I hope they slow down on the back roads and look at the turtles instead of running over them. 

I hope they put their Tim Horton's cups in garbage receptacles instead of throwing them in the ditches. The ditches offer life to the most beautiful variety of wildflowers. They look scruffy and insignificant, a place to toss garbage--they are not. 

I hope they bend to the Hills instead of trying to bend the Hills to them. As a former Torontonian, I can tell you it's easier to give in.

I told a dear friend years ago that Wakefield loved me into being. It's true. Residents believe nothing is impossible and take it on fact that the most remarkable things can be accomplished, and usually with no money. Community centre? No problem. Hospital? Hold my beer. Build a bridge? Just watch us. Heritage museum, parks, trails? No worries. 

In my case, it was three crime novels and now a cosy murder mystery series. 

(My crime thrillers were formerly subtitled Gatineau Hills Mystery until I realized no one outside of the National Capital Region knew what the Gatineau Hills were. It is now the name of my tiny publishing company.)

Jonny Harris touched on the enormous creative output in Wakefield. Seriously, you can't swing a cat in this town without hitting an artist. Famous authors and musicians have come to the village, but it's the "famous to us" artists, singers, poets, writers, chefs, gardeners, philanthropists, librarians, historians, visionaries and business owners that have kept us going. When no one was here, they were here. 

Trains come and go. It's the people who make a place magical. 

My Secret Weapon for 2022 - Plottr

I've always been a pantser. I'd get an idea for a story, see the end or the main point in my head and off I'd go writing myself in and out of corners until I lurched to the finish line. 

The "finish" line was followed by weeks of (hair-pulling, teeth-gnashing) editing until I could declare the book complete or too stupid to live. 

My process was long, tedious and increasingly joyless. Worst of all, it did not result in book that was as tight as I would have liked it to be because I was exhausted and hated the thing by the end. 

There has to be a better way, right? Well, there is. It is called drafting an outline which is something normal people do. I've tried to nail that sucker down for years without success. The act of writing an outline to write only led to me hating my story faster. 

I can't even remember when I heard about Plottr or where, but on impulse I signed up for the online demo of the software. I am cheap. Some might even say stingy. I am immune to impulse buying or sales pitches. But I loved the demo. I could see instantly how this program could work for me. I could play with it, I could manipulate it to work the way my brain works. Sometimes I plot very tightly with it. Sometimes I follow one of the templates. Sometimes I use it for the timeline to shift scenes where I need them to be. I can see how the story is progressing in each box where I jot down everything from dialogue to clothing to weather.

The random bits that flesh out a scene get plugged into Plottr and make writing faster, easier and stronger. Less editing, less time wasted hunting around for where I put what. My daily word count went from an exhausting 2K day to a relaxed 5K a day.

I'm not sure how it does what it does. It's visual so that's a huge help when you're trying to figure out what comes next. It's also liberating because it's easy to plug in the bits that come to me and dump them if they're not working. I can move stuff around. It's not set in stone. There's room for some pantsing but I get a look at the dead ends before I start writing. I waste less time and brain energy when I'm cranking out the words. 

To make a living in self-publishing, we have to produce and Plottr is my secret weapon to amp up production. I have five books planned and instead of feeling overwhelmed and discouraged, I have this cool little tool at my side to get the stories out. 

If you are interested and want to check it out for yourself go to www.plottr.com. There is a rate for a lifetime license which is what I bought. The service is excellent. The thing works. 

Once upon a time, there was no Internet and people were just fine with that.

 Feel Sorry For Us. Go Ahead. 

After a day of wrestling with downloading, registering accounts requiring acres of confirmation, phone calls to young'uns to talk me off the ledge.... Accepting the new digital reality and trying to work with it.... Google asking me if I want to send that email because I used 'attachment' without attaching anything......

I reach for the wine that I swore I wouldn't drink until we were in a "Break Glass in Case of Emergency" situation. The glass is breaking. 

And then, on cue, Amazon Prime suggests I might want to listen to Elton John on this Friday with my wine and crankiness. 

I click the link because Elton has got me through many a bad time since 1974. And what do I find? Demands for my ENGAGEMENT because God forbid I just listen to the tunes and don't GIVE a bloody thing but my ears and appreciation. Since I own his records and I've paid to attend his concerts, Elton has got what he needs out of me to pursue his craft.

So go ahead. You have my permission to feel sorry for us as I used to feel sorry for my mom who thought ATMs were the spawn of Satan. Because we feel sorry for you. We feel sorry that you are commodities instead of recipients of bliss. We feel sorry that you aren't poring over liner notes in the privacy of your home instead of being prodded online for your "opinion" before you've had time to form one. 

I'm terrified to log in in this day and age. Bombarded with demands to know what I thought about certain artistic product. Did you know there was an era when artists put out their art and if it sold, it sold and if it didn't, they created something else? Elton got rich without my online input and his music will survive just fine without it now. 

I'm not a luddite. I know new performers depend on online reviews. So I would advise youngsters to reserve their review energy for their generation. We oldsters did that by buying records. No online reviews. We just bought in extraordinary numbers and that's why you have U2 and Elton and Alanis now. 

Elton is singing "Candle in the Wind" right now. We were kids when he recorded this. He made us feel something for celebrities, to care about them as much as we cared about our social justice issues. We had hearts then, not Twitter. So go ahead and feel sorry for us for not knowing we have to download our whole fucking lives. Or upload to a Cloud. We had hearts. 

One day, I promise you, you will be saying the same thing to the generation after you. 

Alvina Moon knows what I'm talking about:

The River Bride

Trump, Russia and Kim Jong-un: The Plot Thickens

As no one knows (except my internet provider) I spend fabulous amounts of time following the gripping spy novel that is currently unfolding in the American White House.

I'm a crime writer. I have a cynical mind. And when something smells, I immediately think dead body. And there is a powerful stench coming off this latest announcement that North Korea's Kim Jong-un has invited Trump to talk peace.

Okay, that's not the stinky bit. It's this: Kim Jong-un "understands that the routine joint military exercises between South Korea and the U.S. must continue." 

Whoa. That's a rotten bit of flesh buried in the basement right there.

Does Kim Jong-un strike you as a guy who understands stuff? Has he striven to give the Western world the impression that he's a guy who understands stuff? This is a statement so utterly out of character that I'd have trouble putting it in a novel without getting slammed by readers.

It's a complete about-face, which is always suspect in the spy game. I have another theory as to what is really going on here. Brace yourselves.

The public animosity between Trump and Jong-un wasn't real. The 'little rocket man' stuff was a magician's trick to keep our attention on the wrong thing. It was pure theatre--little boys taunting each other on the playground. They love their egos and nothing else. Not even their countries.

But they have nukes! Yes, they do and they love showing them off. Trump is next up in the Hit Parade apparently. He's arm-twisted the Pentagon into giving him a military parade. It's fun to show their nukes off; it's less fun to blow everyone up who follows you on Twitter.

That Twitter war offered us a clue, however. Why did they think they could get away with it? I mean, the usual deal is we don't say certain things because of consequences. The prevailing theory is that Jong-un and Trump are unhinged and act without thinking of the consequences. But if that was true then there would be no hope of reasoning with either of them and we'd be in fear of a nuclear winter right now given the insults they've lobbed at each other.

My theory is that these boys didn't think of the consequences because they knew there wouldn't be any.

Let's cut to the chase because it's Friday afternoon and wine awaits.

1. Putin is the Papa Bear behind the Trump/Jong-un relationship. He told them to squabble. He told them to make up. They could get away with their taunts because they both knew the other wouldn't do anything about it. Trump knew Putin was sitting on Kim and Kim knew Putin was sitting on Trump. 

So now the leap is not so great from "stand-off" to "hey, let's talk, buddy." Putin wants them to make up, at least in public--hence Kim Jong-un's sudden about-face. But what's in it for Putin? 

2. Well, he went to great expense to put Trump in office and so far the Trump Administration is working out really well for him. (Trump is Putin's Employee of the Year) Putin wants Trump in office in 2020 but Trump is so spectacularly incompetent, he'll have to win the Nobel Peace Prize to pull it off. So....

3.  Enter Rocket Man, the nukes, the "tensions" and the stunning about-face to talk peace with his nemesis. Jong-un goes along with the show because he depends on Russia, he wants Western recognition and he wants the sanctions lifted. And more importantly, he loves the attention.  

4. As the curtain goes down, the boys will shake hands and make up because Papa Putin tells them to so Donald can win the Nobel Peace Prize and the presidency. The End.  

It lacks the panache of a Bourne conspiracy but I'm going to put it in the novel anyway. I've kept copious notes on the Trump-Russia Affair, hoping to turn these real-time historic events into a political thriller once the dust settles. Except that the dust shows no sign of settling. There's always a new layer.

For further reading check out: The Diplomat Russia's Relationship with North Korea. It's Complicated.

And because we gotta laugh, check out Keith Olbermann of GQ: The Resistance on YouTube for some of the wittiest, in-depth, take-no-prisoners reporting on the Trump Administration that I've seen. God bless free speech!

Happy March, folks.

In Celebration of Black History Month

I was wondering what I could do to celebrate this month and then I remembered my clever niece wrote an essay for her class last year that was an eye-opener for her white aunts and uncles. She gave me permission to publish it on my blog. What better time than this month.
------------------------------------------------

The World Is Not Black and White

The world is not black and white, it’s not even a rainbow. A rainbow would imply each colour is separated by distinct lines which is simply not the case. The world is a spectrum of vibrant colours in thousands of shades. Pinks, yellows, purples, and every colour you could think of in every shade possible. Unfortunately to most people, the world is black and white, at least where I grew up it was.

I grew up in a notoriously white neighbourhood. I had not seen another black person until I was six years old. I used to think I had a skin condition which I inherited from my mother that made me darker than the other kids. It wasn’t until I started elementary school when I saw other people like me. There were a handful of black children in the whole school and they all seemed to know each other, however, I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me. I couldn’t talk to them and they couldn’t talk to me.

Looking back, elementary school was a tough time for me. I wasn’t fully aware of what people were saying or the meaning of their actions until I was older. My most fond memory of my childhood was when I joined Girl Scouts and we had an activity where everyone placed a pin in a country on a world map of where they were from. Europe was completely covered. I had just taken two pins and before I knew it they were snatched out of my hands by a scout who thought she was funny. “I know where these go,” she laughed to the other girls, “right here!” she said putting both pins in the centre of Africa. The scouts laughed but I was more confused. Even if I was African, which I’m not, why would that be funny? I took the pins out of The Congo and placed one in Jamaica and one in Scotland. They were completely baffled. “How are you from Scotland?” one asked me “My father’s parents,” I said. “So does that make you white?” a different scout asked me. “I guess” I replied, I had never used labels before so I wasn’t complete sure what they meant. Since that day, none of the scouts believed that I was born with two races; it was almost like they’ve never heard of bi-racialism...maybe because they hadn’t.

Kids can be cruel. I’ve been called a mutt and I’ve been called “Reblacka”.  The worst was learning about Black History in elementary school that memory will stay with me forever. Being the only black kid in the class made the experience all the more uncomfortable. “Were your ancestors slaves?” “if my ancestors every owned your ancestors I’m so sorry” “Does that mean your Grandpa owned your other Grandma?” Sure they meant well but having every kid in this class ask you about your slave grandparents for a month was really awkward. Then we watched a video on Martin Luther King Jr. and it showed old footage of businesses with signs posted on doors saying “No N*ggers Allowed.” A student asked my teacher what that word meant and my teacher told them “It’s a really rude word people used to call black people a long time ago,” then a student turned to me and said “Hey Rebecca-Lynn’s a n*gger!” and some other kids joined in as well, meanwhile other kids were debating whether I truly was a n*gger because I’m also half white. It became a class discussion so my teacher tried her best to stop them but they were having a laugh. As a child I never really understood the real meaning of the word and I’m sure the kids didn’t either, but what upset me as a child was that the teacher told them it was a bad word yet they chose to use it anyways.

As I got older, I met more and more bi-racial people and they all had one thing in common. They were either willfully blind or leaning; and I really don’t blame them. Unless you comply with typical stereotypes, you won’t be considered as your race. I don’t listen to rap music and I love British food; for that, most people don’t consider me as black despite having darker skin. Most biracial people, in my experience, lean more to the side they take the most physical features from; some won’t even acknowledge their other half, which I think is unfortunate. I feel blessed to be born with two races, two beautiful cultures, and the idea of ignoring one to conform to other people’s close-minded standards breaks my heart.

As I entered middle school and high school, I often received the same compliment—If you can call it that--, “You’re really pretty for a black girl!” How does one respond to that? What does that even mean “for a black girl?” I accepted the compliment to be nice, however because of that comment, some black girls actually started looking at me a different way. To them, the only thing that made me “pretty” was the fact that I was half white; that’s where the beauty was. But I think my beauty comes from both sides, the best of both worlds if you would.

A lot of the time, people couldn’t see past my whiteness or my blackness. Being told by white people that “you’re not black/white enough to do that” or being told by black people that “you’re only half black/white so technically it doesn’t count” can start off as a funny comment but after a while it can become hurtful. I’ve even had KKK songs sung to me because someone assumed it wouldn’t be as offensive because I’m only half black. By their logic, Obama is only half black so technically he wasn’t the first black president and Drake isn’t “black enough” to embrace his Caribbean culture. It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? People like to pick and choose which biracial person gets to be considered what, but frankly it’s none of their business.

I’ve been told by people of all races that I’m not good enough for my race because most people aren’t used to one person belonging to more than one race. Bi-racialism is becoming more and more common in today’s world. Cultures are mixing and diversity is becoming more and more prominent. As the saying goes, old habits die hard and people still consider the world as black and white, but the world is no longer black and white, nor is it a rainbow. The world is a huge spectrum of cultures and colours in every shade; and it’s beautiful.

Rebecca-Lynn Doolittle
-------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and I hope we all join in the celebration!

Black History Month Canada

Springtime in Gatineau Hills Quebec

I'm going to take you through a brief travelogue for this post to welcome the season. Click the links to see the spots I reference. Come on, it'll be fun.

Spring is tweeting outside my office window and Easter means a visit to the sugar bush around here. (Ask Google to translate this page.)

My windows are open for the first time in weeks. The birds and sheep are making a racket. The snow is melted in the major spots, only hanging on in dirty clumps in the corners. We don't have a yard. We have a bloody forest and the deer have been coming right to the house in search of a hand-out. It's been a hard winter for them.

 My office faces the Gatineau Hills within the National Capital Region. I write crime fiction set in the wilderness places of Western Quebec. I'm more than a little conscious of the natural world and it infuses my writing.

My books sell really well in my area. Cottagers and locals love to read about murder when they're relaxing at the lake. It's a Canadian thing. (Yes, I know I've linked to Lac Bernard Cottage Rentals. I'm not trying to rent you a cottage. The pictures are pretty. Just look at them. Enjoy.)

My nearest village is Wakefield, Quebec, a happening creative hive. Theatre, music, art, festivals, fine-dining and wholesome food--as well as a river, green hills and really nice people. At this time of year, when the ice is off the waterways and the sun is beginning to be felt again, you'll find people standing around in parking lots talking about the winter like we've come through a siege.

This is before the bugs get here and then Spring is intolerable and we can't wait for the hot weather to kill off the bugs. And then we complain that it's too hot. (This actually happens.)

With the approach of Mother's Day (May 14) and the start of Cottage Season (May 22 - also known as Victoria Day), my thoughts naturally turn to marketing....

If you're a cottager, or live in the Ottawa Valley, or in Canada, and crave a helping of Canadian Crime Fiction to celebrate Canada's Sesquicentennial have I got a book (or three) for you! 

Iced Under, The Grey Lady and The River Bride are available at Kobo, Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Apple iBooks for $6.99 CND (and Australia who are my best customers for some reason. Love you guys.)

Iced Under

The Grey Lady

The River Bride

Page-turning psychological domestic crime fiction. Order it today in time for Mother's Day and then leave her alone to read while you make dinner. Ahhh.....bliss.

Iced Under Print

The Grey Lady Print

The River Bride Print

Venosta, Quebec Writers' Retreat

I am off on a Writers' Retreat Sept. 25th to 27th in gorgeous Venosta, Quebec. I have never taken a retreat before due to lack of time and money and a deep-seated insecurity about the work. None of which has changed but I'm a sucker for a heritage farm house in the Gatineau Hills and I have a new series I'm struggling to get locked down for 2016.  

Mark Frutkin is the artist-in-residence. I read Erratic North and loved it. Thus, I am excited by the work ahead, tempered with rational dismay by the work ahead. 

Here is where the retreat is being held:  

http://www.venostawritersretreat.com/

What else is happening in my writing life?

I'm trying to zero in on the titles that did well since I began self-publishing, the titles that show promise and the titles I should put to bed. It's finding what interests me, what appeals to the market (readers) and the time I have available all in one place and then directing my energy there. Some writers nail this out of the gate and others (me) are slow learners. Onward!

Have a blessed weekend and don't forget to download your free copy of Heathcliff today on Amazon.

Stealing in Broad Daylight

Um...

At this very moment I'm listening to the FULL ALBUM of Enya's Greatest Hits on YouTube.

15,909,875 people have tuned in since it was uploaded on November 13, 2013. plata oro is the entity behind the upload and they have 25,140 subscribers.

I don't get it. Did plata oro pay Enya's music label for the right to upload a digital copy? Did YouTube? Was it such a huge cost that the only way to recoup their investment is by running ads throughout? (I just skip 'em. No biggie.)

Has YouTube and plata oro uploaded the album and from the millions of listeners the artist is bound to attract (like me), they make a fantastic profit by selling ads to corporations? ("Psst, guys, I got a vid running on YouTube that has over 15 mil eyeballs. If you want a piece of the action it'll cost ya.")

I never have to pay for this album. It's crazy. I don't get it.

Wait--is this the Utopian Era of Communal Property and no one told me? Well, hot damn! There's a lovely little mansion in Silicon Valley I've had my eye on for some time ... so when can I move in?

Inquiring minds want to know.

(stolen from the National Enquirer. it's their tagline.)

Write More. Write Fast. Write Now.

I'm hard at work every day on two new short series for Kindle Unlimited. I write 3000 words a day. It's not easy. The back is the first to go. The wrist is next. I have 20 years of writing experience. There's no excuse for a pitiful word count anymore. (Except blogging. Blogging is a good excuse.)

Tips For Increasing Word Count:

If you're just starting out, the best thing you can do for yourself is just write like hell. It's going to suck. But it's easier to fix words than it is to come up with new words. Write out of sequence if that helps. Write the bits you're interested in. You can knit it all together later. Revision is your friend. Don't worry, you'll get there. But not until you have a first draft with a beginning, middle and end.

If you have years of writing experience and just want to squeeze more productivity out of your writing time:

1) Know that you can write more. If I can do it, you can do it. Don't listen to the voice that says you can't. You can. You already know how to tell a story, it's a matter of typing it.
2) Don't think when you're writing. You can think later. If you get stuck thinking, skip to the next most interesting thing in your story and think about that. You'll want to write it and hey! there's no reason why you shouldn't.
3) Revise as you go along. Hah! I thought I couldn't do this either. But it's amazing how the brain will cough up corrections to scenes, adjust dialogue, add details, etc. if you just let it do its job.
4) Set a word goal and keep a beady eye on the number. It's your cookie--your validation--it loves you. Feed it and watch it grow.
5) When you get to the end of your novel and it resembles a novelette, DO NOT PANIC. This is where the fun happens. Go back to the beginning and flesh out the chapters with description, deepen dialogue and character, add bits of business. You'll be amazed at how painlessly word count grows to full-length novel.

To Outline or Not to Outline, That is the Question.

Some very prolific writers swear by their outlines. Based on my own experience and hearing from other writers, I think the outline works for a particular type of brain. Many authors start with an outline and then scrap it. I start by writing a first draft and the outline emerges from there as I go along.

If outlining exhausts your creativity when it comes time to write, don't bother with them. If you are inspired and excited by outlining and write like a white hot genius when you get to work, count your blessings. Keep what works, chuck what doesn't.

Is it possible to write a book in one month? I think it is but I think first and foremost, it's better to learn your own mind and take the time to say what you want to say. Ultimately, that's where the real joy of writing lies.

David Adams Richards and Arthur Ellis

A little history. I was in Vancouver for a family crisis. (My family doesn't have reunions--we have crisis-management team meetings.) Anyway, there I was in my suicidal sister's apartment and I found a book on the bed (hardcover) by David Adams Richards: Mercy Among the Children. I picked it up and read it even though I have a love/hate relationship with Canadian literature. Mostly I love it but some of the contemporary writers make me nervous. David Adams Richards wasn't one. Mercy Among the Children was the best book I'd read in a long time. I was very impressed by my sister's literary taste.

Crisis over, I was packing to take the plane home and I gave the book back to my sister. She said it wasn't hers; she didn't know where it came from. I asked my brother. He said he thought it was mine and that's why he put it on the bed. To this day, we have no idea where it came from or why it appeared at that particular moment in our lives. All to say, the theme of the book had echoes for me with my own family. 

I put it in my suitcase and it now lives on my bookshelf as a keeper. 

I read most of D.A.R.'s backlist after that and felt I had made a literary discovery. Turns out he was already discovered. He is one helluva writer. Some readers feel his work is depressing. Bullshit, I say. Pull on your big girl panties and read like an adult. Good fiction tells us what we are and what we can be. He's not going to draw us a fucking map or lie to us on the journey. 

(Ack! My New Year's Resolution was to swear less....)

The point of this post is to say David Adams Richards has a book entered in the Arthur Ellis Awards for 2014 Best Crime Novel. The title is Crimes Against My Brother.

First, I can't wait to read it. Second, I can't believe my lousy luck. I entered THE RIVER BRIDE in that competition. Many, many incredibly talented Canadian mystery and crime fiction authors have entered their books in that competition. We freaking love the Arthur Ellis Awards given out each year in May by the Crime Writers of Canada. I didn't expect to win or shortlist but I entered because I'm a Canadian and I write crime fiction set in Canada. So ... yanno ... that's what we do. 

The highlight of 2014 could very well be that I saw my name on a list with David Adams Richards. It would be beyond the limits of my joy if our books made the shortlist. But if I won and he didn't ... then how could I respect the award? 

*snort* hilarious. but since we're thinking about it...

How could a genre author who owes so much to a literary master respect an award that beat out the master? I have no idea. I'd like to believe that for the jury there's no contest and D.A.R. smokes the rest of us. But there are criteria that I'm not privy to. There are variables as is the way with fiction and genre fiction in particular.

Maybe I'll just read his book and be glad to be a Canadian surrounded by outstanding Canadian authors who feed my soul. They don't get the national love they truly deserve. So this is me saying it: Thank you David Adams Richards for nursing me back to health with your books. 

Love,
a reader

P. D. James and Me

I've been reading P. D. James for so many years, I can't remember a time when she wasn't "my" mystery author. I have a handful of authors I read over and over again for comfort or to make sense of the world or to just take care of me after I've had a crap day. P. D. James was one of those authors. She delivered the perfect blend of literary fiction and detective novel every single time.

When I started writing mysteries of my own, I felt a kind of obligation to her, to try to be as brave and intelligent. Her writing became the gold standard by which I measured my own work. I knew I wouldn't measure up but striving to get there was making me a better author. So when I read about her death, I cried a little because I felt like I'd failed her because I'd lost faith in writing, and in my writing in particular.

And then, on the same day, I got an email from Smashwords saying a review had been posted for The River Bride. Here is the link:

Review of The River Bride

It is hard to express the impact one thought-provoking, critical review can have on an author. In order to write well, we need the intelligence of the authors who came before us. And to continue to write well, we need the critical faculties of readers to guide us when we've lost faith.

I am grateful to the reviewer for taking the time. I am constantly amazed by the co-creation that is writing and reading. It really is something to have faith in.

The Frugal Author

It's Sunday. It's November. We've had snow flurries which I love. I am not one of those November-haters. I love November. Because:

1) It's hunting season.
2) It's quiet.
3) It's not too early for Christmas music.
4) It is too early to stress about Christmas shopping.

I woke at 6:00 am. Wrote/edited/swore at my latest manuscript. Then popped downstairs for televised church, then back upstairs for a teeny bit of writing. Just enough to keep me from sticking my head in a gas oven when I open the file again.

I joke about the gas oven. As if I could afford a gas oven.

Which brings me to The Frugal Author. I've been following an online discussion about how to weather the lean times in writing---a subject I consider myself an expert in as I've only known lean times. If you are considering chucking your job to write full-time, read on.

The Frugal Author: Tips to Living the Dream.

1) If you are currently spending money, stop. Break the habit of spending money while you still earn it. This will lessen the trauma to your central nervous system when you have no money to spend.

2) If you can save, save. If you can't save---see above.

3) Brace yourself to work hard. You will write every day, all day. Plan to write genre fiction even if you are working on The Great Canadian Novel. It will comfort you when no one buys your lit-fic and possibly pay some bills.

4) No. 3 does not apply if you are a New York City journalist, a plastic surgeon, or in the entertainment industry.

5) Don't worry about eating, it's overrated. But if you must, then learn to cook, shop local and (it goes without saying) don't shell out money for junk food (incl. booze). (I know, I know, this one hurt me too.)

6)  Do not go into debt for your books. Ever. You will be tempted. Resist. Hundreds of thousands of authors will back me up on this. Do not get so deep into debt that you can't write. This is the best advice I didn't take when I was starting out. I didn't take it and I still owe money for Living the Dream.

7) Self-publishing, you say? The temptation (and pressure) to spend is even higher. Do not spend more on your books than you can realistically expect to earn from them. And then ratchet those expectations down by about fifty percent. I'm not being negative. I'm being positive. You will positively have a tough slog to sell 100 copies of your book. Pace your expenses accordingly. Your market will grow ... but baby steps.

8) Agents reject you. Publishers don't respond. Your savings have dwindled and your life is shit. You never see your kids/husband/wife/mother/friends and your body is falling apart. Was it worth it? If your answer is no, then please do not quit the day job. Not a living soul will fault you for it. And if they do, send them to me and I'll set them straight.

9) The last frugal tip I have is for your ego. You'll have to adjust to working without reward. And don't kid yourself that the joy of writing will be enough. It's a hell of a joy but it's rarely enough to replace the validation, income, and society of the workplace. Think hard. There will be no reviews of your work. No feedback. You will have to accept silence for a very long time and write anyway.  

10) You took the red pill. You're all in and today is the first day of Living the Dream. You've got such a tiny economic footprint that you barely register on the grid of household expenses. You're eating rice and beans but on the upside, you've lost 10 pounds. The price of gas is something you never think about because you never drive anywhere. You write every single day. Even Sunday. And you are happy. Frugal living is a walk in the park. So the last tip is, this is the money shot. This day. This moment. Work hard. Give it your all. Enjoy every minute and give thanks.

I'll race you to the bestseller lists.

Wedding Madness

This is a quick fly-by post because I am supposed to be:

1) setting up chairs
2) writing my speech
3) vacuuming (again!)
4) fixing the hem on my Mother of the Bride outfit
5) foraging in the forest for fall cuttings to decorate house

I've discovered that the only thing worse than writing is not writing. Going a bit crazy actually. I hope this month off results in a huge surge of productivity when the wedding is over. Not writing causes me to over-think my life and that leads to stressing over non-issues like the thread count in sheets. I can tell you one thing: I will not be doing any more housework for the foreseeable.

I got a new haircut out of the deal though. My first professional cut since 2009 and wow, what a difference! I thought I was doing a pretty good job cutting my own hair until now. Who knew?

(As it turns out--everyone. I'm the only person who thought my hair looked okay.)

Wedding-wise everything is under control. The weather has vastly improved. There is never enough money but we haven't set fire to the credit card yet. My book sales paid for some of the extras which is amazing considering where I was a year ago as an author. My daughter is very happy with her groom and the wedding plans. I'm going to see my sisters again and my beautiful nieces and my sweet little grandson will be here as well....

Who am I kidding? I'm a nervous wreck. Giving birth was less terrifying.

Robin Williams

Because he is all we can think about right now. 

I didn't know him, obviously. But here's what I received from Robin Williams and how I most remember him.

There is a scene in Good Will Hunting (the performance for which Williams won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor):
In this scene, Matt Damon's character reveals to Williams (his therapist) that he was beaten as a child. Williams says "It was not your fault." Damon nods "Yes, yes, I know." Williams repeats, "It was not your fault." Damon, impatiently, "I know."
He repeats it again and again until Damon's character breaks down and admits he believed the beatings were his fault.

It is one of the most powerful moments on screen. A simple exchange of dialogue delivered by two truly fine actors. That scene has been called into my consciousness in some pretty tough times and saved me. It wasn't the words or the production values or the media buzz or even the Oscar win that gave that moment its power--it was Robin Williams. 

I wish he was still here.  

Famous Authors at a Tiny Writers' Festival!

The first annual Wakefield Writers' Festival on May 9 and 10 in Wakefield, Quebec was a resounding success. It was held at the historic Wakefield Mill Inn and MacLaren House and we packed the place. In true Wakefield fashion, everyone arrived at the eleventh hour for the Authors' Brunch, giving the organizers bleeding ulcers, but hey, that's how the village rolls.

Guest authors were Frances Itani, Trevor Ferguson and Tim Wynne-Jones.

I'm trying to find the words for the level of thrill I felt listening to these generous, talented writers share their experiences and adventures in writing over their long successful careers. I'm still gob-smacked that they were there at our new little festival. All three are award winners. All three have sold millions and millions of books. There's a level of intimacy with a book that is unmatched by any other medium. When I met Tim Wynne-Jones--the author of Zoom at Sea and Zoom Away--children's books that I read over and over to my kids--well, if he were Brad Pitt I couldn't be more excited. As parents we are careful about what we put into our children's bodies, but less cautious about what we allow into their minds. I trusted certain authors with my kids' minds and I have to say, they did a good job. So thank you, Tim Wynne-Jones!

Trevor Ferguson has a new book out called The River Burns (Simon & Schuster). Set in my village, Wakefield, it is a fictionalized account of the burning of the covered bridge. Trevor read from his novel and we were riveted. His style is funny but deeply felt. His characters are human beings we might have met. People are interesting to Trevor Ferguson. I like that in an author. I can spot it right away when an author finds real people interesting. He had a fantastic story about the moment he knew he was going to be a writer. It involves a near-death experience with a train and a pledge written inside a Gideon bible.

Frances Itani is so famous that my blog traffic will increase just by writing her name here. She read from her novel that is coming out in August, 2014 (HarperCollins). Again, it's very hard to sum up our feelings in that moment. All around me, there were whispers from those who had read all of her books and the sheer joy each one gave. Her reading was splendid. I haven't read Frances Itani before but I'm going to now. And not because she is recognized, but because of that reading. I want a good story, told by a master of the craft and she delivered.

For authors out there with book readings coming up, I have a piece of advice that I learned this weekend. Professional writers read professionally. They know their selection, they take their time, they deliver a performance. Frances, Tim and Trevor read to us like we mattered, like they were telling us a great story. In other words, they made the reading about us not them. Watching them was a revelation.

Local author, Kimberley Mansfield read from her first work of fiction, Deadly Tricks (General Store Publishing) and had us spellbound. This book is garnering rave reviews in the community and online. As a writer of fiction, I'm perhaps more in awe of Kimberley's achievement than all the rest of us combined. She was creating and writing against incredible odds. The pressures of life and our own baggage can sink our work but Kimberley held on through some tough times to produce her first work of fiction and she did it exceptionally well.

That is heroism. Yes? We have no excuse not to keep writing. What defines a good book is different for each of us, which is why we need so many. I'm a reader first. So get writing.

Acts of God

We had some wild weather here in the Gatineau Hills. The storm knocked out the power in some areas for a few days, trees were ripped out by their roots, cell phone reception was down, then the land lines went out.

Life, before we were plugged in.... As long as the power was restored in time for The Borgias, I was happy.

Speaking of Acts of God...

I'm meeting Diane Banks, my amazing agent, for drinks in Toronto at the beginning of September! She's travelling in from London, England on business and is making the time to see me. We're having lunch the next day with Kim McArthur of McArthur and Company, my publisher for THE GREY LADY and ICED UNDER.

When you're a writer, a lunch date with your agent and your publisher is the very definition of heaven on earth. Take a poll. You'll see I have not overstated the title of this blog entry at all.

More Acts of God...

Reading Sophie's World: A Novel about the History of Philosophy by Jostein Gaarder. Breathless.

Listening to Monkeys Under Stars by Lindsay Ferguson. Sublime.

The importance of carrying on...

I was watching the movie, Salt last weekend. Angelina Jolie fighting full out--a joy to watch and I thought: Gad, she must be soooo exhausted. (The character, I mean, although Angelina was probably whacked out too.) But slowing down is out of the question--she'll be killed. The nail-biting tension of most suspense/thriller movies comes from that place of knowing the character cannot give up, never, not even for a moment.

Ah, the life of a writer--so similar to an Angelina Jolie action movie. The bad guys we're fighting are demons of doubt, bad news, and a mean-spirited inner critic. And we must never, never, ever give up. We must get up, dust ourselves off and turn to the page. Over and over and over again.

Natalie Goldberg says it best in Writing Down the Bones:

"Okay. Your kids are climbing into the cereal box. You have $1.25 left in your checking account. Your husband can't find his shoes, your car won't start, you know you have lived a life of unfulfilled dreams. There is the threat of nuclear holocaust....it is twenty degrees below zero outside...and you don't have even have three plates that match to serve dinner on....You lost your favorite pen and the cat peed on your current notebook.

Take out another notebook, pick up another pen, and just write, just write, just write. In the middle of the world, make one positive step. In the center of chaos, make one definitive act. Just write. Say yes, stay alive, be awake. Just write. Just write. Just write."

In fact, Natalie Goldberg says everything about writing best. Stop reading blogs. Read Natalie Goldberg.

How's the writing going you ask?

Um. Slowly. Thanks for asking.

I have approximately 20 decent pages and the rest is crap--78 pages of crap. Non-writers don't get it. Why would we spend our day writing pages that we'll just throw out later? Why? Why?

How can I explain it? If we don't write the pages that will have to be tossed, we won't get to the story inside. Writing is a boring, painful process and anyone who tells you different is lying.

It's not that the sentences are terrible--they are but they can be fixed later. It's the story, the plot--my reason for living that is bogging me down under this growing pile of slag! So much that is of no use! I'm spinning my wheels, losing confidence that I'll ever know what this book is about.

A walk with the dog is in order.

The answer will come singing through the wilderness and I'll feel fabulous again. For at least one page.

Exercise and this writer

I never liked gym when I was in school. I liked Library.

However, I'm all grown up now and I have a dog. He's not quite the same as gym class. The dog doesn't taunt me or pick me last for team sports but he's annoying all the same. The dog expects to be walked. Every day. The dog doesn't understand anything about me as a writer--the need I have for space and time to loll about reading and doodling and...and...sloth. Brain work that has nothing to with the dog or what the dog wants or where the dog wants to go. The dog--an obvious jock--could care less about my writing life.

Dog guilt gets to me. Bloody exercise vital to health and well-being, blah, blah. Put on my coat and boots. Dog goes berserk with joy. No one in gym class was ever that happy to see me on their team.

Kind of flattering. Besides, walking is supposed to be good for inspiration.

So this is what a writer does all day....

Thinking about characters, sprawled on my bed under a quilt, rain pummelling the roof. Tea and cookies on the nighttable. The dog is asleep in the bathroom having given up all hope of a walk. I've spent the morning thinking about the main character in the story I'm working on. Thinking about his name, what he looks like, what he wants and why he wants it. I didn't expect the main character to be a guy, so this is all news to me. I thought this story was about a young woman, but here he is, impossible to ignore.

He came to me when I was walking the dog earlier this week. The dog and I walk the trails behind my house to a nearby lake. At the very end of a dirt road is a cottage with a weather-beaten dock. No one is ever at the cottage so the dog and I have adopted the dock as our own personal goofing off space. It's a lonely spot. Silent, except for the wind and birds and the lake lapping the shore. Very peaceful. It was in a moment of not thinking, planning, plotting, that this character came along. A more intriguing, complex character than I could have devised on my own, bringing with him a more intricate and dangerous plotline.

My little critique group starts up again October 1st so I have to have the first 25 pages ready. I'm glad I didn't rush into what I thought I was going to write. Sometimes it pays to procrastinate.