Mystery of the Crusader's Cross

Years ago, I wrote this mystery after watching a TV series about the crusaders of the Dark Ages.  I wanted to explore how history might affect a young girl living in a British castle.  As my Mom slipped into dementia, she seemed to enjoy my books for young people so I dug out the manuscript and polished it up.

When King Richard's knight rides into Guillaume Castle, Lady Mercia who is twelve, abandons her school lessons to find out why.  She marvels at the Crusader's Cross he's brought.  She even touches the holy relic, a wooden cross covered with gold lace.  When the Baron's wife, Lady Eleanor, faints and the cross vanishes, a squire accuses Mercy of stealing it.  She has to prove her innocence!

She isn't the only one who gathered around the Baron when the cross disappears.  So she sneaks around the caste to discover who may have taken it.  However, someone does not want her to learn the truth and tries to stop her.

“That’s my girl,” I whispered.  In my imagination, my falcon, Fleta, dove into the flock of starlings.  Talons outstretched, she snatched a bird from the air.  Her triumphant kree echoed in my ears as she swooped to my gauntleted hand.

“Amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant!” 

Father Matthew’s voice ended my daydream.  I glanced at the priest.  He peered down at the little ones, his eyes an angry black beneath bushy brows.  My own Latin lesson, barely started, was scribbled on the slate laying on my lap.  

It was hot.  Too hot for Latin.  Too hot to listen to Father Matthew’s dronings.

I leaned against the stone of the great hall’s open window.  My legs dangled over the ledge brushing the ivy creeping there.  A warm, August breeze twirled the dust in the castle’s bailey.  One of the palisade guards, Jean, I think, moped his brow, setting aside his iron helm to let the warm wind cool him. 

“Amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant,” I heard Richard repeat.  Father Matthew huffed and with a swish of his black robes, moved on.

Through shimmers of heat rising from the courtyard, I saw the stooped figure of Delwyn standing on the mural tower.  He had just released Lady Eleanor’s peregrine falcon.  Duchess soared above the palisade.  I watched her circle upward.  Latin left me with the excited flutter of her wings.  Down she dove. 

“Lady Mercia, have you finished your lesson already?”  Father Matthew glared down at me.  He reminded me of Dru, Baron Guillaume’s goshawk.  “Or are we daydreaming, again?”

If you wish to read more of Chapter I, click here.  To purchase your own copy, click here.

Mystery at the Fringe

I originally wrote this book for 8 to 12 year olds in 1994 when my daughter was ten and her brother, seventeen.  We lived in Edmonton at the time and enjoyed the Fringe Festival.  When our son busked during this two weeks of off-the-wall entertainment, it gave me an idea for a children's mystery.

Sam Spada, PI, is eleven years old and know all there is to know about being a detective.  At Edmonton's Fringe Festival, a crime takes place and she is on the job.  After talking to all the suspects enjoying the festival, she thinks she knows who did it.  But, she must conquer her one fears to confront the culprit.

Samantha Spadavecchio is the name and I've got my act together in spades.  Sam Spade.  You see I'm a detective.  A private investigator.  I don't carry a gun, like the PIs on TV; I just use my wits.

Tell it like it is; I always say and I'm good.

My life as a PI began the boring summer my best friend went east to Toronto.  I was eleven and had nothing to do but watch TV all day, every day.  Mom soon put the kibosh on that.  Then Mrs. P., an old lady down the street, lost her cat.  I was 'on the job'.  I found the orange tabby huddled under Miranda's porch.  It gook a can of tuna to get the silly thing out.  Mrs. P. gave me two whole dollars.  Hey, easy money.

That's when I decided to solve all the mysteries in Edmonton and make a fortune.  And a fortune earned is a fortune spent, I always say.

That's how Sam Spada, Private Investigating Agency, was born.  I was Sam Spada, of course.  My brother's old fort behind the garage became our office.  We spent hours playing cards waiting for a case.  But, our first case did not come to us.  We saw it happen!


If you wish to read the rest of Chapter 1, click here.  To purchase your own copy, click here.

What Can We Do At The Zoo?

I guess my last post was really a penultimate posting.  I had thought I was done with my published material but, after struggling valiantly to get the CreateSpace software to work, I finally finished a picture book using photos I'd take in three different zoos.  My grandson, Miles, requested a book he could read and this is what came into my mind.  He and his brother, Elijah, appear in some of the photos.

Sometimes going to the zoo to see animals is boring.  Are there any other things you can do at the zoo?  You can feed giraffes, see meerkats guarding their homes, watch a porcupine tough his toes, and eat ice cream.

Should you wish to own a copy, you can order it here.

White Crane

A little late posting my final publication effort as life got in the way of blog posts.  'Twas ever thus.

White Crane is an historical fantasy set in the distant past designed for teens but could also be enjoyed by adults.

The spirits of her ancestors haunt White Crane as she fights against the traditions of the tribe.  She does not want to marry and move away.  The elders fear her white hair and her ability to talk to those in the spirit world.  When she performs a forbidden dance, they ban her from the tribal gathering.  This allows her to search for her uncle who has been kidnapped.  Joining White Crane is a young hunter called Wolfwillow who has magic of his own.  Together, they face an enemy not of this earth.

Amazon reviews:

Meghan Schmidt -- White Crane is a very fast paced, fun read for all ages.  The imagery along with the history of the tribal customs and legends makes it easy to get lost in its pages.  It also challenges traditional gender roles and would be a great read for both young girls and boys alike.  It was a truly enjoyable experience.  Highly recommended.  5 stars.

bookloverlynda -- I enjoyed White Crane very much.  The author possesses a vivid imagination and allows us to see her vision of this challenging landscape and its creatures.  The fascinating history associated with the tribal customs was interwoven nicely into a fast-paced plot.  4 stars

She stands perched on the edge of Dragon Country with a coyote at her side.  He sniffs the prairie breeze that fluffs her white hair.  She watches the black smudge on the horizon.  It roils in the wind.  Plumes of grey billow upward, mixing with the sky's fluffy clouds.  The darkness blossoms like a thunderstorm; lighting flashes within its depths.

The coyote whines as the blackness douses the sun.  He nudges her leg but she cannot move.  Fear freezes her.

Then the winds wail toward her, tearing at the fringe of her tunic.  The red bears of her mother's needle appear to flee front the onslaught.  The coyote presses himself against her legs.

The blackness twists like a giant tornado.  It twirls across the prairie sucking everything into its shadows.  She shears the scream of the gale as it descends upon her but Earth Mother holds her close.  She will protect them both as rain pummels their bodies.

Then, with wet hair clinging to her cheeks, the dark, whirling cloud swallows her up.  Wrenched from Earth Mother's embrace, she twists upward in the wind.  The coyote howls.  She opens her mouth to scream.  Her breath is sucked from her.


If you wish to read the rest of Chapter I, click here.  To purchase your own copy, click here.

The Sceptre of Terran-Gayle

As promised here is the second book I've self-published.  Although this one spent many years under a literary agent's watchful eye, it only sparked the interest of one publisher who, upon reflection, declined to print it.

The Spectre of Terran-Gayle is an historical fantasy fiction designed for young adults (14 years and older).

All his life, Geri has been tormented by dreams.  This day is no different.  Upon waking, he faces the horror being a half-blind cripple, unwanted by his father, and living in a land raped by its king.  As he strikes out on his own, Geri fears the world will see him as nothing more than a beggar on the streets of Nynamarg.

"So you saw him, Isa, my love."  Her blood-red nails stroked the neck of the black falcon.  "How could my plague have missed such a misbegotten cur?"

She set the bird on a porch of twisted iron.  The bells jingled on Isa's leather jesses.  Then the woman paced the chamber, the hem of her red silk dress rustling across the flagstones.  Stopping at the window, she pushed back the leaded casements.  Isa fluffed her feathers as the crisp mountain air flowed in.  Snow still whitened the peaks around the castle.  The woman gazed down through the falling flakes to where the tower met the mountain.  Embedded in the rock face was a s small circular window, barred with a crosshatch of iron.

"You distracted me.  That why this boy lives.  May you rot in there forever!"  The word, forever, echoed back to mock her.  "Better yet--."

She drew a black wand from the pocket of her gown and pointed it at the grate.  A ribbon of ice-green magic zigzagged through its slats.  The man's wail haunted the mountains.

"He'll remember that for hours to come."


To read the rest of the first chapter, click here.  To purchase this book, click here.

Shelfie selfie

I love photography and in my travel blog and Shutterfly website, you can see my pictures.  I've never posted a picture here until now.  A Facebook friend of mine (also an author) suggested posing with a book you've written with a book case in the background.  I've lots of books and even have a small room designated as a library but felt it was easier to do the 'shoot' while sitting at my office desk.  I'm not a great one for being in photos nor do I do 'selfies' (pictures taken of yourself, by yourself).  What you see is my first attempt.

Taking the photo made me realize I am the worst when it comes to self-promotion, be it my photography or my writing.  Other than a few posts on Twitter and Facebook, I haven't promoted any of my books.  I've never walked into a bookstore and asked for shelf space.  I've never gone to conferences and hocked my books.  Most who meet me don't even know I'm a writer.

I think it is time to change that.  I'll begin with baby steps.  The next few posts will be excerpts from my books.  I'll begin with the first one I self-published, The Quest of Balthasar.  This is a speculative fiction novel for young adults (14 years and over).

Prince Balthasar (Tarr) of Lochnaera, haunted by the grizzly deaths of his parents, searches the galaxy for a legendary ring to bring peace to his planet and fulfill the promise made to his dying father.

Tarr groaned as his battered body smashed the stones.  Blood oozed from his crumpled nose and the pungent smoke of the dungeon cell stung his swollen eyes.

"You no good swine," the jailer cursed.  "Yah deserve to die."  The slobbering Mystragaellan guard slammed his foot onto the small of Tarr's back.  "But there is others who wants yah first.  That there Hunter has his dibs, he does."

The Hunter.  Tarr shuddered.  Always The Hunter nipping at his heels.  Now the Black Pirate had caught up with him.

A steel-capped toe flipped the Lochnaeran like a helpless turtle.  Tarr cooked his arms over his lacerated face.

"Scrofata-swine," the jailer spat.  Tarr huffed as the boot bit into his gut.  "Yah ain't good for nothing. Not stealing.  Not slaving.  Nothing!"

To read the rest of the first chapter, click here.  To purchase the book, click here.

We All Do It

We overuse simple words.  In conversations with others, it doesn't matter.  Spoken words are fleeting and unless a word is repeated often, no one remembers you used the same one five minutes ago.  Not so with writing (unless you're writing dialogue where you can be more repetitive if it suits the character).

Words I  cut from the first draft of this opening paragraph:

just
about
really
that
very
get away with

The first draft read:

Just about everyone overuses simple words.  In conversations with others, it really doesn't matter.  Spoken words are fleeting and unless a word is repeated often, no one remembers that you used the very same one five minutes ago.  Not so with writing (unless you are writing dialogue where you can get away with more repetition if it suits the character).

Other overused words are:

well
but
then
so
nice

If you're writing fiction, the following often creep into your writing.

suddenly
beautiful
big
pretty
looks like
little

We all have favourite words which we overuse.  I once used the word 'roil' three times in one chapter.  My husband decided it had to go.  A good editor will help your writing flow but you should be aware of these words as you work on your second draft (and yes, every piece of writing should be read and corrected).

A good way to check the necessity of a word is to read the sentence and omit it.  Does that change the meaning?  If not, the offending word can go.

Where has the Time Flown?

When I checked the date of my last post I couldn't believe that 18 months has passed since I did a blog entry.  Of course, my travel blog gets updated frequently but not this one.  Writer's block is an excuse I could use but to tell you the truth, I have been writing.

I have one more chapter (number 20 for a total of about 200 pages) to write in my Sarah book which I've re-titled The Jade Seal.  Once that is written, I'll get down to editing it.  The cookbook idea is on hold for now.  I'm still collecting recipes but have not worked out how to write it, yet.  I'd also like to resurrect my book, The Mystery at the Fringe, for young readers as I think my grandsons are of an age to enjoy it.

In the meantime, I spent most of last year downsizing our large home and getting ready to move into a townhouse.  I still can't believe I gave away 10 boxes of books to a local book sale.  I've never given away books before.  However, I'm glad I did as I wouldn't have fit them into our new place.  I hope someone found them useful or entertaining.

We moved in December after spending three months living with my daughter, her husband, two cats and a turtle.  We worked out a system so we didn't kill each other but it was a situation which none of us would like to repeat.  I think Thor, the turtle, will hold a grudge for as long as he lives.

This year, my husband is on an administrative leave which has left me not knowing if he's going into work or not.  This makes planning my days difficult.  We're gradually working out a way of living/working in the same house but this takes time and energy.  Plus I'm doing physiotherapy for a painful elbow which eats into my week.

Bottom line is writing blog posts get relegated to 'should do' rather than 'must do'.  I'm hoping that will change this year but do not hold your breath.

Tale of Two Books

Never have I had two books on the go at the same time.  This is very weird and it probably means my blogs will not be as frequent.  Lol!

I got caught up in my gaming book this week when I thought about smallpox and wondered how I could get my modern girl, Sarah, vaccinated.  You may or may not know that smallpox was irradicated as a human disease in the 1970s and no one has been vaccinated against it since.  This led to a discussion with my microbiologist hubby who said why not have my character come in contact with cowpox.  Originally, cowpox was the disease used to vaccinate people against smallpox.

Turns out Europe has cowpox among its cattle but North American herds are free of the disease.  How could I get my Canadian girl exposed?  More digging on the internet led to an article written on the natural host of the disease which is rats.  The last outbreak being among a breeding colony in Germany.   Another stumbling block for me because Alberta, where Sarah lives, is rat-free.  But, rats are used in scientific research so I just had to have her meet up with a lab rat.  I wrote the scene yesterday and I think it will work.

I love learning something new when I research my books.  The fact that rats are the host for cowpox was a gem of information that not even my hubby knew.

So it's back to the books--literally.

New Project

I began a new project last week.  Years ago, my sister, a psychic, did a reading for me using rune stones.  I was working on the Sceptre of Terran-Gayle at the time but her guide suggested I should write a cookbook.  It was a neat idea.  I began collecting recipes and changing them to suit my tastes.  Every recipe book has a theme and I considered and rejected many.   I had thought of a book based on characters from my books (Geri's Bread, Jarvis' Stew), then thought perhaps I could do food for college students.  I even bandied about the idea that the recipes could revolve around my favourite fantasy creatures--dragons.  Nothing seemed to click.

Last week, I created a new letterbox which required buying red duct tape and that's when a character came to life.  I had the recipes to suit this individual but I decided I needed to get to know him better before I began assembling the recipes.  I gave him a Twitter account and we'll see how he runs with that.

Also on my mind is my aboriginal novel.  My hubby promised to read White Crane and give me his critique.  I had the proof copy printed in June and have been waiting for him to finish A Game of Thrones.  He is a slow reader.  He flew to Toronto this weekend for a wedding so I slipped my book into his bag.  He's read the first two chapters and has already decided he hates the word 'roiling'.  I guess I'll have to find some other word to say what I mean.  He thinks it's an archaic word and should never be used.  Of course, it appears in crossword puzzles all the time.

Definition of roil:

1. (tr) to make (a liquid) cloudy or turbid by stirring up dregs or sediment

2. (intr) (esp of a liquid) to be agitated or disturbed

3. (intr) Dialect to be noisy or boisterous

Best Laid Plans

I just read On the Brink of Summer and realized summer is almost gone and I have yet to begin Sarah.  I had hoped my muse, which seems to flourish in Victoria, would visit me there but I just couldn't get inspired.  Read my travel blog, A Brief Moment in Time, to see what occupied my time.

It's seems ironic my last post was written on my grandson's final day of school and this one on their first day back.  I'd like to say the nip of fall is in the air but we're still enjoying balmy days and warm nights.  The hills surrounding me are green, such an unusual colour in southern Alberta at this time of year.  I hope that come September, I'll feel the revitalization of a new season and inspiration will strike.

I know my problem.  There is a scene which I must write but my vision of it keeps changing.  My two main characters meet my two secondary characters.  These guys are Chinese and I want them to sound authentic when they interact with Sarah.  I've done some research with a Chinese Canadian girl who has helped me understand the culture of the community but I'm not sure if what I know will translate when these two boys begin to talk.  It's a road block I must overcome before I move on to the next phase of the tale which is where the magic begins.  Sigh.  Work before play.

Have I learned anything this summer which will help?  Perhaps, as you never know what you will eventually use in your writing.  So far this summer, I

• got caught up in a spider-web infested rain forest.
• saw mist rolling over hills and farmland
• learn to knit a cipher like Madame Defarge in Tale of Two Cities
• enjoyed dim sum and photographed the meal for the first time
• learned how to make fried rice
• gained insight into the dynamics of a small town's economy
• saw some weird mushrooms
• saw lots of wildlife including black bears, elk, mountain sheep, black oystercatchers, herons, gulls, osprey, bald eagles, cooper's hawks, swainson's hawks, gold mantled ground squirrels, marmots, deer
• met some interesting people while golfing
• was named player of the week by my World of Warcraft guild (not sure how that will help but Sarah is a game-based story)
• witnessed an early morning sailing on the ferry
• enjoyed a busy market day on Salt Spring Island

Will any of these experiences be used--most definitely for fantasy fiction must be based in reality.  The trick is to lure readers into believing in your characters before they use something as unreal as magic.  You do that by making them and your setting familiar.  Sarah is set in Canada in 2012 and she is a typical teen.  Magic happens and her life is changed.  The theme isn't new (no theme is) but I hope Sarah can draw readers into her life but first I must smash my writer's block and write the tale.

On the Brink of Summer

Spring comes late to Alberta and the advent of summer is hard to define.  We can get heavy snow in June or a killing frost in late May.  No one can predict.  But, I've always felt summer began when school ended.  I've been tied to the school system for 55 years as a student, parent, or spouse of a professor.  I've come to think of September 1st as my New Year's Day and June 30th as the beginning of summer.

Today, though, is the last day of school for my grandsons.  They live in Colorado and their springs are earlier and their winters late.  So, today they leave the confines of their school desks and all the rules one must obey and embark on a summer of learning through osmosis.

I use that word because I was once a biologist and it describes exactly how I believe we learn best.  I was a good student, learning from a book came easy but I think it's not the only way to learn.  Summer is the perfect time to absorb knowledge.  Perhaps you learn to identify a bird's song or build the biggest Lego castle yet.  It doesn't matter as you are adding to your knowledge base and who knows when that might be useful.  And if not useful, wasn't it fun to learn?

I spent my summers playing outside as most kids of my generation.  With our dog in tow, we'd explore our world without fear.  Mom was home to treat cuts and bruises and feed us when we were hungry.  I spent many hours high in a tree telling stories to anyone who listened.  There is a certain magic in the forest.  Using osmosis, I absorbed the sounds and smells that I still tap when writing.  And if I weren't outdoors, I had my nose in a book (there was no such thing as daytime TV).  Again, learning through osmosis.

My own kids lived in the city where streets divided neighbourhoods and mothers worked.  Most kids were off in day care so there were few kids to play with.  We created a vacation spot in our back yard where they could wile away the sunny days.  With little money for day/overnight camps, we took our kids to the mountains so they could enjoy the magic of the forest.  Osmosis again at work.

I wrote my first novel, a set of stories based in a land called Katishwa, during the summer I was seventeen.  I wrote on loose leaf paper using a 2H pencil (see White Paper).  What was I thinking?  Yes, we had a typewriter but my typing was pathetic (still is).  I had a part-time job working for the department of education but that didn't fill the long summer days and one could only read so many books.

So today, being the last day of school for some, is the brink of summer to me.  I still find my creative juices flow better when the sun is shining and I'm warm.  I've set myself a goal this summer which I hereby announce.  I will write my Sarah novel this summer.  There I've said it and now it must happen (I can see my son-in-law giving me a thumbs up).  But first, I must finish the edit of White Crane.  Chapter 16 is staring at me so I will end this blog.

White Paper

Before the advent of the computer, most words appeared typed or written on white paper.  Perhaps ivory paper was easier on the eyes but rarely did one use coloured paper.  When I began submitting stories, publishers required pages to be typed in pica (12 point) and a font that resembled today's Courier.  Lines had to be double-space with no more than two errors (corrected with White-out or softly erased).  For someone like me who was a poor typist, it took work to get a manuscript to this level of perfection.  Inevitably, my final proof would reveal mistakes which I would ignore in order to get the manuscript into an editor's hands.

Computers changed all that.  One can choose any font of any size and style, colour can be added to any document and, gone are the days when you submit an entire manuscript to a publisher.  Most still require paper versions but only the first few chapters and some will even consider electronic submissions.  And who reads bound books anymore?  E-readers have changed the book industry as much as computers once did.  I, for one, have embraced the idea that I need only pack my Kindle when traveling.

But, when one is writing even on the white screen of a computer, one misses things.  I always print out my manuscript to edit one version with a pencil.  The eye sees things differently when the page is printed.  You can catch spelling mistakes, awkward phrasing, and even glaring repetitions that you don't spot on a computer screen.  It also gives you a chance to be a reader.  I often take a stack of chapters to a comfy chair and edit them away from my desk.  Just a change of scene and sound of shuffling papers can evoke a different mood and allow for better storytelling.

The eye likes white space around black letters.  Why do you think books with dialogue are more enjoyable than those with solid text?  So the next time you write something, print it out.  See how it looks to your eye.  Opening up passages with dialogue, create single sentence paragraphs, allow 'air' to flow around your writing and you'll be surprise how quickly you will see how to improve your writing.

Travel

My husband and I love to travel but my body does not.  The older I get, the more it complains.  Today, just as I am beginning to recover fro my cold/sore throat, I must embark on an overseas journey.  I'm excited to see new places and experience a different culture but know I will suffer a relapse.  The last thing I want is to be stuck in our hotel room nursing a more virulent bug than what I'm battling now.

The Netherlands has never been on my 'to see' list.  All I ever wanted from the country was a pair of clogs which my in-laws brought back years ago when they visited.  I didn't really need to see windmills or tulips.  Now I find I'm looking forward to experiencing what Bessie and Jim did.  But unlike then, we are going to a conference which puts a different spin on what one does in a foreign country.

I love writing about our travels.  My first article was about our trip to Panama and then in 2009, I started doing a blog on our travel adventures.  Since I have a notorious weak long term memory, these scribblings help me remember the good times we've enjoyed while traveling.  I haven't sold any of my articles and gave up marketing them when I realized they were for my benefit and that of my family.  Writing one blog entry is far easier than sending out umpteen emails basically saying the same thing.

One thing I try to accomplish with my blogs is educate.  Often what I learn while 'in the moment' can be enhanced by doing research.  This means searching the Internet for links to restaurants, museums, art galleries, and stores.  It also allows me to add to my knowledge of the history or environment of an area.  Anyone interested can explore my links and learn as much or as little as they want.

However, the last thing I want is to repeat what can be found elsewhere.  I try to tell a story of our trip, sometimes it sounds like a diary or travelogue but I want others to know how I felt when I was there.  How the sights, sounds, and smells enhanced the atmosphere of the place.  My sister once remarked on the post I did of our photo shoot in Banff saying it was almost exotic and nothing like how she remembered it.  She lets her photos tell her stories but I must use words.  It is how I view my world and blogging allows me to share my experiences with others.  It's also good practice for writing my fiction for it helps me give my characters a world to live in that mimics our own.

Comics

I used to cut out newspaper comics related to writing and plaster them over my fridge.  When they became yellowed and tattered, I'd stuffed them into an envelop for future inspiration.  Some, I eventually used to create a workbook for a workshop I ran for elementary kids.  One I remember called Shoe had a cigar smoking newspaper editor asking his reporter (who was looking out the window) why he wasn't pounding the keyboard writing a story.  The reporter's reply was that typists pound keyboards whereas writers stare out windows.

Obviously, every writer must get the story in their heads into the hands of a reader (by pounding the keyboard) but first, they must 'stare out windows'.  By doing this, they can organize the scenes playing out inside their heads.  To those watching, it appears as if the writer is doing nothing but whole conversations could be rattling around their brain.  Snippets of description or complicated plot twists swirl through one's mind when in the heat of 'writing' a story.  Staring out the window can often be the key to sorting out problems before any word is typed.  Sometimes years go by without a single word being written and often writer's families wonder if they are actually working.

Recently, I've found myself in this weird state where I have many ideas on how my next novel will unfold and I've spent a few years researching its background.  Just as I feel it's time to 'pound the keyboard', a tantalizingly new idea erupts or my research leads to another line of thinking.  My novel is stuck at three short chapters and even though I know where I will eventually end up, new ideas have shifted its focus.  However, you will not find me staring out my office window.

I find that I do my best thinking while exercising (see yesterday's post).  This has the bonus in that people don't think I'm crazy when I'm working on a story.  I walk, do yoga, or lift weights.  Each activity is easy enough to allow my mind wander.  Knitting is also good and bonus, you have made something more than a novel when you're done.  Every writer needs these times of calm so their minds can race and their emotions soar with those characters who populate their thinking.  Real life has a way of distracting even the most dedicated writer so if you feel the need to create, perhaps staring out the window (or its equivalent) will help.

Gave Up

Yesterday, I finally gave up my battle with my cold.  My throat was so sore I could barely swallow.  So, I made an appointment to see the doctor although she is not my most favourite physician.  She tends to fawn on my husband and ignore me.  I thought I'd be okay yesterday as I would be alone.

Her diagnosis was quick--I had a throat infection, possibly strep.  She prescribed amoxicillin then asked how Glen was doing.  Actually what she said was "How is that wonderful husband of yours?"  Not "I hope you get better soon" or "This drug will cure you".

I left and continued my walk to Safeway to get her prescription filled.  The pharmacist asked me if I knew that amoxicillin was a derivative of penicillin.  I shook my head.  Why would my doctor prescribe something I was allergic to?  Then I recalled I had amoxicillin before and it didn't make me as sick as erythromycin so perhaps it would be okay.  Reluctantly the pharmacist agreed to give me the pills.  I was desperate and certainly didn't want to return to the doctor.

The walk home exhausted me and I rued my decision not to drive.  Why, if I have a car in the garage did I choose walking?

1) I live by the adage, if you can, walk, otherwise take transit.  When there is no alternative, drive.

2) Walking usually makes me feel better

3) The car in my garage is a 1995 Sonata that requires coaxing to start and will stall at least once on any given trip

4) I'm a nervous driver, imagining accidents more horrific than city fender-benders could be.

One thing I do while walking that I can't while behind the wheel, is work through plotting issues or 'talk' to the characters in my books.  I find an hour's walk can clear my head for writing what may come next.  Unlike some, I don't plot my stories other than have a vague outline in my head.  I know my characters and they pretty much tell me their stories as I type.  However, there are often stumbling blocks along the way and a walk can show me what I must do.  Sometimes it's cutting a scene; sometimes it's going back to foreshadow an event.

Walking is also good exercise and can get the blood pumping which feeds the creative process.  However, I would not recommend it if you are ill.  Your body has enough to do trying to fight your disease, it doesn't need the added strain of exercise.

Too Much Science

Due to my illness, I've not done much writing over the past few weeks except perhaps this blog.  I've done a lot of reading, though.  Writers read--it is a well-known fact.  The problem most of us have is we can't read all the time or we'd never write.  Ironic, eh?

I've discussed some of the books I've read but yesterday I had a bizarre experience.  I was reading Dragongirl by Todd McCaffrey.  It's not his first solo Dragonriders of Pern book as he explores some of his own ideas on the planet Pern his mother created.  However, it seems to have been written in a rush and some passages are very confusing.  In fact, I found myself mentally editing one scene last night.

Normally, I am so lost in the story the writing becomes just a conduit for the lives I'm reading about.  I expect to tumble over passages in my own writing as I try and perfect my storytelling but to do so in a published work is rather unnerving.

I realized when I finished reading the scene that it told us nothing more about the characters, it gave no direction to the narrative, and it seemed to be a scene lost in numbers.  Nothing more was learned after having read the scene and honestly, it could have been cut without any lost to the plot or character development.

It was as if the author, who trained in engineering and writes military science fiction under the name Todd Johnson, decided this book needed more science.  Anne McCaffrey always infused her science fiction with people to whom you could relate.  The science was secondary, often many threads in the fabric of the story but certainly not the most important.  Todd seems to have stepped away (for that brief moment) from his mother's view of Pern and tried to insert more science/engineering into her world.  I'm not averse to this but I do not expect it to be the essence of one scene to the detriment of the rest of the book.

It reminded me of the time I met another engineer who felt he could write science fiction.  The first paragraph of his book was essentially a thesis on the science in the world he had created.  Great if you wish to read science, not so much if you want to read fiction.  Fiction is about folks (to paraphrase Robert Newton Peck's book Fiction is Folks).  Where you put them, whether it's in Calgary, Alberta or Telgar Weyr, Pern, you must make your reader care about them.  They won't if science or magic clouds your writing.

It was a good lesson for me to learn and one I hope others will consider when they embark on writing genre fiction.

Are Movies Better?

Are movies better/worse than the books they are based on?  It will always be a debate because those who have read the books, see the characters differently from what is portrayed in the movie.  Also, without an annoying voice-over, you don't know what the characters are thinking.  You don't smell, taste, or feel what the characters do -- something a book can convey but is hard to show in a movie.

Last night, I saw the film, The Hunger Games (see previous post) and wondered how they would adapt a first-person narrative to the silver screen.  There were many quiet moments when you know what Katniss is thinking (if you'd read the book) but she never tells the audience.  Her actual hunger, a gnawing theme throughout the book, is ignored in the movie.  We never see her stuffing herself with food or understand in her overwhelming thirst when she's in the game arena.  We only glimpse the oppression under which District 12 suffered and her father's memory is a brief moment.

We do see many 'behind the scenes' scenes that can't be shown from Katniss' point of view.  How the games are staged and the reaction of those viewing them.  We get a hint of what is told in Catching Fire and Mockingjay about the society that would stage such games but we don't really see this world through Katniss' eyes at all.

I think the movie stands alone as a good one but many fans might be disappointed that it didn't 'follow' the book.  Yes, all the elements were there but because the story had to be told in two hours, much was lost.  My hubby, who began The Hunger Games a few weeks ago, decided, after seeing the movie, that it lacked detail so he'll finish reading the book despite knowing the ending.

If the film encourages people to read the books, then I think it has done more than just entertain.

Election

Today, the province of Alberta goes to the polls.  I've seen many elections in the past and can never understand why people don't exercise their right to vote.  I've railed against construction workers and young people who believe their vote doesn't 'count'.  Well, it won't unless you actually go in and mark your 'x'.  How hard is it to follow the campaign leading up to election day?  The media bombards us with party policies and thinking.  They make us aware of scandal and photo ops.  Surely some of it is of use when one makes a decision on voting day.

We're lucky in Canada that we have a variety of parties representing all views.  We can vote for party policy even if we hate the party's leader.  We can vote for the leader even if we aren't sure their policies will work.  Or we can learn about the people vying for the honour to represent us in our ridings and make our decision on a grass-roots level, ignoring who leads the party.

Not long ago, woman could not vote.  Alberta granted women the right to vote in 1916 and in 1918, they could vote federally but my mother could not vote in provincial elections in Quebec until 1940.  This is one reason I vote.  I want my voice to be heard even if the ballot count doesn't reflect it.  Woman across Canada should remember the battles fought so they could cast their ballots.  Even if your grandmother/great-grandmother didn't partake in the suffrage movement, she benefited from the determination of those who did.  Today, two women lead the parties vying for our votes in Alberta and as an old cigarette commercial used to say, "You've come a long way, baby."

So whoever you are and whatever you believe, please get out and exercise your right.  You don't know where such an action might lead.

Golf and Inner Peace

Today, we golf at our favourite Calgary course, Silverwing.  It is a links-style course with prairie grasses and great views of the city.  The flags are little windsocks so you know you're close to the airport.  It is a challenging course for someone who is transitioning between beginner and intermediate golfer.  I love it.  Usually.

Today, I am still hacking with my cough and I am not up to walking nine holes (see Golf is a Good Walk Spoiled) which usually takes us two hours.  I just don't have the energy and frankly, I'm not as excited to play as my hubby.  I know I'll enjoy the day but it will also exhaust me.  For the first time, I'm actually going to rent a power cart to do nine holes.  My hubby will be shocked but it may save the day for me.

Golf is a game of many facets and can be played by those of every shape and size.  Last weekend, Carl Pettersson, a hefty individual won against much thinner golfers in the RBC Heritage tournament.  Fred Couples played the Masters the week before and held his own against far younger players.  The game has a way of tapping inner resources.  I hope to tap mine today.

Usually I have had weeks of yoga, walking, and weightlifting done before I swing a club but due to my illness and travel, today, this is not the case.  I should be worried but I'm in a strange state of calm.  This outing just doesn't count in my mind.

I also now feel this 'inner peace' in my writing.  I've tried for years to attract the attention of publishers and have failed.  I realize I probably lack the 'magic' to create a blockbuster but I can't stop writing so what is the solution?  Self-publishing.  It has freed my spirit.  No longer do I worry about pleasing an editor or an agent.  No, I think of my reader and write for them knowing my story will make it into print.  If it sells, fine.  If not, I have a legacy to pass onto my family.  My mother gave us her paintings; I give my books.  So finally, I'm at peace with who I am.  I write, therefore I'm a writer.