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Writing little things to amuse myself

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We are now firmly entrenched in the nine weeks of summer chaos at the lodge, which means I do not have the cranial capacity to write meaningful sentences, or paragraphs, that could potentially become useful in any future books. I do, however, have the time to think about the novels I have written and remember a few of the phrases that make me laugh. But, if I am honest, those phrases will most likely go completely unnoticed by my readers.

The final book in The Relative Series has a few nuggets that make me giggle, but one keeps resurfacing in my brain and I laugh out loud every time I think of it.

A student goes missing from a university in London, England in the early 1900’s. The intense investigation begins and the main character, Adelstein Beckett, is questioned by the police. The missing girl’s name is Margaret Carillon. Her last name was chosen after a brief Google search, and I am laughing as I write this. A carillon is a musical instrument made of cast bronze bells. In my book, the police ask if Mr. Beckett is familiar with a student named Margaret Carillon. Addy’s response (I’m still giggling) is, “It rings a bell.”

I don’t know why it makes me laugh so much, but I am glad I can still find the enjoyment in the little bit of humour I wrote specifically for myself. There are other references to things that mean a great deal to me, and I am happy to leave those little bits of my life in my books. I can only hope friends and family may recognize the subtle references.

I miss writing. But while I spend the next 49 days enjoying spending time with our summer guests, my mind will still be focused on the books that are waiting to be written, the characters who are waiting to be defined, and the amusing lines I can add to my stories that will continue to make me laugh!

Let it flow

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These are words I recently used as advice for a friend of mine. After texting this phrase to her, I sat back to let those words play over and over again, like a moving marquee in my brain, until my own message became clear. The words I shared with her also had a deep meaning to me.

I have sadly been neglecting the voices in my head. I have allowed myself to live each day in a perfunctory state of mind without paying attention to the creativity I have harnessed in the past and thoroughly enjoyed while listening to those voices. The list of to-be-written books in my brain has grown exponentially, but the compulsion to put in the work to bring those stories to life has waned.

I miss the joy I feel when I write. I miss those moments of lost time when I become so consumed by a story that hours go by before I am able to remind myself I am in my own home and I am not the central character of one of my stories, and living in a realm I have created.

I need to embrace the freedom of creativity, and I need to let it flow. I need to let it wake me up in the wee hours of the morning. I need to let it interrupt my work hours. And I need to let it add a few items to my grocery list.

Being able to create a story from beginning to end was never a gift I asked for on my Christmas wish list when I was a child. But being able to create a story from beginning to end is something I will cherish for the rest of my life. Let it flow!

Taken far too soon

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I lost a friend on Tuesday. I had only known her for a little over two years, but I knew her well enough to know she could aptly be described as a spark plug. She was certainly a person who energized, inspired, and animated every room she was in.

In the short time I knew Lee, I had never seen her in a bad mood. Sure, there were days when she came to work feeling a little less than her usual chipper self, but she never let that affect the outcome of her day. And by the time she had eased into her routine, that infectious smile and her zest for life filled every room she entered.

There was never a dull breakfast service when she was “toast master”. I could hear the laughter in the kitchen through the walls of my office, and when I went in to see what was happening, Lee would be dancing behind the line and bringing everyone up to her level of light. That’s what she did. She radiated it. It shone through her. And she shared that beautiful light with everyone.

The fact I am so affected by her passing after knowing her for such a short time says a lot about her character, and who she was as a human being. Following the outpouring of posts about her passing on social media, I know many others, who have known her for much longer, feel the same deep sense of loss that I feel.

Lee Lee, I will miss hearing the familiar sound of you saying ‘hey, hey’ in the morning when you came into the office. I will miss hearing you say, ‘I love this song’ every time a new song came on. And, most importantly, I will miss you. I didn’t know you for a long time, but I knew you well enough to know what a special person you were, and how different my life will be without you in it.

I will take what I can get

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It wasn’t much, but I wrote today. On the day between the anniversary of my mom’s passing, and my dad’s passing, my brain decided it was finally able to reconnect to the creative force that has been hidden deep within the recesses of my grey matter and combine words to construct meaningful sentences.

My initial plan for today was to edit the book I wrote last winter, but fate had a different plan. As I stared at the pages of words I had already written, my mind was consumed by the ideas for a novel I had previously outlined in my head. The voices were loud, and before I knew what I was doing my fingers were striking the familiar letters on my keyboard, and I, once again, had become captivated by the voices that had been silenced for so long.

It was nothing like the writing fugues I have experienced before, but the shiest of voices are welcome to disrupt my plans and speak loudly when they feel the need. Today, their need was heard and understood, and today my new book took on a life of its own.

What was once a pipe dream of a screen play has morphed itself into something I am more comfortable with, and something that I can tackle with free abandon. Today, I embarked on a new novel. The first few characters each have a strong will, and this will help guide me through the process of creating another story. Through their voices, and their tenacity, I hope this story will become something I am proud to share with them.

A long time coming

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I’m happy to say, after a six month delay, the sixth, and final, book in The Relative Series is officially out of my hands and waiting for approval from KDP Publishing (Amazon) before it goes live. It’s one thing to write a novel, but, as a self-published author, it is a whole other animal when it comes to formatting 250 pages of words to meet a specific set of guidelines to make sure my content crosses all the t’s and dots all the i’s.

Yesterday was a stressful day for me. After following the KDP outline for formatting, I received several error messages in regards to my formatting, even though I followed their guidelines to the letter. I did some deep breathing, had a glass of wine, and dove head-first into making the necessary changes before all the angry red exclamation points disappeared.

Once the final changes had been submitted, I sat back and breathed a huge sigh of relief. This is a moment I only envisioned four years ago, but never thought it would become a reality. Writing one novel is monumental in itself, but taking five other ideas and turning those ideas into a six-book series (thank you, Neil) is insane.

In one of the moments I took to breathe deeply, I thought of how extraordinary it would be if literary agents would collectively create a website that outlined exactly what they were looking for. Five bullet points: plot, genre, protagonist, antagonist, and location. So many authors, like me, would trip over themselves for the chance to create a story that literary agents were looking for. If their idea for a story was not in my wheelhouse, I would move on to the next suggestion. Somewhere, somehow, agents and authors should have a shared space where creativity could bring like minds together.

Until that day, I will sit back and begin the edits on the book I wrote last winter. It is a stand-alone novel based on the three cottages that once belonged to my family. Once I saw the movie ‘Hypnotic’, I knew hypnosis would play a big part in one of my books, and this is a story I can’t wait to share. Stay tuned.

The end of another year

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This blog site has been sadly neglected, and I wanted to end the year of 2024 by adding something to this space with the hope it encourages me to spend more time here in 2025.

This past year has certainly had its ups and downs, but it has also given me many moments to reflect, and to understand how every single thing I have experienced has given me the opportunity to grow as a person, and as a member of my small community.

My greatest joys of 2024 have come from my family, my friends, and my ability to give back to the people in my community who struggle, for so many reasons. My freezer crockpot meal program that benefits the clients of our local food bank is my biggest joy. Every Sunday, from November to April, volunteers come to the lodge and help us prepare meals, and the reward of knowing that families will have a home-cooked, nutritious, meal once a week is so heart-warming.

Recently, I have been making soup for our local hospice, Andy’s House. Knowing that residents, families, and staff, will have a warm bowl of soup to enjoy during the most difficult time in their lives gives me a great sense of peace.

The calendar year of 2024 may have been filled with challenges, but it has taught me that I still have the resolve to rise to those challenges, and meet them head on. After many physical and emotional setbacks, I am ready to tackle 2025 with the strength and tenacity I had in my thirties.

To all of you still willing to follow my musings, I thank you. Whatever 2025 has in store for the world, I hope we can embrace it with compassion, understanding, and humility. I don’t usually make resolutions, but this year, I resolve to continue to be kind. Happy New Year to you all.

Creativity in a different form

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I consider myself to be extremely fortunate. I am a person who can sit at a keyboard and create a fictional world by typing words onto a screen, giving me the chance to lose myself in a fabricated realm that comes from my imagination. To date, I have written seven novels, and I have enjoyed the exhilaration of allowing my characters to be able to speak through me to tell their stories.

Recently, a group of screenwriters came to our lodge for a writer’s conference. I was invited to sit in on their sessions, and it was an opportunity I will never forget. Currents of magnetic creativity sizzled in the air and slowly fell on me, like the first tentative drops in a rainstorm. Before I could brace myself, I was pummeled by the intensity of the storm of ideas that whirled in my mind. I was drowning in a new world of creativity, and I could only do my best to hold on until the tempest abated and I was able to gather my thoughts while the electric current still raced through my blood.

After listening to four sessions of the conference, and after pushing off the weighted blanked of convoluted emotions that held me fast to my space on the couch, my creative drive took a detour I was not expecting. The idea is daunting. The road ahead is filled with twists and turns I will have to navigate after studying a vastly different road map than I am used to, but I am up for the challenge.

My Google search history is now filled with pages to help me navigate the seas of writing a pilot for a television show. I find myself in unchartered lakes, still buoyant on a body of water with no discernable map, and no captain to dispel the myths of the waters I am about to enter. I am up for the challenge, but I know the water will be choppy. The characters are in my head, and they are whispering snippets of the tales they would like to tell. Their voices are tentative, but I have put my faith in them. They will find me. They will tell me who they are. And they will, in turn, put their faith in me to tell their stories.

The end of two eras

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Lately, I have not been able to find the time to allow myself to be soothed by the comfort I find in this writing space. This blog has been my sounding board for over twelve years, and today I needed the shelter of its warm embrace.

This past weekend, my family gathered in Oakville to celebrate the life of my Uncle Bob, or Buzzy as he was affectionately known. It was a beautiful day, and a beautiful way to share happy memories of a man who meant so much to all of us. They broke the mold when they made Buzzy. He was a kind soul, generous to a fault, and just a great guy to be around. Some tears were shed during the afternoon, but it truly was a celebration of a life well-lived, and a man well-loved.

During the celebration, I found out the second of our three historic family cottages in Muskoka had been torn down. It was a sacred family home that absorbed many of our family discussions into its wooden walls, and continually whispered our secrets during the abundant meals we shared together. Thanks to my Aunt Carol, I have a small piece of that cottage in a shadow box I see every day, and I treasure it more than she knows.

After the long drive home from the city on Saturday, and getting through my work day yesterday, I came home in the late afternoon and burst into tears. I cried for the loss of a man who meant so much to me, and I cried for the loss of the Ford cottage, a place that holds so many of the special memories I have with Buzzy. The yellow fortress that once stood amongst the pines is now a vacant piece of land, but the memories we created there as a family will live on in our hearts forever.

In my heart, I know Buzzy is standing in a kitchen in the next realm, coddling eggs and making his kick-ass Caesar salad. Buzz, you were a loving uncle, a kind heart, and a great friend. I will always treasure the times we had together.

Another sad anniversary

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My post on Thursday talked about the 10th anniversary of my mom’s passing, and today marks the 18th anniversary of my father’s death. These three days are filled with a deep sadness, but I spend the days bringing back the funny memories we shared, and there were many.

I remember standing behind the podium in the church as I attempted to give his eulogy. My legs were shaking so much I thought I would topple over in front of the packed room. The words I had written had been penned through many tears, but I wanted to capture the boyish nature of my dad, so I talked about his love of dancing, his odd stance on the putting green, and the fact that he enjoyed being naked. On such a somber occasion, I could hear the giggles in the room as was encouraged to continue.

I told the story of coming home from high school to an empty living room. Both of our cars were in the driveway, but the main floor of the house was empty. As I neared the basement door, I could hear laughter coming from below. I dropped my backpack on the kitchen floor and followed the noise. What a mistake that was! When I reached the bottom of the stairs, my parents, and our neighbors, were clearly at the end of a game of strip ping-pong. Random pieces of clothing were scattered around the room, and four naked bodies flanked the ends of the table as they battled to win the game.

I was mortified. I thought I would be able to escape without being seen, but as I backed up onto the bottom stair, my father saw me and welcomed me home from school. Our neighbors, who until then had their backs to me, turned to say hello. The image is burned into my memory. But that was my dad. He loved life, and he loved to have fun.

I’m sure in the eighteen years he has been gone, he has managed to create a naked club of some sort. I miss you, dad. Gone, but never forgotten.

How quickly a decade goes by

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Every year, I write a post on this day to remember my mother. It is mind-boggling to come to the realization that she has been gone for ten years! An entire decade has gone by, and I still miss her every day.

She was a beautiful person inside and out, with a wicked sense of humor and an infectious laugh. I told this story at her celebration of life, and she would be mortified to know I am sharing it on my blog, but this is one of my favorite memories and I need to laugh today to honor her memory.

It was winter, and mom and I had taken our three dogs for a walk, one golden retriever and two small mutts. Our retriever, Brandy, was well-trained, and was usually off-leash. He was always very proud when we gave him the leash handles for the two smaller dogs and he became the dog walker.

Mom and I had walked ahead, and when we turned back to take charge of the smaller dogs, we noticed Misty’s leash had become wrapped around her legs and Brandy was proudly dragging her backwards along the icy road. Muffin lagged behind, seemingly unaware of her sister’s dilemma. I started to giggle, and mom was not far behind. By the time Brandy had dragged Misty to where we stood, we were doubled over in fits of laughter. Through my tears, I saw mom buckle her knees together under the pants of her velour track suit. I knew what was about to happen. The color of the inside seams of her pants began to darken as she peed her pants in the middle the road.

Thankfully, we were close to home. I took the dogs into the house, and mom snuck around to the back door that led to the basement. I knew she would find some dry clothes in the laundry basket, come upstairs, and think she had covered up her secret. When she got to the top of the stairs, she was met with the familiar sound of my laugh, as well as the laughter of everyone else in the house. The story was too funny not to share with our family, and soon she was laughing along with the rest of us.

I miss those moments. I miss her. You are always in my heart, muther muther.