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.

A fitting day for a book announcement

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If writing novels has taught me anything, I have learned the most important lesson for an author is to know creativity will find you when you are least expecting it. It will also pull away from you and hide in the furthest recesses of your mind when you need it the most. Being a woman of a certain age, when the dreaded menopause entered my life, it changed the trajectory of my writing habits. I will not go into details, but the six months I spent trying to finish the last book in my series was deeply affected the brunt of Mother Nature’s devious plot, and she derailed my plan to have the last book in my series published in 2024.

I rallied. I fought for the voices to find me. I spent sleepless nights longing to hear the voices that had once been such a part of my daily reality. But I was stymied. I stared at my keyboard. I stared at the ceiling. I stared at my white boards. And I stared at any stationary object, waiting for the words to come. But nothing came.

On the days leading up to today, something drastically changed. The second book in The Relative Series is called One Eleven, and the stars aligned to bring a change to my perspective. The remaining words I yearned for to finish this book series tentatively presented themselves, and I was able to put the finishing touches on Abbey in the Oakwood and reveal that the series is complete. Today is January 11th, One Eleven, and the relevance is more than significant, it is a full circle moment for me.

Soon, I will be able to post a picture of all six of the novels in The Relative Series, as well as a photo of the cover for Crossing The Lines, which is my first stand-alone novel. The salt of my erratic seas buoyed me up to meet the challenges I was meant to face, and I was eager to float in the water of the creativity I had been missing, and to truly absorb the tranquility I feel in those waters.

Life may be more than willing to throw us a few curveballs, but we must remain reticent in our stance. We need to look the pitcher of that curveball in the eye and let them know we have not given up. This is my journey as a writer. This is my platform to share my truth. And this is my moment to share my stories. Throw me what you got, but I will always come out swinging. Abbey in the Oakwood will be available on Amazon soon!!

Blurbs kill creativity

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There, I said it. The blurb that is required to be the summation of a novel will take every ounce of a writer’s creativity and send them into the darkest corner to ignore this required task and shudder in absolute horror. I’m sure I speak for other authors when I say, having to encapsulate 95,000 plus words in two or three paragraphs is torturous.

I can sit in front of a computer for months, listening to the voices in my head, and come up with an amusing, albeit disturbing, story. But having to create an ‘elevator pitch’ for this last book in my series is making my head spin. There is so much to say, and only so many words in which to say it.

‘Maniacal grandfather spawns a legacy of death and destruction’. It’s a good start, but it does not do justice to the end of The Relative Series. The five books leading up to this grand finale tell the tales of the people in his life who were affected by his choices, and the few words I have to describe this series is distressing.

I can only hope my brain will be able to create a log line that will draw the readers into the story and make them want to follow it from its beginning to its end. It has been an innovative journey for me, and one I hope you want to see to its conclusion.

As I spend the remaining hours of his day beating delicate words into submission, I can only hope the blurb I create will entice you to read this series of stories.

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.

I lost myself

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Women of a certain age face many challenges when it comes to our well-being, both physically and mentally. The past eight months have been fraught with many personal hurdles that have made me question, not only my sanity but, my ability to hold on to my image of my true self.

I cannot pinpoint the moment the pieces of me began to slip away. It was not until recently I was able to recognize the imposter living under my skin, and her willingness to strip away everything that gave me strength and happiness. The things that once gave me joy, bared their teeth and sent me scurrying away from them. The things I took pride in soon had me questioning my abilities. And the life I loved seemed to be nothing more than something I once read in a novel.

But tonight, I felt a shift in the dynamic of my life. It was not something I conjured, and certainly not something I expected to happen, but tonight, I feel different. I can feel a piece of myself clawing out from under the oppressive blanket of menopause, and taking my first breath of fresh air. That heavy blanket that has been forbidding me to enjoy life is slowly falling away, and I am able to tell myself it’s okay.

It’s okay to give myself time to figure this out. It’s okay to push projects aside to allow myself the time I need to process my feelings and put me first. It’s okay to ignore phone calls from dear friends, and it’s okay to pick up that next call when it comes at the perfect time.

I know I’m going to be okay. I know I have slowly begun to collect the pieces of me and put myself back together. I feel the shift in my energy, and I know the universe has things in store for me. I may have been lost, but I am finding my way back to me. Look out world, I’m coming back!

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.