Tagged - I'm It!

I discovered I was tagged on Tuesday by Dara Edmondson. I had to post my Thursday Thirteen first, so now on to the game!

1 - Each player starts with 8 random facts or habits about themselves.
2 - People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their 8 things with a copy of these rules.
3 - At the end of your blog you need to choose 8 people to get tagged and list their names.
4 - Don't forget to leave them a note saying they've been tagged.

8 Random Things About Me

1 - Half an hour before I met my future husband, a palm reader told me I was about to meet my soul mate. She said he would be wearing a uniform. He was - a blue polyester Famous Players theatre usher's uniform.

2 - In a bizarre twist of irony, I have walked past my sister's musical celebrity crush, not once but twice. And she was not with me. She has adored Neil Peart, the drummer for Rush, for the past twenty years. She even lived in his neighborhood in Toronto. When I worked as an usher at the Hummingbird Centre for the Performing Arts there, he walked down aisle two as I was working aisle two. He was there for a Puccini opera. That's not unexpected, as I saw a lot of interesting celebrities there. However, when my husband and I lived in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia for two years (a fishing town) the two of us set off walking one afternoon along Main Street heading for Foodland, a small grocery store. A storm was expected the next day and a lot of small vessels had taken shelter in Yarmouth Harbour. We passed a man moseying along, and as one does here in the Maritimes, prepared to say hi to a total stranger. Then I realized it was Neil Peart again. Probably taking shelter with his sailboat, being a solo world traveller and all. So being proper Torontonians we just smiled and let him be.

3 - My mom and I shared a completely trippy sensory deprivation experience. On one of my trips home to NS when I still lived in Toronto, she drove me out to Mavillette Beach so I could get my Atlantic Ocean fix. Though we had blue skies in town, when we got to the coast we saw that fog had completely socked in over the water. Not uncommon for Yarmouth but bad for my schedule. We didn't care. We walked onto the sand anyway, becoming totally engulfed in fog. We kept walking till we saw the water, but by that time we'd entered this weird white dimension devoid of sound or depth or edges or up or down. An otherwordly experience we'll never forget.

4 - I had an out-of-body experience when I was about 4 years old, in the midst of an asthma attack. It was night time, and my memory of this event starts at a point outside the house. The back door opens and my mom comes out of the house carrying a large bundle wrapped in my special quilt, held close to her chest. She climbs into our white Volkwagon. Suddenly my memory returns to my own POV. I'm looking at the red interior of the car. I can feel the cold night air and I notice how everything smells. I told Mom about this memory when I was a teenager. She was only slightly shocked, since she knows me, of course. She said she and Dad had to take me to the hospital that night.

5 - I was the captain of a team assembled for the Photo Aid fundraising event for the Toronto Children's Aid Society, which I did twice. On the day of the event, we met for a list of riddles, solved them so we could get to a check-in spot somewhere in the downtown core and have our Polaroid taken there. As we made our way between check-ins, we hit people up for money for our lovely shiny cans. It was a blast! All the teams eventually returned to the starting point for a big party.

6 - I always looked forward to working the "Sesame Street Live" shows at the Hummingbird Centre. It was essentially a rock concert for toddlers. The real walkabout characters were onstage ("Big Bird!" cried the parents to their round-eyed cuties.) The real character's voices were on the pre-recorded show. The house (that's the theatre) allowed movement in the aisles for the entire show because of the nature of it being for small children. That's when the fun began. The little audience members couldn't contain themselves and danced in the aisles, which were sloped. All the jumping and shaking their heads around always disoriented the wee ones, whose jumping became more and more slanted, until the floor got closer and closer and they went down. Twelve shows a tour visit, for eight years, and I never got tired of it.

7 - I used to make balloon bouquets for birthdays, weddings, etc. at A Buck or Two, a upscale dollar store if you can imagine such a thing. We used to have some amazing merchandise. And we did a lot of balloon business on Saturdays. I did that for three years and only popped one balloon.

8 - One of my favorite ways to spend the day when I lived in Toronto was to drive to Niagara-on-the-Lake with my sister to spend the day walking past gorgeous Victorian homes and shopping along Queen Street. There were two shops we had to visit every time: Just Christmas and Victoria Gallery & Teas. I always got myself a new Christmas ornament and my sister always purchased some specialty tea. I also got myself something at the tea shop, but my choices were design oriented, as I bought the tea expressly for the box to be a decoration in my kitchen. I still have them.

Now to tag the next players:

MichelleWriter, Annie Mac, Cathryn Fox, Lilly Cain, Annie, BecK, Carmen, toni

Thursday Thirteen - 5 - 13 Wonderful Things I Discovered at the 2007 Writer's Retreat

1 - If you want to unlock the mysteries behind a character's behavior, ask 'why?' five times. For example, I'll take Peredur, my warrior-vampire from my WIP. What is his goal at the beginning of the novel? To reunite with his beloved, Tanwen. Why?(1) Because he's finally achieved enough riches taken from battlefields in order to ask for Tanwen's hand in marriage. Why?(2) Because her father is the wealthiest man in the village and Peredur needs to display the promise of a similar future for Tanwen. Why?(3) Because Peredur lost his own warrior father when he was a boy. He needs to impress this father figure. Why?(4) Because male validation has taken on greater significance than female validation. Why?(5) His widowed mother leaned heavily on him but Peredur seemed able to help her. He never got to prove himself to his father, who grew to mythic proportions in his mind and heart.

2 - People who are skilled at organizing things make the retreat a smooth success. A talent I'm impressed with because I don't have it. We're so lucky to have had this retreat planned by someone who made it seem effortless. Just like gymnasts make front walkovers on the balance beam seem effortless. Thank you, Kelly!

3 - Anyone going to a retreat has already stepped outside of his or her comfort zone. Growth is certain to follow.

4 - It's helpful to think of all the names that scroll by in film credits, and then realize a writer wears all of those hats. The cinematographer, the art director, costume designer, props master, director, actor and editor - that's all you.

5 - Screenwriters and director/producer duo Joel and Ethan Coen are amazing dialogue crafters. I used an example of their "Raising Arizona" script as part of my dialogue workshop, and can't stop hearing 'Moses' talk about crawdads in my head!

6 - As long as the subject matter is something I'm passionate about, that energy will override my intense aversion to public speaking.

7 - Realizing you're watching a movie that's making you cry (Stephen Frear's "The Queen") is not so bad when the other people you're watching it with are writers and they're in tears, too.

8 - Having just watched a film together makes it easy to absorb new writing craft tools, since you can reference the film for examples of the crafting process.

9 - The secondary character fulfills a specific need for the narrative. He functions partially as world-building structure, partially as a way to reveal character for the hero and heroine, and partially as a player for key plot developments.

10 - Take an everyday object from our world and rename it for the paranormal world. This gives an increased realism to your original setting.

11 - The amazing writing that resulted from all of the writing exercises and read out loud by each writer left me honored to be in such company.

12 - A competitive person involved in an at-work challenge to acquire the highest pedometer step-count, who walked all over creation during the retreat breaks, is an awesome thing to behold.

13 - Eating fish is a sure-fire way to get a migraine. I'd removed fish from my diet along with many other foods to search for anything that could worsen my migraine triggers. But I love fish so much! I thought I'd order the delectable haddock when we went for dinner at the lodge on Saturday night. The next morning, I realized I'd made a severely bad mistake. However, at least I know how important it is to keep fish out of my system. I can't control low pressure weather systems, but I can control eating fish.

Happy TT everyone!

World-Building

One of the workshops we did at the retreat was on World Building, given by Renee. That was a really eye-opening workshop, as it became obvious that if you remain open, even the most mundane objects can jump-start your creativity.

We were given a phrase which we had to use somehow in a piece written in a ten-minute time frame. Then we were asked to pull an object from a bag. Renee asked us to rename the object and use it in a further scene with the same characters and plot we'd come up with for the first exercise.

It was amazing what everyone came up with. That willingness to look at things with fresh eyes followed me when I took my dog for a walk late this evening. The sun had already set as we moved along the path that trails through the woods behind the houses. The dim grey light tinged with a deep red along the horizon.

I found myself wondering if my vampire character would be able to wake up if there was still light lingering once the sun itself had disappeared. I paid attention to how the light retreated in the twilight.

Once I got home, I talked over the precedence for vampire lore with my husband. He felt that once the sun was no longer visible over the horizon, my character should be able to start waking up. That was a great answer, because that's how I felt when I was in the woods looking around me at the encroaching gloom.

And now, off to see what's happening with said vampire. I've got some writing to do before I settle down for bed.

Excerpt from Culloden novel

During the brainstorming session, I pulled this story out of hibernation. I started it in 1999! It's a quarter of the way into the story, but there was a lot still to work out.

I put it aside when my husband and I moved from Toronto to Yarmouth, a small fishing town in Nova Scotia. We moved in with my gram because she needed someone living in the same house. My mom couldn't stay in the house for more than an hour at a time because of her environmental illness.

I had quite a bit of culture shock to get past, as I discovered that a Big City urban gal like me doesn't write well in the quiet of a small town. Once we moved to Halifax, my writing got back into gear. But my Culloden story stayed parked until this past Sunday.

Now I can't stop thinking about it. So here's an excerpt.

This story takes place in the immediate aftermath of the battle of Culloden, where the English wiped out the highlanders and embarked on a campaign to crush the Scottish culture. (As we can see from our 21st century vantage point, they weren't terribly successful. Amen to that!)

Excerpt -

Scottish highlands near Drumossie Moor, April 1746


Emma walked to the cave entrance. She couldn't bear the sounds of the servants’ crying any longer.

Dawn beckoned with cool grey fingers. The sound of birdsong dashed any hopes of sleep.

The danger of patrols shimmered in the air like lightening storms. One group on horseback already charged up the hill past them. The entrance to their cave was only a narrow crevasse to squeeze through and not obvious to an Englishman. The mounted soldiers ran down every living creature they’d come across.

Thomas urged them to stay put, for a few days at least. He rotated a watch between himself, Davey and Murray. What if Emma were to wake, only to find a soldier with his knife poised to slit her throat? No wonder Maisie and Poppy huddled together in tears.

Emma's tired, burning gaze swept the forest but nothing moved. Perhaps she could join Murray for awhile. He might welcome the company. Squeezing through the opening and wondering how Thomas had managed it, Emma stayed close to the cave entrance and checked again for signs of danger.


Birdsong made all of yesterday’s upset seem so unreal. Would she be out here shivering in the cold April frost if it had not happened? Emma curled her hands up into her sleeves, the thin wool of her day frock so terribly ineffective. If only Thomas had allowed a fire to be built.

Emma moved quickly past the clearing in front of the cave entrance. She saw Murray’s body spring to life, facing her though staying to the trees.

“It’s me. Emma,” she whispered, the morning so still she felt as if she were shouting.

Murray’s body relaxed. “You’re not relieving me on the watch, surely?” Murray teased her as he always did. How she longed for everything to be normal again.

“I can’t sleep,” she said.

“Come stand with me, then.”

She joined him next to the pine. Murray put his arm around her shoulders. He was her younger brother but taller than she was by a head.

“When do you think we can go back?” she asked, knowing she sounded like a child.

“I doubt there’s much to return to.”

“Thank God Thomas got word to us in time,” she said.

“Yes. Thank God.” There was something to Murray’s tone. Emma turned to see the bitter look on his face.

“It was our victory." Murray shook his head as though still unwilling to believe the loss. "Everyone said we would take the day."

“The fighting couldn’t have been far, then?”

“Drummossie Moor.”

“Drummossie Moor! That’s only - ”

“Emma, what do you think I’m telling you? The fighting should have been across the river on higher ground, but the English... Thomas was in town to keep an eye on things and when it went wrong he was nearly killed trying to get back to us.”

There was silence between them, a tense silence. Emma was suddenly very tired of fathers and brothers deciding what was best for her to know.

“Have you seen anyone?” she asked, knowing Murray would never speak first. “Since you’ve come out here?”

“Not a soul.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to go back in there just now.”

“Stay with me, then,” Murray said.

How she longed for everything to be the way it was. Even before this latest battle. When her father, the chieftain of the MacBeans was at home and the clan solid among the hills. She stole a glance back at Murray, who smiled through a yawn.

This did feel better. Though her head reeled with weariness, she liked the living scent of the trees. The musty air of the cave was like a crypt.

Her answering yawn set the wood awash in bleariness. The carpet of pine needles suddenly slid underfoot and she went down heavily, surprised to slide down a slight incline.

There was a groan as she landed squarely on a grimy heap of plaid. A plaid that covered the body of a man.

She squealed, scrambling to regain her feet.

An eye stared back in alarm, revealing a battered face. The man lunged forward like a snake, grabbing her wrists and rolling her onto her stomach.

She grunted as one strong hand forced her face into the ground and the other crushed her wrist against the root of the tree. A sharp knee jammed into her back, forcing the air from her lungs.

He cried out in pain and abruptly released her. Falling heavily beside Emma, he writhed awkwardly as Murray gave one final kick for good measure.

“Emma! Are you hurt?” Murray asked.

She pushed herself to a sitting position. “No, Murray,” she said, rising. “Just took my breath from me.”

She wouldn’t admit to the way her heart continued to pound, nor the way her hands shook as she brushed pine needles out of her hair. She stole a glance over at the stranger lying next to her.

Murray bent to see to him, then knelt, listening at the man’s chest. Her brother’s gaze sought hers. “He’s alive. Thank God.” Murray sat back on his heels.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, her reasoning slow from fatigue and fright.

“He wears the colors of the Scots Royal. That’s your Douglas’s regiment. From the looks of him, the Royals fared badly.”

Emma knelt at the stranger’s side. To look at him now, it was a wonder he’d had the strength to pounce on her like a great mountain cat. But she could still feel the force of him pinning her to the ground.

He lay curled on his side, his dark hair falling over his face, eyes closed. Mud and bruises hid much of the rest of him. His arms and legs wore nasty looking slashes. Blood soaked his plaid and jacket at the shoulder and under his left arm.


Murray’s words sank slowly into her consciousness. Her Douglas. An officer of the Scots Royal. Her Douglas had fought alongside this man. Had led him onto the battlefield.

Where was Douglas now? Was he laying somewhere with no one to help him?

Tears rose to her eyes. Emma reached forward and pushed the hair from the stranger’s brow with tender fingers. The man’s right eye fluttered open. The left one was swollen horribly.

Emma stared back. Such a dark eye it was, brimming with spirit though his body was all but useless to him now. Emma had never seen anyone burn with such ferocity. She began trembling.

It wasn’t the shock of it - not the soldiers, not her family’s flight, not her sleepless hours in the cave, nor the fright from this wounded clansman’s desperate retaliation - none of it had started this quivering.

She trembled because of the way he looked at her.

A Fun Time Had By All

This retreat kicked ass.

Saturday was so energizing, it took me quite awhile to fall asleep. Normally, I'm out by the time my head hits the pillow. Like the first night, for example.

But four workshops, five cups of coffee, an afternoon viewing of Stephen Frears' "The Queen", an evening walk along the oceanfront nature trail to the resort, an exquisite dinner and fabulous conversation, a starlight amble back to the cottage and a late night viewing of "Casino Royale" later, how could I sleep?

I need to digest everything over the next few days. So much to take in! But I can feel it already coursing through my veins. New insight unfurls itself in my mind like the buds on my forsythia bush in the front yard.

Happy spring! New beginnings. Fresh direction. Revitalized character development. Goal, motivation and conflict up and running. Yeah, baby!

Thursday Thirteen - 4 - 13 Wonderful Reasons To Go To a Writer's Retreat

I'm heading for the Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada chapter's annual retreat on Friday, so what better time to reflect on all that's sublime about this coming weekend?

1 - Removing myself from all the things that compete for my time and attention. That could be considered a mere vacation, but this is a retreat for writers. We're actually going to focus on our craft, minus the routines of life that require our participation. No laundry pestering me from over there. No dog wondering if we might go for a walk. No spouse jockeying for computer time. Just the writers, writing.

2 - Enjoying the hour and a half drive to the retreat and back. A bit of wind down time, shooting the breeze, looking at the scenery. It's a symbolic threshhold between the normal world and the world of transformation we're about to enter. And on our way back, we have a buffer zone where we can digest everything we've thought about during the retreat.

3 - Recharging my batteries every time I look out at the trees and at the ocean. Even if you happened to have a house surrounded by trees or near the ocean, this is a different view. Different perspectives follow.

4 - Spending a nice interlude with my writer friends. A lunch together once a month, the writers' meeting, sometimes a movie night, sometimes dinner at someone's home - these are all treasured hours in the company of people who share my passion. A weekend retreat is pure luxury, with so much opportunity to get to know my friends on a different level.

5 - Presenting a workshop that I'm excited about. I've got fun exercises to do and it should lead to some sparkling dialogue.

6 - Doing the writing exercises. They really get the synapses firing. I'm especially looking forward to the workshop on Goal Motivation Conflict. I need to get a handle on that.

7 - Welcoming the unexpected breakthroughs. In three previous retreats, I've had ideas pop to life like a lottery jackpot. Mama needs a new pair of shoes!

8 - Refueling from all that creative activity with delectable food. Mmm. Can't wait. Even if it means that I'm one of the cooks on the rotating schedule. The retreat makes even cooking seem like fun.

9 - Laughing. Uproariously.

10 - Drinking wine. Actually this year I'm taking along my Christmas bottle of Glenlivet single malt whisky. I've taken wine out of my diet while I test out migraine reactions to food. Distilled spirits are allowed, so whisky it is. Actually, I really love the aroma of the whisky before it even crosses my lips. Don't know why. There weren't any whisky drinkers in my family.

11 - Getting some sleep. Especially after this week, when I'm burning the candle at both ends in order to get everything done before I go away for the weekend.

12 - Walking past the gorgeous beach heading for the Saturday evening dinner at the nearby resort. Okay, part of the delight is the walk, part of it is the dinner.

13 - Heading home, having needed time away to immerse myself in writing and creative thinking, but now missing my honey and my dog, my mom and my gram.

And What a Time it Was

I drove up to the house this morning after my appointment at the allergy clinic and saw some uncharacteristic movement through the front window. As soon as I got out of the car, I heard the music through the walls of the house.

Then I pushed open the door, and there they were. Gram was at the piano, Uncle Charlie following the action closely through his videocamera viewfinder and two musicians doing their thing in the living room. On guitar was Scott MacMillan, on fiddle Dave MacIsaac.

Yes, that's right, East Coast Music Award-winning guitarist, composer of "The Celtic Mass For The Sea", Host Conductor of Symphony Nova Scotia, film composer, jazz ensemble leader and celtic tune-playing Scott MacMillan.

And yes, that's ECMA-winning guitarist and fiddler Dave MacIsaac, specializing in Celtic style, an accomplished soloist and sideman, on recordings with Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie MacMaster to name a few.

There they were jamming in the living room with my Gram. They had great smiles on their faces as Dave stomped his foot in time with the jigs, reels and strathspeys. Gram chorded away, taking a rest for a bit in her rocker while they continued playing, then insisting she wanted to get back to the keyboard. "Drive 'er!" Dave said as they launched into another one.

What generous souls. What delight they took in watching Gram play. Dave said, "I know where you live, now," and Scott said they'd be back. Mom sent them on their way with containers of Cape Breton pork pies. Gram told them on their way out, "Whatever you have planned, I'm for it!"

You can check out Scott at:

http://www.scottmacmillan.ca/

You can check out Dave at:

http://www.atlanticartists.com/buddy/davemacisaac.html