Linda Holeman's Blog, page 3
March 18, 2015
Spring Book Bundle Giveaway
They are The Lost Souls of Angelkov, the story of Antonina, a wealthy landowner facing the kidnapping of her son as the serfs revolt, and The Devil on Her Tongue. Diamantina's odyssey to change her life in Portugal is a sweeping narrative of starvation and plenty, cruelty and love, disaster and triumph. Head over to @LindaHoleman on Twitter and retweet my giveaway tweet to win these books. I'll keep the contest open until mid-April. Good luck!
March 13, 2015
Mexico On My Mind…
This month I was lucky enough to attend the 10th Annual San Miguel Writers’ Conference and Literary Festival in San Miguel de Allende, in Guanajuato, Mexico’s heartland. Here’s a shout-out to my author friend Roberta Rich (www.robertarich.com) for enticing me with her stories of the surreal beauty and art-inspired environment of San Miguel de Allende. This was back in August, and she and I were sitting on a patio looking out at the serene Georgia Strait in Sechelt after we had both spoken at British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast Literary Conference. Roberta told me I should come to the San Miguel conference in February – she had gone previous years, and, she promised, it would be fun. It will be fun, she repeated, knowing me well enough to understand the fun factor is often part of my decisions. I argued that I didn’t know where I’d be or what I’d be committed to in six months, because my chosen lifestyle is pretty nomadic. And then…maybe it was the lovely, relieved, floating feeling that always come over me after giving a performance, or maybe it was the idyllic calmness of this Pacific Coast refuge, or maybe it was the idea of fun in the middle of a long, Canadian winter…but I said yes to Roberta. Yes, I’ll come in February.A lot happened between August and February – and as the San Miguel conference approached and I’d signed up and booked my flight, I was second-guessing my decision. I knew I really shouldn’t be leaving my desk again so soon after arriving home from Europe, and was suffering the panic that comes from being behind on the work of the next book, the many unanswered emails, and all the unattended-to obligations in my life. But I had committed, and so one dark early morning I flew away from snowy, frigid Toronto, worrying about all I’d left behind.
As soon as I drove into San Miguel I knew that Roberta’s description had been spot on. San Miguel de Allende is a glorious, somehow spiritual place that has become known as an artists’ retreat. The cool mountain air and narrow streets of ancient cobbles, the beautifully preserved, brightly painted rustic architecture and the mountainside vistas inspire unbridled creativity in this beautiful little colonial city. Visual artists come for the clear light, writers for an existence that can both stimulate and calm the senses, musicians for the vibrancy in the air itself. There are regular art shows and literary readings and chamber music and jazz festivals, along with all the glories of traditional Mexican food and cultural events. Within the first few hours of arriving I felt the tension lifting from my shoulders. Whatever I had left unfinished back home would still be waiting when I returned. I mentally committed to taking in all I could from the conference, and from San Miguel de Allende itself.
Okay. So there was a lot of fun, as Roberta promised, but in the five days and evenings of the conference, I attended panels and workshops on memoir, screenwriting, agents, the new face of writing and publishing, social media, and all manner of approaches to writing techniques. There were amazing guest speakers who are not only influential writers, but also important thinkers who have changed the face of society’s views on everything from cultural writing to women’s rights through their own beliefs. I listened to so much exciting information I could hardly fall asleep at night, my brain almost audibly whirring with all I’d heard, my heart, at times, pounding with thoughts on my own choices – right or questionable – in my writing career.
In between workshops and lectures I absorbed San Miguel de Allende and its glorious churches and galleries and markets, and made my way into the countryside. There I found tiny Santuario de Atotonilco, a small, ancient church so completely covered from walls to ceiling in faded religious murals that it is known as the Sistine Chapel of Mexico. There was also time to visit the neighbouring town of Dolores Hildalgo, where, in 1810, local priest Miguel Hidalgo launched Mexico’s fight for independence. Another highlight was a glorious afternoon at a ranch thanks to my author friend Laura Fraser (www.laurafraser.com), drinking margaritas and dancing to the live band.
Between experiencing San Miguel de Allende and welcoming the fresh rush of creativity brought about by the motivation I took away from the workshops and panels and speakers, the trip was more than successful in all ways. I’d like to think that my time at the conference created different brain paths in my way of thinking about reading and writing. I made new friends and bought books by writers I hadn’t yet read. Here’s a huge thank you to all the wonderful, warm, helpful organizers and volunteers at the San Miguel Writers’ Conference and Literary Festival, and here’s a push to any of you reading this, whether beginning, emerging or established authors, or simply readers who love being in the writing world. Check out the conference (www.sanmiguelwritersconference.org) – and if you can – sign up for 2016. There will be fun, I promise, and so much more.
Catedral San Miguel de Allende
March 10, 2015
February 2015
Mexico On My Mind…
This month I was lucky enough to attend the 10th Annual San Miguel Writers’ Conference and Literary Festival in San Miguel de Allende, in Guanajuato, Mexico’s heartland. Here’s a shout-out to my author friend Roberta Rich (www.robertarich.com) for enticing me with her stories of the surreal beauty and art-inspired environment of San Miguel de Allende. This was back in August, and she and I were sitting on a patio looking out at the serene Georgia Strait in Sechelt after we had both spoken at British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast Literary Conference. Roberta told me I should come to the San Miguel conference in February – she had gone previous years, and, she promised, it would be fun. It will be fun, she repeated, knowing me well enough to understand the fun factor is often part of my decisions. I argued that I didn’t know where I’d be or what I’d be committed to in six months, because my chosen lifestyle is pretty nomadic. And then…maybe it was the lovely, relieved, floating feeling that always come over me after giving a performance, or maybe it was the idyllic calmness of this Pacific Coast refuge, or maybe it was the idea of fun in the middle of a long, Canadian winter…but I said yes to Roberta. Yes, I’ll come in February.
A lot happened between August and February – and as the San Miguel conference approached and I’d signed up and booked my flight, I was second-guessing my decision. I knew I really shouldn’t be leaving my desk again so soon after arriving home from Europe, and was suffering the panic that comes from being behind on the work of the next book, the many unanswered emails, and all the unattended-to obligations in my life. But I had committed, and so one dark early morning I flew away from snowy, frigid Toronto, worrying about all I’d left behind.
As soon as I drove into San Miguel I knew that Roberta’s description had been spot on. San Miguel de Allende is a glorious, somehow spiritual place that has become known as an artists’ retreat. The cool mountain air and narrow streets of ancient cobbles, the beautifully preserved, brightly painted rustic architecture and the mountainside vistas inspire unbridled creativity in this beautiful little colonial city. Visual artists come for the clear light, writers for an existence that can both stimulate and calm the senses, musicians for the vibrancy in the air itself. There are regular art shows and literary readings and chamber music and jazz festivals, along with all the glories of traditional Mexican food and cultural events. Within the first few hours of arriving I felt the tension lifting from my shoulders. Whatever I had left unfinished back home would still be waiting when I returned. I mentally committed to taking in all I could from the conference, and from San Miguel de Allende itself.
Performances at Instituto Allende
Street Life
Okay. So there was a lot of fun, as Roberta promised, but in the five days and evenings of the conference, I attended panels and workshops on memoir, screenwriting, agents, the new face of writing and publishing, social media, and all manner of approaches to writing techniques. There were amazing guest speakers who are not only influential writers, but also important thinkers who have changed the face of society’s views on everything from cultural writing to women’s rights through their own beliefs. I listened to so much exciting information I could hardly fall asleep at night, my brain almost audibly whirring with all I’d heard, my heart, at times, pounding with thoughts on my own choices – right or questionable – in my writing career.
In between workshops and lectures I absorbed San Miguel de Allende and its glorious churches and galleries and markets, and made my way into the countryside. There I found tiny Santuario de Atotonilco, a small, ancient church so completely covered from walls to ceiling in faded religious murals that it is known as the Sistine Chapel of Mexico. There was also time to visit the neighbouring town of Dolores Hildalgo, where, in 1810, local priest Miguel Hidalgo launched Mexico’s fight for independence. Another highlight was a glorious afternoon at a ranch thanks to my author friend Laura Fraser (www.laurafraser.com), drinking margaritas and dancing to the live band.
Santuario de Atotonilco
Between experiencing San Miguel de Allende and welcoming the fresh rush of creativity brought about by the motivation I took away from the workshops and panels and speakers, the trip was more than successful in all ways. I’d like to think that my time at the conference created different brain paths in my way of thinking about reading and writing. I made new friends and bought books by writers I hadn’t yet read. Here’s a huge thank you to all the wonderful, warm, helpful organizers and volunteers at the San Miguel Writers’ Conference and Literary Festival, and here’s a push to any of you reading this, whether beginning, emerging or established authors, or simply readers who love being in the writing world. Check out the conference (www.sanmiguelwritersconference.org) – and if you can – sign up for 2016. There will be fun, I promise, and so much more.
Catedral San Miguel de Allende
February 8, 2015
Paris Influence
Wandering through the streets of Paris, writing scenes in my head, is where January found me. Although my novel will not be set in Paris, the City of Light has long been a source of creativity for all manner of artists. I wanted to visit, or, in some cases, re-visit places where artists lived, wrote, hung out drinking and talking, or, actually, lie buried.
My favourite required reading in high school was Edith Wharton’s slim, darkly disturbing novel, Ethan Frome. I’ve never met anyone who loved that fated love story as I did, and although I never enjoyed any other Wharton novel to the same degree, the effect Ethan Frome had on me at seventeen was enough to make me a life-long Wharton fan. Entitled and adventurous, Wharton was pretty spunky for her time. She left her homes in New York and Massachusetts seeking liberation and intellection stimulation in Paris. And she found it – as well as a lover. I walked past the apartment on Rue de Varennes she had shared with her mentally unstable husband, Teddy, envisioning her carefully planned trysts with Morton Fullerton in many of the galleries and museums and parks of Paris. Reading the details of her passionate affair, I’m not sure how she found the time and energy to write. But it was fun to mentally compare the stifling and conservative life Wharton was forced to live in North America with the bold, vibrant, rather naughty one she created for herself in Paris.
In St. Germain-des-Pres, I looked up at the formerly miserable rooms on Rue Jacob where another woman had lived and written. But Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette’s circumstances were the complete opposite of Wharton’s. The young Colette was locked up by her husband for hours each day so she would have no alternative but to write. The unscrupulous Willy was financially benefiting from his wife’s writing success, and didn’t want to lose a good thing. Luckily Collette was able to end her confinement by divorcing Willy after a few years, but it was chilling to stand outside that building and imagine Collette’s despair.
Where is the heartbeat of Paris if not in its brasseries and cafes? The brasseries in Montparnasse and the Latin Quarter were favourite meeting places for both French and expatriate artists and writers, the latter including Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, and James Joyce. In the heart of what was then the artistic and literary centre of Paris, I stopped for a nice glass of Sancerre at Les Deux Magots, envisioning the room filled with those writers of the past while I scribbled my own impressions.
Another day found me at Café Tournon, close to the Luxembourg Gardens. Café Tournon is much less known and far less grand than Les Deux Magots or its rival, Café de Flore, but during the 50s and 60s it was a thrumming intellectual and creative night spot. It was here that James Baldwin, author of Go Tell it On the Mountain, Giovanni’s Room and others, wrote. In Paris, Baldwin found freedom from the prejudice haunting him due to his race and sexual orientation, which had made life in America intolerable for him.
I can’t stay away from bookstores no matter where I travel. Paris has so many of all descriptions, from the well-known and long-established Shakespeare and Company for books in English, to the traditional and upscale shops which buy and sell old but lovingly preserved volumes, to the boquenists – the tiny green kiosks set up along the Seine, selling all manner of old and new books for a few euros each. I found myself drawn into at least one bookstore every day, and my purchases created the necessity for a larger carry-on to get them all home.
And finally, I visited some of the cemeteries of Paris. Anyone who read my blog post from March 2014 will know how I love a good cemetery. The glorious Père Lachaise is the final Paris resting place for many well-known people of all disciplines. It takes hours to wander through the beautiful intersecting and at times confusing pathways. But I persevered, and as well as the graves of musicians and artists, I found the headstones of the above-mentioned Collette, and Balzac and Musset and Proust, as well as Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison.
Home from Paris, do I feel inspired? Yes, and also, as always, grateful for being a Canadian, free to live the life I choose and write what I choose.
And now it’s time to get to work…
January 2015
Paris Influence…
Wandering through the streets of Paris, writing scenes in my head, is where January found me. Although my novel will not be set in Paris, the City of Light has long been a source of creativity for all manner of artists. I wanted to visit, or, in some cases, re-visit places where artists lived, wrote, hung out drinking and talking, or, actually, lie buried.
My favourite required reading in high school was Edith Wharton’s slim, darkly disturbing novel, Ethan Frome. I’ve never met anyone who loved that fated love story as I did, and although I never enjoyed any other Wharton novel to the same degree, the effect Ethan Frome had on me at seventeen was enough to make me a life-long Wharton fan. Entitled and adventurous,Wharton was pretty spunky for her time. She left her homes in New York and Massachusetts seeking liberation and intellection stimulation in Paris. And she found it – as well as a lover. I walked past the apartment on Rue de Varennes she had shared with her mentally unstable husband, Teddy, envisioning her carefully planned trysts with Morton Fullerton in many of the galleries and museums and parks of Paris. Reading the details of her passionate affair, I’m not sure how she found the time and energy to write. But it was fun to mentally compare the stifling and conservative life Wharton was forced to live in North America with the bold, vibrant, rather naughty one she created for herself in Paris.
Rue de Varennes
In St. Germain-des-Pres, I looked up at the formerly miserable rooms on Rue Jacob where another woman had lived and written. But Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette’s circumstances were the complete opposite of Wharton’s. The young Colette was locked up by her husband for hours each day so she would have no alternative but to write. The unscrupulous Willy was financially benefiting from his wife’s writing success, and didn’t want to lose a good thing. Luckily Collette was able to end her confinement by divorcing Willy after a few years, but it was chilling to stand outside that building and imagine Collette’s despair.
Where is the heartbeat of Paris if not in its brasseries and cafes? The brasseries in Montparnasse and the Latin Quarter were favourite meeting places for both French and expatriate artists and writers, the latter including Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, and James Joyce. In the heart of what was then the artistic and literary centre of Paris, I stopped for a nice glass of Sancerre at Les Deux Magots, envisioning the room filled with those writers of the past while I scribbled my own impressions.
Les Deux Magots
Another day found me at Café Tournon, close to the Luxembourg Gardens. Café Tournon is much less known and far less grand than Les Deux Magots or its rival, Café de Flore, but during the 50s and 60s it was a thrumming intellectual and creative night spot. It was here that James Baldwin, author of Go Tell it On the Mountain, Giovanni’s Room and others, wrote. In Paris, Baldwin found freedom from the prejudice haunting him due to his race and sexual orientation, which had made life in America intolerable for him.
Café Tournon
I can’t stay away from bookstores no matter where I travel. Paris has so many of all descriptions, from the well-known and long-established Shakespeare and Company for books in English, to the traditional and upscale shops which buy and sell old but lovingly preserved volumes, to the boquenists – the tiny green kiosks set up along the Seine, selling all manner of old and new books for a few euros each. I found myself drawn into at least one bookstore every day, and my purchases created the necessity for a larger carry-on to get them all home.
And finally, I visited some of the cemeteries of Paris. Anyone who read my blog post from March 2014 will know how I love a good cemetery. The glorious Père Lachaise is the final Paris resting place for many well-known people of all disciplines. It takes hours to wander through the beautiful intersecting and at times confusing pathways. But I persevered, and as well as the graves of musicians and artists, I found the headstones of the above-mentioned Collette, and Balzac and Musset and Proust, as well as Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison.
Père Lachaise Cemetary
Home from Paris, do I feel inspired? Yes, and also, as always, grateful for being a Canadian, free to live the life I choose and write what I choose.
And now it’s time to get to work…
December 26, 2014
Revisiting Siberia through the Edinburgh Book Review
Pictured: My daughter Brenna in our close quarters aboard the Trans-SiberianI loved participating in this in-depth conversation with the Edinburgh Book Review. I’ve always felt an interview can only be as good as the questions the interviewer poses – and in this case, Wander Gubler of EBR really challenged me in the best possible way. It was clear she’d read my 2012 Russian novel The Lost Souls of Angelkov with deep attention and an eye to all the detail, and her questions reflect her intensity and interest.
Going back in my mind to Russia – and in particular, Siberia – as I answered Wander’s questions, I was flooded with nostalgia for those long days and nights aboard the rocking Trans-Siberian Railway with my daughter Brenna, drinking tea and vodka, reading, writing, and talking, always talking about what we were experiencing and what might come next. I was working on The Lost Souls of Angelkov during this research trip; it was my second time to Russia. This time, as I journeyed through Siberia, I gained new insight into the character of Grisha. His Siberian story became richer and his character more layered as I learned more and more about Russia’s Asiatic region.
Brenna and I were the only non-Russian travellers on board – wait, that’s slightly false, as my father was Russian, but without knowledge of the language or the ability to read Cyrillic, there was little we could do to help ourselves. We fought to understand the complex time system and train etiquette as our journey spanned over 9,000 kilometers and eight time zones – which makes the trip nearly a third of the way around the globe. We were appreciative of the non-smiling but helpful train attendants who silently showed us how to use the samovar at the end of the car for hot water for our tea and packaged soup. Some days these attendants tried to describe, with hand gestures and muted animal sounds (Brenna and I learned this was not to be smiled at – they were very serious in their attempts to help us) what food might be offered by two ladies who, on random days, cooked in the small, usually empty dining car. It appeared everyone else on the train brought huge bags of their own food supplies. Brenna and I usually had to rely on unfamiliar packaged foods we bought from kiosks on train platforms, worrying our way through the long queues with one eye on our train, afraid it might leave without us, unable to understand how long it would sit, engine running, at any particular stop.
Pictured: Siberian countryside
Brenna and I sometimes reminisce about those long, monotonous days when time passed almost as if in a fever dream. The shadowed Ural Mountains were often in the distance through the dusty window, and at night, as we passed through tiny villages, the mournful shriek of the train whistle made us sit up and look out at the cold autumn sky lit by the sharp points of the stars.
Oh, Siberia. Thank you to Edinburgh for taking me back!
Please visit www.edinburghbookreview.co.uk/news/in... for the full interview.
November 2014
Revisiting Siberia through the Edinburgh Book Review…
I loved participating in this in-depth conversation with the Edinburgh Book Review. I’ve always felt an interview can only be as good as the questions the interviewer poses – and in this case, Wander Gubler of EBR really challenged me in the best possible way. It was clear she’d read my 2012 Russian novel The Lost Souls of Angelkov with deep attention and an eye to all the detail, and her questions reflect her intensity and interest. Going back in my mind to Russia – and in particular, Siberia – as I answered Wander’s questions, I was flooded with nostalgia for those long days and nights aboard the rocking Trans-Siberian Railway with my daughter Brenna, drinking tea and vodka, reading, writing, and talking, always talking about what we were experiencing and what might come next. I was working on The Lost Souls of Angelkov during this research trip; it was my second time to Russia. This time, as I journeyed through Siberia, I gained new insight into the character of Grisha. His Siberian story became richer and his character more layered as I learned more and more about Russia’s Asiatic region. Brenna and I were the only non-Russian travellers on board – wait, that’s slightly false, as my father was Russian, but without knowledge of the language or the ability to read Cyrillic, there was little we could do to help ourselves. We fought to understand the complex time system and train etiquette as our journey spanned over 9,000 kilometers and eight time zones – which makes the trip nearly a third of the way around the globe. We were appreciative of the non-smiling but helpful train attendants who silently showed us how to use the samovar at the end of the car for hot water for our tea and packaged soup. Some days these attendants tried to describe, with hand gestures and muted animal sounds (Brenna and I learned this was not to be smiled at – they were very serious in their attempts to help us) what food might be offered by two ladies who, on random days, cooked in the small, usually empty dining car. It appeared everyone else on the train brought huge bags of their own food supplies. Brenna and I usually had to rely on unfamiliar packaged foods we bought from kiosks on train platforms, worrying our way through the long queues with one eye on our train, afraid it might leave without us, unable to understand how long it would sit, engine running, at any particular stop.
Brenna and I sometimes reminisce about those long, monotonous days when time passed almost as if in a fever dream. The shadowed Ural Mountains were often in the distance through the dusty window, and at night, as we passed through tiny villages, the mournful shriek of the train whistle made us sit up and look out at the cold autumn sky lit by the sharp points of the stars.
Oh, Siberia. Thank you to Edinburgh for taking me back.
Please click here for the full interview.
One of many identical-looking train stops
Siberian countryside
Multiple check-points along our journey
Approaching Irkutsk
Brenna in our close quarters aboard the Trans-Siberian
Endless tiny villages along the tracks
November 5, 2014
Fall 2014
Shown here: Having fun at Word on the Street with Quill and Quire's Steven Beattie. After the busyness of launching The Devil on Her Tongue earlier in the summer, I was kept busy with more events as the air cooled and the leaves put on their autumn colours.
In August I attended the amazing Sunshine Coast Festival of the Written Arts in breathtaking Sechelt. I have to admit I didn’t know where Sechelt was until the invitation from Director Extraordinaire, Anne Davidson, came in. And what a venue it was. I arrived by ferry from Vancouver, spent five days listening to other authors and talking to the 500+ participants that make their way to mingle in the gorgeous cedar arts centre every year. Talewind Books did a wonderful job at selling books for the event. As an added bonus I got to take a float plane – a great experience in itself – back to Vancouver.
Meeting with and signing for a book club at the Sunshine Coast Festival
Still floating (sorry) from that experience, I was happy to add my voice to Word on the Street in Toronto. The weather cooperated for the street festival, and I read in the Great Books Marquee, hosted by the informed and witty Steven Beattie of Quill and Quire. Next up was The eh List! Author Series, where I spoke to the appreciative, well-read audience who came out to the Taylor Memorial Library in Scarborough.
I’m feeling pretty lucky to have had the opportunity to spend time with so many interesting and inspiring authors and readers.
Taylor Memorial Library
October 22, 2014
Fall 2014
Shown above: Having fun at Word on the Street with Steven Beattie. After the busyness of launching The Devil on Her Tongue earlier in the summer, I was kept busy with more events as the air cooled and the leaves put on their autumn colours. In August I attended the amazing Sunshine Coast Festival of the Written Arts in breath-taking Sechelt. I have to admit I didn’t know where Sechelt was until the invitation from Director Extraordinaire, Anne Davidson, came in. And what a venue it was. I arrived by ferry from Vancouver, spent five days listening to other authors and talking to the 500+ participants that make their way to mingle in the gorgeous cedar arts center every year. Talewind Books did a wonderful job at selling books for the event. As an added bonus I got to take a float plane – a great experience in itself – back to Vancouver. Still floating (sorry) from that experience, I was happy to add my voice to Word on the Street in Toronto. The weather cooperated for the street festival, and I read in the Great Books Marquee, hosted by the informed and witty Steven Beattie of Quill and Quire. Next up was The eh List! Author Series, where I spoke to the appreciative, well-read audience who came out to the Taylor Memorial Library in Scarborough. I’m feeling pretty lucky to have had the opportunity to spend time with so many interesting and inspiring authors and readers.
Meeting with and signing for a book club at the Sunshine Coast Festival
Taylor Memorial Library
August 4, 2014
A mid-summer update
With The Devil on Her Tongue sitting firmly on bookstore shelves across Canada this month, I was still busy with a variety of promotional activities. One that was fun and very tongue-in-cheek was answering questions for The Hazlitt Offensive (tinyurl.com/l5efnsw). Following the lead of Inside the Actor’s Studio, where James Lipton fires his trademark index-card questions –- fashioned after the Proust Questionnaire –- at guests, the answers authors come up with on The Hazlitt Offensive are not meant to be taken too seriously!The National Post does a weekly book page called “The Afterword Reading Society” (tinyurl.com/mftztj6). What’s different and very cool about this page is that it’s not a review, but is made up of questions readers ask the author. There are also stats generated about the book, and, finally, the readers get to rate it (scary). The book is also compared to others of a similar topic – all in all it’s a pretty interesting and innovative take for highlighting a new book. The online National Post Afterword Reading Society site also lets the readers sum up the book in a tweet (I can’t escape it).
This month I was warmly welcomed back to my hometown of Winnipeg for some media. Even though it was way too early in the morning, I had fun at with Derek Taylor at Global Television and with Holly Bernier at CTV (tinyurl.com/ovwxjyv).
I also had a launch of The Devil on Her Tongue at the amazing McNally Robinson Booksellers. John Toews and his staff do a stellar job of creating a professional and yet highly personal event for the authors lucky enough to find themselves a guest in one of their stores.
Always nice to go “home” where one is appreciated…!!!
