Broken Keys Publishing's Blog, page 38

Live Interviews

Local authorMichel Weatherallwill be appearing at the Byward Market'sOrigin Trade Coffeehouse & Lounge,Saturday, Feb. 25thbetween 11 am - 5 pmWant to know more?Check out my prevous interviews!July 21st, 2016CKCU FM-93.1,Literary Landscapes, with host Kate Hunt(I'm the guest for the whole 24 minute segment)TV - InterviewsJuly 19th, 2016Rogers Channel 22,Daytime Ottawa, Live TV appearance, with host Dylan Black and co-host Sid Cratzbarg.Nov. 20th, 2015Rogers Channel 22,Daytime Ottawa, Live TV interviewwith host Derick Fage and co-host Danielle Allard(I'm on at about 2:07)June 17th, 20161310 News,The Carol Anne Meehan Show, with host, Ottawa's sweetheart, Carol Anne Meehan!Live Radio interview!July 13th, 2016In conversation with Michel Weatherall, hosted by 'tic'. (Nearly an hour).CKCU FM-93.1,Wednesday Special Blend, with host 'tic'(I'm on at about 67:20 - 119:11)July 26th, 2016CKCU FM-93.1,Tuesday Special Blend, with host Adam Coombs(I'm on at about 29:00)

The Hunt: Symbiosys - 2017

This new year - 2017 - promises to be something else!The third printing ofThe Hunt: Symbiosyswill feature a totally redesigned cover, its theme matching closer to the series.Although not yet set in stone, this is the direction or 'feel' I'm going with!This sequel of the Symbiot-series follows the story of Lorne S. Gibbons lost wife.The theme of the merger of music, instrument, and human becomes prevalent on its cover.WithThe Symbiotgoing into its 4th printing,The Hunt: Symbiosysinto its 3rd printing, andNecropolisinto its 2nd printing, all in preparation for the upcoming release ofThe Refuse Chronicles!Look for it in 2017!Follow me onFacebook,twitter, orposted eventson my website! This year I'll be focusing on smaller, more inimate and interactive events and coffeehouses!But that's not to say I won't be doing book signings at Chapters, Coles, and the like!

Coming Soon to Origin Trade Coffeehouse!

Local horror author & poet Michel Weatherall with assistant manager Creggan (what a spectacular name!) atOrigin Trade Coffeehouse & Lounge.Working out the finer details of a meet-and-greet & book signing atOrigin Trade Coffeehouse!Pick-up your copies of the Lovecraftian horror,The Symbiot-Series.See what makes the creative mind tick!Drop by, get your books autographed.Sit and chat! Great conversations are always welcome and encouraged!"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear of the unknown."H.P. LovecraftMost horror today is little more than cheap jump-scares, splatter and gore.True horror brushes against the unknown. The gooseflesh that runs down the back of your neck is cerebral.Hitchcock had it right. The reader's imagination can paint a picture far worse than anything the writer could describe.Follow me onFacebookandTwitterfor updates! Dates soon to come!(other guest authors may appear!)The Symbiot(book 1)The Hunt: Symbiosys(book 2)(NEW cover!)Necropolis(book 3)The Refuse Chronicles(book 4 - coming soon!)A Dark Corner of My Soul(a collection of dark poetry)Can't make this event? Copies may be picked-up atPerfect Books258 Elgin St.Black Squirrel Books & Cafe1073 Bank St.Coles - BayshoreBashore Shopping CentreKobold's Corner430 Hazeldean Rd.Comet Comics1167 Bank St.Books on Beechwood35 Beechwood Ave.Singing Pebble Books206 Main St.Octopus Books116 Third Ave.Soon returning to:Chapters - Kanata400 Earl Grey Dr.Coles - Billings BridgeBillings Bridge Shopping PlazaColes - CarlingwoodCarlingwood Mall

The Refuse Chronicles - Synopsis

Necropolis47° 9'S 126° 43'W06   –   02   –   2005:The Rising of R'lyehThe world has changed sinceThe Event.It willneverbe the same.Ancient and forgotten Cults stir in the darkness.The UNCGSC desperately prepares for a war they know is inevitable.Tamara Takahara – TamaraGibbons– the last Symbiocyst returns; the consequences obliterating.The Machinesearches for humanity's only hope and salvation.Titanic forces are in motion, their collision unavoidable.The Eventmay have changed the world,but the fallout has yet to come.All will be gambled.All will be lost.Be prepared. There is no tomorrow.

The Refuse Chronicles' Preview

Twelve StepsIsn't it ironic that at 7:00 in the evening I need one more shot before attending my weekly AA meeting?I used to be important. Chief Superintendent Nesbitt of the RCMP, Emergency Response Team. A Liaison Officer for an International Task Force. A member of the UNCGSC. Now? Now, after the inquest, trial and psych evaluation I am little more than the washed up debris that I sit in a circle with. The community hall smells stale. Old. Forgotten.The man to my right, Robert, is speaking. I don't know what he is saying. I don't pay attention to him. I need to pay attention. He has stopped speaking. It is my turn now.“My name is Michelle. I'm an alcoholic. I've been sober for a month,” I lie. Muddled Absinthe has long since been ineffective. A shot of straight absinthe in the morning makes my day bearable... barely.They say absinthe causes madness. Hemingway, Van Gogh, Rimbaud; they all drank it. I think that's a lie. Absinthe is the only thing that keeps the madness at bay.Just like I think Alcoholics Anonymous is a lie. Although I verbally agree with their twelve steps, deep inside I know they are lies. You see, I don't believe in God. I can't believe in God. He doesn't exist. I know. I've seen Him...It.Progenitor of Life - the genesis point of all Creation. All is truly a mad and hopeless world. A mindless star-sized monstrosity at the centre of the Universe. Azothoth... Maybe it's the madness speaking. Maybe it's the Absinthe.Idobelieve in a higher power. ButItdoesn't believe in me. It won't help me. It won't help humanity. It won't give me strength. Itisthe corruption. I don't want to examine the past errors. I am trying to forget them, but I know I never will. I don't believe there is any amendments possible.Make the decision to turn our will over to God as we understand Him? That's what got me here in the first place.Can you dwell on something for years, or is that obsession? I've been told not to dwell on it. Dr. Ghattas tells me that I createdIt. A manifestation of my imagination so that I could avoid being responsible - of being to blame. To avoid the guild.Dr. Ghattas is a RCMP psychologist. He is full of shit. The guiltnevergoes away.After four yearsItsmemory hasn't faded. I can still rememberItpulling the trigger. The baby's screams still echo in my memory... and then it was just...just gone.I still hear the baby's cries at night.I remember her father's expression when I shot him in the face. As tired and exhausted as he was, his concentration and focus was absolute. There was no fear. He was memorizing my face.Learning to live with a new code of behaviour? I am waiting for the father to find me one day. I know he's coming. He's memorized my face. It's only a matter of time. I've read the files. The UNCGSC denies they even exist. I know he can't be dead. You see, I'veseenthe dead walk. Although my gun license had been revoked, I still pack. It takes more than a license to wield a gun. I carry my Smith & Wesson Model 5906. Loaded. Always.The woman to my left is speaking:“My name is Jenny and I am an alcoholic. I have been sober for only a week,” her voice quivers as she speaks. Her name is Jen. She's pathetic. Grieving for a husband that goes out at all hours of the night. She carries on like he's dead.Jen has some bureaucratic job at the UN. Often her work takes her to New York City for several days. All expenses paid. What a rough life. What does she expect her husband to do? Sit at home twiddling his fingers waiting for her return like some obedient dog?I shouldn't be so hard on her. I've grown fond of her. I sometimes think she's my friend... my only friend. Other times I know it's just pity.I think Jen's just lonely. I've made the mistake of going out for coffee with her on more than one occasion. Now she thinks I'm her confidant. I know she thinks I'm her friend. It isn't that I don't like her. I don't think I'm capable of friendship. Friendship necessitates hope. And of hope, I have not any.I can see in Jen's nervousness, something's wrong. She wants to talk. Unfortunately, that is a big no-no here. No“cross-talk”. That's fancy terminology for dialog. No speaking to one another. No simple healthy conversation. Not here.We all stand and hold hands. It's the end of the meeting. Robert's hand is hot and sweaty. Jen's hand is cold. Her knuckles feel dry and chafed. She gives me a nervous look before we begin to recite the Lord's Prayer.“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, they will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.”The words are all lies. I know even though I recite them.Jen emailed me before the meeting. Asked if I'd meet her for coffee at Pequods downtown at the corner of Metcalfe and Stater at 9 o'clock.“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”More lies. There is no forgiveness for what I've done.Jen's fingers quiver in my hand as we pray. Something's wrong. I turn to look at her. As she continues reciting the prayer her eyes are fixed on the floor before her. I can see the fear in them.“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.”It is too late now. I have long since been delivered into evil. The baby's cries echo in my memory since the day I pulled that trigger.I have spend decades with the military, police and law enforcement. Most criminals justify their actions. They are the victim. It's rarely ever their fault. Most people – deluded or not – believe themselves to be good.I no longer believe that. I don't have that luxury.Continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.I count that as the twelfth step in AA. I know what I am and can admit it. I am like this dirty community hall we meet in.Old.Forgotten.Human refuse.Excerpt from The Refuse Chronicles: Das Ghul © Michel Weatherall 2016. All rights reserved

The Refuse Chronicles

Just worked my way through a stumbling block I had.Piecing elements ofThe Refuse Chroniclestogether.Starting to come together, finally!I'm guessing I am somewhere between 50-60% done. Right now I'm sitting at over 42,000 words (nearly 162 pages) -clearlywithin the realm of full length novel!

Sneak Preview: The Refuse Chronicles

The Watcher“We run. That's what we do.”* * *Bed and BreakfastToronto, CanadaJune 19th, 2005(16 days afterThe Event)The cursor skirted across the laptop screen.Pay Bills. Click.Mastercard. Click.Veronica's fingers typed some numbers quickly.The cursor moved to Pay Bill. Click.“Grandma?” It was Tamara's voice, but tiny and fearful. Veronica's face was ghostly in the dark room, the only light from the computer screen. She could hear a trembling in the young Asian girl's voice.“Sweetie?” she turned to face her.Her granddaughter had spent the past two weeks suffering from nightmares since they fled the American destroyer, theUSS Antietam. Tamara has suffered bouts of paranoia sinceThe Event.When Veronica turned she had expected to see a tearful and distraught girl, and she was right.Tamara had tears running down her cheeks. Her chin quivered. She was on the brink of crying. But there was fear in her brown eyes.What Veronica didn't expect to see was Tamara holding her hands over her head. Nor did she expect to see SWAT-team police officers surrounding her, fully equipped with body armor and automatic weapons.Tamara burst into tears, bawling out for her grandmother as she ran to her.“Freeze! Don't -” an officer called out, raising his machine gun to his shoulder.Tamara's eyes blazed with energy.“Oh no...”Veronica muttered under her breath as her granddaughter hugged her tightly.With Veronica in her arms Tamara teleported away in a blink of energy.“-move...” the officer's voice echoed in the dark empty room.* * *“They find us. They always do.”* * *Tokyo, JapanBank MachineAugust 6th, 2005(2 months afterThe Event)The sky was bright blue. It was a clear crisp day in Tokyo, and they were out of money. Their rent was due. Veronica withdrew ¥ 500,000 from a bank machine.Ruffle, ruffle, ruffle. Ruffle, ruffle, ruffle,the bank machine counted and shuffled the bills as she waited.A man's voice pierced the background noise of traffic and strangers' conversations, drowning everything out; silencing the entire street's hustle and bustle.The voice barked in Japanese. He repeated the words in broken English: “Don't move!”Veronica's eyes were huge with fear. She turned slowly to see several armed Japanese police toting para-military weapons.Veronica's hands trembled as she raised them. A tear ran from her eye. She was terrified, but not for herself. She had left Tamara home alone. She was scared for the young girl.But no sooner did she think of Tamara than did her granddaughter read her thoughts, her mind, her distress,her fear.The litter and debris on the street was blown away as Tamara teleported, rolling like a tumbleweed, landing in a crouched position. One hand thrust forward, her telekinetic power throwing the man back, the other hand holding Veronica's leg. Bystanders on the busy Tokyo street gasped with shock and surprise.As the remaining soldiers trained their weapons on the two, they disappeared in a flash of light.* * *“Wherever the wind blows, we drift.”* * *Harlem, NY,USASeptember 7th, 2005(100 days afterThe Event)A cockroach scurried across an old, chipped and dented hardwood floor. It stayed close to the walls, avoiding the light, blending into the shadows of the decrepit furniture.As it ventured out of its darkness on the other side of the couch, a loud boom echoed through the room. A rolled-up magazine bashed its brains and guts out of its shattered brown carapace.“Crisse,”Veronica whispered, her head hanging over the armrest.“Did you get it?” Tamara asked, smiling, her eyes bright.Veronica dropped the magazine and quickly spun in her seat, grabbing her granddaughter by the waist, tickling her. The petite Asian girl squealed and giggled, squirming in her seat. “Stop!” she laughed. “You're just upset 'cause I'm beating you!”The video game image on the TV was frozen, paused. They were playing on their Nintendo Wii. She had downloaded the classic Mario Kart 64, and it was true, Tamara was winning.Veronica put her Wii controller's tassel around her wrist. “Alright! Get ready for a butt-kicking,” she teased her.“In your dreams grandma!” Tamara retorted, smiling. The volume boomed as she unpaused the game.As Princess Peach and Mario burned down the digital asphalt, Tamara and Veronica bumped shoulder to shoulder, elbowing each other as they played.“Quit cheating!” the young girl laughed. Veronica bumped her again, her racer spinning off the road, chewing up the grass.“Aw, you bum,” she cried out.Veronica laughed like a Machiavellian villain as her racer pulled ahead.Tamara jumped on the sofa, trying to knock her grandmother's controller out of her hand.Veronica dodged and rolled on the couch, deftly avoiding Tamara's attack. She paused the game and jumped on top of Tamara, tickling her again. The pair fell to the floor, the young girl kicking her feet wildly, laughing so hard she thought she'd pee herself.Veronica heard glass break. At first she thought Tamara had kicked a mug.Both of their smiles fell away as they saw the cannister spewing smoke, spinning on the floor. They felt the breeze through the broken window as they heard footsteps thundering up the stairwell.“Hold your breath, baby.” Veronica's concern was etched in her frightened eyes. Tamara leapt into her arms, hugging her tightly.When the NYPD SWAT team kicked in the door, all they encountered was a shitty apartment filled with tear-gas.* * *“It always find us. It's always watching.”* * *Mumbai, IndiaJanuary 21, 2006(Nearly 8 months afterThe Event)Tamara strolled down the busy streets of Mumbai. The crowds were fantastic. The scents of people! The aroma of exotic foods! Animals! Even after nearly a year, she didn't tire of it.Tamara carried her backpack slung over one shoulder as she merrily took in all the activity, people, traffic, cars, trucks, wagons pulled by donkeys and horses, and rickshaws. She was heading towards Mumbai's downtown business center. Her and Veronica were going to have lunch together.She approached a busy intersection. The one thing Tamara never got used to was how crazy busy intersections were. She would wait for the light to change. She didn't trust the chaotic traffic enough to risk jaywalking.The ebb and flow of pedestrians rushed past her like a river of humanity. Quietly, placidly, Tamara stood watching the traffic lights and waited.Her eyes followed the criss-cross of wires over the intersection. Then her gaze arrested on the lens of a camera. Its glossy black eye monitoring for traffic violations with indifference. Then the thought struck her.Toronto: online banking.Tokyo: ATM.Harlem: online video game.It was watching through technology. She stared at the dead black eye of the camera.It knew. She knewIthad found her again.The thud of her backpack hitting the ground was lost in the sounds and noises of the busy Indian street as she teleported away. They would have to flee again. They would have to find someplace remote, isolated from technology.* * *“I believe It watches through technology.”* * *Pequods Coffee,Quebec City,CanadaJanuary 18th, 2007(Nearly 2 years afterThe Event)Veronica was speaking on her cell phone as Tamara placed the order.“One Grande dark roast, with milk and three sugar!” Tamara loved the special terminologyPequodsused. She half-turned her head, checking to see if her grandmother was still busy on the phone, then added sheepishly, “And a can of Pepsi please.” She knew Veronica didn't like her drinking pop.“Yes, that's correct,” Veronica was still engaged in her phone conversation. “I need that money transferred.”The cashier looked strangely at the young girl. Tamara flashed what she thought was her most charming smile.“Trois dollars et vingt-deux cents,”the cashier stated with a sour look on his face, emphasizing the words.Tamara's smile slowly fell from her face. She could hear his thoughts.Maudit Anglais, he cursed.“No, no, no!” Veronica was upset. “Why can't you transfer it now.... yes... what? What do you mean the account's frozen?”Tamara was confused. She wasn't English. She cocked her head to one side as she answered, “But, I'm Japanese.” As it had always been with Tamara's telepathy, it relayed more than words ever could. The cashier 'heard' her thoughts, but without the restrictions of language.Her eyes locked onto the cashier's. Tamara began filtering through the money in her pocket. She preferred Canadian dollars over American. Their colourful money was easier to identify. She handed the cashier a blue five-dollar bill. She could read his anger, his bitterness, his sense of injustice. A Separatist. For reasons Tamara couldn't grasp, he felt like a victim; that somehow Tamara was to blame. She knew he was delusional.He took her money without a smile, made change, and handed to her.“Un soixante-huit,”he answered.If she hadn't been so focused on the cashier, she might have noticed the agents in the coffee shop. They were dressed casually and slowly wandering and meandering their way around the shop, inconspicuous, but with purpose. The four agents had encircled Veronica and Tamara.“Mon Dieu,” Veronica, still speaking on the cell, was visibly upset.Tamara turned around, handing the coffee to her grandma. Her can of pop made aclick-hissnoise as she opened it.Two agents fired their tasers.Veronica convulsed violently, her cell phone breaking as it hit the floor, her coffee spewing as her hand clenched and crushed the paper cup.Without thought, Tamara's psychic shield instinctively went up, the twin taser darts bouncing harmlessly away.Galvanized into action, Tamara's reaction was instantaneous. Legs spread, straddling her prone grandmother, she released a telekinetic concussion wave. The coffee shop instantly fell into chaos. Patrons, employees, the agents, tables, chairs – all were slammed and pushed away. The shop's windows exploded onto the bustling sidewalk.Everybody was stunned by the blast, except for the cashier. Although violently pushed back, the counter and cash-register protected him from the brunt of the attack.The young Asian girl's eyes blazed with energy, and in a bright flash of light, they were both gone.A crushed can of Pepsi spun, its contents quietly gurgling on the floor.* * *Himalayan Mountain WildernessUnknown LocationThere was no colour. Cold black stone, gray ice and white snow. The ground was tilted, slanted enough to cause Veronica's body to slide a few feet. A demon-wind howled, screaming past Tamara. Veronica was still unconscious from being tasered. Tamara held her head, crying.She wasn't sure where they were. The snow was deep. Neither were properly dressed for this kind of cold. Her tears were freezing on her cheeks. Her grandmother's lips were turning blue.The tiny Asian girl rubbed her arms vigorously, desperately trying to warm her.Tamara was exhausted. She didn't think she could teleport them again. She scanned her surroundings, the sub-zero wind cutting like a knife.Bleak frozen mountains stretched away as far as the eye could see.The girl's metaphysical mind unfurled, stretching and reaching out telepathically.“Please, help!”she wept. Her silent scream tore like a tsunami through the psychic ether.* * *Himalayan MountainsUnknown LocationThe monks' chanting seemed to issue from the stone walls themselves. Everything blanketed with their white noise. You didn't hear it. You were enveloped by it.The ancient stone chamber of the temple carried the scent of incense, its ladened smoke surreally slithered slowly through the still air. The burning embers from the pair of brazier cast shadows across the sculpted walls.Upon the floor the Master sat in meditation.She wore only the simple scarlet dyed robes of his forgotten order. An insular religion practiced by only a special rare few.  A forgotten order that preempted both Taoism and Buddhism. Ancient.Perfectly still she sat. her legs crossed, her hands resting palms-up upon her knees.In her mind's eye she watched the phosphenes of colour cascade across the vision of her closed eyes. She observed without thinking, her mind balancing on the cusp between theta and delta waves.She listened without intent to the ethereal winds of the world. She was in-tuned to the planet's psychosphere. She could hearThemever so faintly. Dead yet eternally slumbering, theGreat Old Onesdreamed. She listened to the silent songs of the dead dreamers.Then, it came from nowhere and everywhere. Her calm and placid serenity was shattered by the silent scream. Telepathic, beyond language, there was no mistakingher Call, her plight, her plea for help. It was deafening.She needed to gather the other monks.  She had waited for decades for Tamara's call. Her waiting was finally over.ConduitsThe most advanced and sophisticated computers only dealt with data and information. Sentinel functioned in the realms of Knowledge and Wisdom. It truly thought and made decisions.Sentinel was far beyond an Artificially Intelligent machine. No longer even a machine but an entity, fully self-aware. Sentient. Enlightened.Sentinel raced through the Conduits. Multiple tangents dividing and converging. Mostly fiber-optics, his consciousness raced at near lightspeed, his mind diverging and converging repeatedly. A mindnumbingly complicated web that ran its nerveous system and snyapses throughout the world.Contrary to what the UNCGSC believed, Tamara wasn't the first person that Sentinel couldn't find. The girl's father, Lorne S. Gibbons - reincarnated into the dead yet dreaming Cthulhu - was beyond Sentinel's reach. That ancient Symbiot-hybrid, Moshe – possibly the biblical Moses himself – imprisoned beneath our reality, in the strange curled tides of R'lyeh.Although Sentinel could not have found them or reached them, he knew their locations. That was where this young Asian girl differed. There was no tracing her. There was no finding her. There was little to no hints as to her location.Every second for the past fourteen years Sentinel had searched for her. She had disappeared without a trace. It was a contingency that should have been impossible, inconceivable even.Sentinel had long ago discovered the location of the enigmatic girl's grandmother, Veronica François. Distant, isolated, tech-barren, it was a near-blind spot. But Sentinel knew Veronica was there. A mountainous region of Burma. A brutally inaccessible Buddhist temple and monastery sitting atop a mountain peak.Sentinel hadn't shared this information with the UNCGSC. He knew that in the plethora of choices available, sometimes no choice was the best option. Sentinel suspected there was more at play.It had encountered and experienced the supernatural first hand fourteen years ago at theBattle of Leaman's Island. The mysterious girl's father – a Symbiot – had made telepathic contact with the orbiting A.I..Sentinel had never forgotten it nor that conduit of communication. Like a new undiscovered frequency, it kept that avenue of communication open constantly; hoping to make contact.Interconnected with all technology and racing through the internet, the UNCGSC believed Sentinel could see all. That was where the UNCGSC was mistaken. Not all was visible to Sentinel. There were still dark corners left in our world. Stones left unturned where darkness gathered.Sentinel knew he needed to find Tamara Gibbons. There were dark malevolent forces stirring in the world; covalent, hiding in the shadows. Deliberately off the grid – or at least off thehuman-grid.Sentinel knew Tamara was humanity's hope incarnate. And she needed to be found.

Goddess of Love Psychic & Craft Fair

2016 isn't even over yet and I'm looking forward into plans & events in 2017!There truly is no rest for the wicked!February 11th istheGoddess of Love Psychic & Craft Fair!I will be there, makingthe Lovecraftian horror series The Symbiotavailable to Ottawans everywhere!Join me at 211 Bronson Avenue at the Bronson Centre!It's too early to tell right now, but hopefully the NEW trilogy will be available! (Including the upcomingThe Refuse Chronicles).WithThe Symbiotgoing into its 4th printing,The Hunt: Symbiosysgoing into its 3rd printing, andNecropolisgoing into its 2nd printing, 2017's shaping up to become an incredible year!There's going to be book signings and meet-and-greets evetns - often manywith other local authors!I'm looking forward to working withLiam Gibbs(author of "In A Galaxy Far, Far Awry" series) andLaurie Stewart(author of "Mechanicsville" young adult series)Look forward to upcoming events!Morning Owl Coffeehouse - Kanata1047 Canadian Shield Ave.Origin Trade Coffeehouse & Lounge111 York St.Alice's Village Cafe3773 Carp Rd.The Byward Market!Downtown Ottawa!Prose in the ParkJune 10that the Parkdale ParkChapters - Kanata400 Earl Grey Dr.Coles - Billings Bridge2269 Riverside Dr.Coles - Carlingwood2121 Carling Ave.Comet Comics1167 Bank St.Perfect Books258 Elgin St.CIBC Kanata - BBQ445 Kanata Ave.

A Year in Review - 2016

I had initially set myself a goal of 12 events this year. I had no idea it would have blossomed into the activities it turned out becoming!2016 will certainly be a year to remember. Having found myself (rather unceremoniously) unemployed early this year, I took advantage of this extended time off to write and promote my books.I could not have imagined the paths this journey would have led me on. A great amount of soul-searching and reevaluating priorites emerged. Self-doubt and the questioning of one's value and worth were confronted head-on - as well as one's very identity.Although not completed yet, the next installment of The Symbiot-Series,The Refuse Chronicles, I believe may have found its inspiration - that of the human debris & refuse - from these both dark and wondrous times!Special thanks need to be extended to the various shops and book stores that carried my titles. Without these people's willingness and hard work, the indie local author's job would be that much closer to impossible:Allanah Harriman (Chapters), Lisa Statham (The Book Company), Gosia Strzelecka (Chapters), Heather Mallette (Coles), Rhona Morin (Coles), Trish Slater (Coles), and Tracy Delong (Coles) for taking the care and effort to help promote local authors.Local Indie Bookshops:Heather MacDonald (Comet Comics), Jim Sherman (Perfect Books), John Houston (Kobold's Corner), Vaugh MacDonald (Black Squirrel Books & Cafe), Octopus Books, Singing Peeble Books, and Books on Beechwood.And various other organizers, coffee-shops, subcontrators, and event-organizers that only add to the indie-author's wonderful experience:Tom Sample (Second Cup) , Megan Sartori (Byward Market), Guy Milne (CIBC), Iskra Rekrut (organizer), Chris Barnett (Designer), Lydia Schloch (writer & editor), Simon & Henri Dulca (Rapido Books), Nancy (Morning Owl Coffeehouse), Dave White (Mementos), Joy Cook (neighbour).To local politicians who showed their support for Ottawa's incredible literary talents (not just me):Jim Watson (Mayor), Allan Hubley (Councillor), and Marianne Wilkinson (Councillor)A special thanks need to be extened to local media personel - not only for interviewing me - but for the hope and sense of value they instilled in me (we creative-types can - sadly - be such fragile things!):Carol Anne Meehan, 'tic', Danielle Allard, Kate Hunt, Dylan Black & Adam Coombs...and my fellow author friends Laurie Stewart (local author) and Liam Gibbs (local author)...and to my fans. I wish I could name you all!...and last but certainly not least, my wife, Jackie.For having the patience, toleranceand confidenceto allow my writing to compete (and maybe even sometimes overshadow) her. (If I ever made you feel second best, it couldn't have been further from the truth.You are a foundation which this is built upon.)From the terrifying moments waiting in the Green Room before going on live TV - to the nerve-racking worry of 'winging' an hour-long live radio interview with CKCU's 'tic' - to the exhilaration of being interviewed by Carol Anne Meehan (Ottawa's sweetheart!) - to the incredible dialog and intellectual discussion with Literary Landscape's Kate Hunt.From being lost to being found - from struggling to find purpose, to the absolute conviction of purpose, it's been a rough ride, but one I'll never regret. I wouldn't have it any other way. I am so thankful to have met so many incredible people to have shared these wonderful experiences with.The positive and inspirational people have far outweighed the toxic and negative ones. It's been a fantastic year.I'm looking forward to what 2017 brings!Thank you all. I love you.Jan. 16, 2016Book SigningSaturday, January 16th, 201611:00 am - 3:00 pmChapters, South Keys2210 Bank St,Ottawa, OntarioFeb. 27, 2016Book SigningSaturday, February 27th, 2016Noon - 3:30 pmChapters, South Keys2210 Bank St,Ottawa, OntarioMar. 4th, 2016Book SigningFriday, March 4th, 2016Noon - 1:30 pmProspero, The Book Company128 Bank St,Ottawa, OntarioMar. 12th, 2016Book Signing and Coffee!Saturday, March 12th, 201611:30 am - 3:30 pmSecond CupHazeldean MallMar, 18th, 2016Received a congratulatory certificate from the Mayor congratulating me for my contributions to the literary arts in Ottawa!Mar. 19th, 2016Book SigningSaturday, March 19th, 201611 am - 2 pmColes, Carlingwood Mall2121 Carling Ave. # 23,Ottawa, OntarioApril 2nd, 2016Book SigningSaturday, April 2nd, 201611 am - 2 pmPerfect Books258 Elgin Street,Ottawa, OntarioApril 16th, 2016Book SigningSaturday, April 16th, 20162:00 pm - 4:30 pmOctopus Books116 Third Ave.Ottawa, OntarioMay 28th, 2016Book SigningSaturday, May 7th, 201611:00 am - 1:00 pmSinging Pebble Books206 Main StreetOttawa, OntarioJune 4th, 2016Prose in the ParkSaturday, June 4th, 201611 am - 6 pmParkdale ParkJune 11th, 2016Coles, The Book PeopleBillings Bridge Plaza2269 Riverside DriveOttawa, OntarioSaturday, June 11th, 201611 am - 1 pmJune 15th, 2016Featured on Apt613Write On Ottawa:A Tale of Unearthly Music and Horror(Book Review)June 17th, 2016Radio Interview with Carol Anne Meehanon 1310 NewsThe Carol Anne Meehan ShowJune 21, 2016Invitation to write essay on the implications of the Uncontrolling Love of God posted on Thomas Jay Orrd's wbsite, The Uncontrolling Love of God.July 8th, 2016The Authors' MarketThe Byward MarketOttawa, OntarioFriday, July 8th, 201610 am - 3 pmJuly 13th, 2016CKCU - FM Interviewwith TicThe Wednesday Blend Show8 am - 9:30 am(It starts @ 67:20)July 16th, 2016Chapters, Centrum, Kanata400 Earl Grey DriveSaturday, June 16th, 201611 am - 3 pmJuly 19th, 2016Daytime Ottawa TV AppearanceRogers Cable TV, Channel 22Tuesday, July 19th, 201611 amJuly 21th, 2016CKCU - FM 93.1 Interviewwith Kate HuntLiterary Landscapes6:30 pm - 7:00 pmJuly 26th, 2016CKCU - FM 93.1 Interviewwith Adam CoombsTuesday Special Blend7:30 amJuly 29th, 2016The Authors' MarketThe Byward MarketOttawa, OntarioFriday, July 29th, 201611 am - 3 pmAugust 14th, 2016Parkdale Market Book FairOttawa, OntarioSunday, August 14th, 201610 am - 4 pmAugust 26th, 2016The Authors' MarketThe Byward MarketOttawa, OntarioFriday, August 26th, 201611 am - 3 pmSeptember 17th, 2016CIBC Kanata - CentrumMeet & Greet hosted by CIBC445 Kanata AvenueKanata, OntarioSaturday, Sept. 17th, 201611 am - 3 pmSeptember 24th, 2016The Authors' MarketThe Byward MarketOttawa, OntarioSaturday, September 3rd, 201610 am - 3 pmOctober 8th, 2016The Samhain Craft & Psychic Fair211 Bronson AvenueOttawa, OntarioSaturday, October 8th, 201611:30 am - 4:00 pmNovember 19th, 2016Morning Owl Coffeehouse1047 Canadian Shield Ave.Kanata, OntarioNovember 19th, 201611:00 am - 3:00 pmDecember 10th, 2016The Yule Crafts & Psychic Fair211 Bronson AvenueOttawa, OntarioSaturday,December 10th, 201610:30 am - 4:00 pmDecember 17th, 2016Comet Comics1167 Bank StreetOttawa, OntarioSaturday, December 17th, 201611:00 am - 4:00 pm

Misery!

Local horror authorMichel Weatherallwith local metal band,MiseryThe Brass Monkey!The connection?AtXmas with Misery- tribute to Metallica - Misery did ridiculously awesome Metallica covers. InThe Symbiot-Series, (book 2,The Hunt: Symbiosys' first chapter) Metallica'sCreeping Deathfeatures! (The band's first opening song!)Michel Weatherall& Stu Ellis (lead guitarist) are friends – and no, NOT just BS FB 'friends' – and have worked together in the past!Wanna know more?FollowMisery on FBfor upcoming dates & events.You can meet & greetMichel Weatherall TODAY @ Comet Comicsat the last book signing this year!Bring the coffee – he'll bring the conversation!