S.A. Softley's Blog, page 2

Paris | France | 2016

Baggage, Beer and Jet Lag

To say that the trip did not begin perfectly is a bit of an understatement.

I'm not the type to write off a trip (or even a day) due to unexpected challenges or things going wrong. To me, any moment travelling is a moment well spent, even if things aren't going exactly as I might want them to go. It's all part of the adventure. I find that when things don't go as planned, the stories that emerge are more interesting and often lead to better experiences than what was initially intended anyway. I didn't write this day off either, but it has to be said:

Things did not go as planned.

Despite our only meal being a cold, greasy batch of Kelsey's famine-era potato skins sprinkled ever so sparingly with cheese and despite my budding friendship with the duck-faced in-flight photography enthusiasts, things were off to a fine enough start. There was nothing that couldn't be laughed off.

We emerged out of the plane onto the tarmac of Charles de Gaulle Airport on a day that was hot and humid. After hours in the dry, cold, air-conditioned plane, it was a welcome change, though I was feeling that unique and indescribable sort of unclean that only ever seems to arise after air travel. 

We got out of the airport without incident and made our way onto the RER into central Paris.

As soon as I lifted our luggage down one flight of stairs to the train platform, I knew that we'd made a terrible mistake. 

My wife and I typically pack fairly light. We aren't the world's most efficient or spartan packers, but we certainly don't bring the kitchen sink, like others I have seen. At this point, after years of touring and globe-trotting we're pretty seasoned travellers. Somehow or other, despite our experience, we did not pack thoughtfully enough this time.

This actually looks kind of neato...

I have one friend who, it seems, will wake up in the morning, decide it might be cool to see the jungles of Borneo and get on a plane later that day with nothing but what can be carried in the pocket of his corderoys.

I have other friends who empty their entire wardrobes and bathrooms, along with a 40" TV for any down-time, into a rolling behemoth that requires two people and a two-stroke engine to transport.

On a spectrum ranging from the philosophy of KonMari on one end to post-apocalyptic Fallout 4 level hoarding on the other, my wife and I sit at what I will arbitrarily dub a three: we like our stuff, but we're ok going without it.

This time we packed anything but light.

I'll make a few pitiful excuses for this and then we'll move on.

We were going for a month and worried about having enough clean clothing to keep us going?We wanted to really experience France and so brought clothing for all contingencies including hiking, swimming, cold, rain, and going out to nicer establishments? This meant that in addition to our usual travel gear, we also wanted decent hiking shoes, decent jackets, one or two nice suits and a pair of dress shoes for me, and a... few... pairs of shoes and a nice dress or two for Aleks. We thought it might be convenient to pack one large (and very heavy) suitcase for the two of us supplemented with a smaller bag or backpack each rather than split our stuff up between two suitcases?We mistakenly thought that since two-thirds of the trip would be a road trip and we'd have a car, it wouldn't be that big a deal to carry the suitcase around once in a while when we changed locations?

France, in general, but Paris in particular is not known for wheelchair accessibility. Thus, it is also not very friendly to giant mountainous rolling luggage. The cabs, as in every European and North American city, require that you make a sizeable downpayment on the vehicle in exchange for a short ride. We hadn't discovered Uber yet (Calgary was one of the last places in the civilized world not to allow Uber to operate) - more on that in a later story.

I sure as hell did not intend to drive in Paris. Anyone who has ever spent five minutes wandering the city knows that Parisians care about the state of their quarter panels and bumpers about as much as they care about following such mundane traffic rules as not driving a motorbike on a sidewalk when fifty some-odd pedestrians are using it, or stopping for red lights and going for green ones. One way streets are treated as a recommendation at best; a challenge at worst. They literally ram other parked cars aside if a parallel parking space is not the right size. Without a word of a lie I saw this occur nearly every day on our wanders through the city.

I'm convinced that the French car rental companies have developed a lego-like assembly system for damaged bodywork so that they can provide a pristine and undamaged car on demand for unsuspecting tourists and then charge a fortune for repairs when the car is inevitably dented and scraped by other motorists within seconds of driving off the lot. I'm fairly sure that the rental companies also hire thugs to track down vehicles and beat them with wine bottles and stale rock-hard baguettes when the renter leaves them unattended. Finally, I'm convinced that the rental companies have bought up the nearby gas stations to ensure that renters seeking to return their cars with a full tank of gas (and so avoid the 300% refuelling markup) are unable to fill up within 20 km of the airport between the hours of 4:00 p.m. and 11:00 a.m. but this, too, is a story for another day.

In any case, one of the great joys of Paris is being a pedestrian. It's dangerous; sometimes life threatening, but it is through wandering the streets that a person really falls in love with the city. This is what we intended to do. We were going to walk everywhere and use the metro system which, when unburdened, is fantastic. We, however, were decidedly burdened. 

As we carted this oversized suitcase around the Paris Metro, it quickly became apparent that the rollers were not going to be much help.

The Paris metro system operates lines on a multitude of levels below ground and even the simplest of routes usually require several, many, or a shit-ton of stairs.

I'm usually a pretty big stair proponent. I get pretty annoyed at seeing the abundance of unnecessary escalators around North America.

I also roll my eyes when I see a big line-up for an elevator when the staircase is right next to it and there's only a story or two to climb.

In fact, for the remainder of the trip, once things were settled, I loved our daily commutes around the city and became very proficient at navigating the network of stairs, trains and tunnels, all the while getting a vigorous and enjoyable cardio workout.

That said, on our first day, after dragging a fifty pound suitcase (I know it was that much because we had to move some things to the backpacks in order to get down to the airline's weight limit) up and down hundreds of flights of stairs (I can't guarantee that this number is accurate) over the course of a couple hours as we navigated the Metro, I was about done with stair-climbing for a bit.

We weren't even close to done.

My parents had decided to join us for the first half of the trip and throughout the day as we worked our way in toward the apartment she'd rented, my mom had been trying frantically to get ahold of the renter to no avail. 

Fortunately, a friend of my dad's had recently moved to Paris and was going to meet us for a drink while we figured out our lodging. 

That drink, though sorely needed, was going to have to wait.

Our booking, which had been reserved through one of AirBnB's competitors (which shall remain nameless as I don't know if this service is typical of them or a one-off), had indeed been cancelled. We'd finally managed to get in touch with the host who didn't really have an explanation for cancelling our accommodations an hour after we were supposed to check in, except that he "did not zink ze landlord would allow eet anymore."

So, after two hours at YYC, thirteen hours on the plane, another hour getting sorted at CDG, and having spent the last hour or two hauling way too much luggage (our own fault, admittedly) around the Paris Metro, we were now homeless for our week-long stay in Paris and I desperately needed that beer and a shower, in that order for my sake, in the reverse order for the sake of those around me.

Aleks and I started frantically clicking through our go-to site, AirBnB, for alternate accommodations while my mom tried to get in touch with the company through which she had booked our previous lodging. 

Side note: though I'd be happy to talk sponsorship with AirBnB - are you out there AirBnB? - I am not currently being sponsored by them. I just like them. A lot.

My dad's friend, our saviour, very kindly started calling her own friends to see if anyone had space to take in a family of sweaty couch-surfers from Canada.

After a few phone calls, she happily reported that we might be in luck. A friend of hers regularly rented out to AirBnB anyway and, if she could get in touch with him, he might be willing to let us stay at his place for a couple of days while we got our feet under us.

After an hour or so of sorting things out, evening was approaching and a plan was beginning to coalesce. 

Dad's friend's friend generously offered to let us stay at his place for a couple of days and even decided to stay elsewhere so that we'd have the place to ourselves, despite our protests at so thoroughly putting him out. He, apparently, would hear none of it, and turned down all talk of compensation. We, of course, left him a little gift to show our appreciation.

Moral side note: And that is why when you travel you should always be kind, courteous and eager to make friends and acquaintances. No matter what's going on around you, no matter how stressful the situation, no matter how heavy your bag is or how desperately you need a cold beer and a hot shower, on a truly exciting trip you often find yourself relying on the kindness of strangers. 

And so, with dad's friend guiding us, we set out once again across Paris, dragging our worldly possessions along the worn cobblestone streets while trying not to badly injure the other pedestrians as we pushed way too much stuff through sidewalks that were far too narrow and crowded for tourists like us.

We arrived at our new place and dad's friend let us into a beautiful flat that had a perfect amount of space (meaning a lot of very separate space) for my parents and Aleks and I.

Another note on the luggage situation: As it turns out, when/if they do add elevators to buildings in Paris, they look like this:

Our suitcase did not fit into the elevator when accompanied by a person and I simply was not up to the task of hauling it up 4 stories of winding staircase, no matter how good it might be for my health and physique. We had to push the button and duck out of the way of the closing (and somewhat guillotine looking) wrought iron gates that kept passengers from toppling out of the smallest elevator in the world. We then had to have someone ready at the top to retrieve the suitcases one at a time once they arrived.

When we'd finally got everything up to the flat, it was time for that drink.

Just below our apartment we found a perfect little pub called Falstaff's and immediately, enthusiastically and with satisfaction such as I have rarely felt, ordered drinks. (We of course bought a drink for dad's friend after all the help she provided)

Gulden Draak Beer - Chosen mostly because the tap was super cool.

And so it was that this thing of beauty, to this day one of the most satisfying drinks I've ever had, wrapped up our first day in Paris. We were settled in and ready to go. No one had chucked a wine bottle at us, we had a bed, a roof, a door that closed and locked and we were now very well acquainted with the transportation system.

The moral of the story: It's only as bad as you let it be. Make friends. Be nice. Get out and walk more. For the love of all things good in this world, don't overpack.

YYC-CDG | 2016

Home improvements, Sleepless nights and sleepless flights

There's nothing quite like the feeling of starting out a new trip. I can never sleep properly for a day or two before hand as my imagination kicks into overdrive and my impatience to get going makes it tough to sit still.

Waiting for this trip was worse than usual for several reasons: 

School (meaning work) had just let out, so I hadn't quite wound down from all the year end activities, meetings and work of packing up my classroom.

It was also unusually hot and humid late into the night, making it tough to get comfortable.

Finally, we'd decided to dismantle our house, ripping out the floor and a pointless wall to get a little more out of our limited square footage.

Less than half the house was liveable and the little guest room upstairs had become our living room. The incredible amount of drywall dust and mustiness from the splintered thirty-year-old plywood of the exposed subfloor made it tough going for someone with more than his fair share of allergies. My allergies weren't helped by the fact that we have a Siberian husky who insists on exploding like a dandelion whenever the whether gets hot.

I occupied myself with packing, sitting on the deck and taking the dog for walks. I may also have played more than a little of one my favourite Xbox 360 games, "The Saboteur," which takes place in Second World War Paris during the French Resistance, to get myself in the mood for the inevitable parkour, rally racing, and burlesque viewing I'd be doing in France.

I'd been to Paris before, but that was before I had a big person job and could afford to do... well, really anything.

Flashback to 2008

On our previous trip - and I must stress that this story is absolutely true - Aleks and I had stayed in a lovely boutique hotel just up the street from where an angry drunk man sat all day shouting things and throwing empty wine bottles at passersby.

After one train ride that required us to duck out of the way of a fist fight between two gentlemen over a baggie of what I can only assume was icing sugar and a second train ride during which a slumped-over man in the seat across from us roasted some sort of syrup over a bent spoon, it was clear that we were in the wrong part of town. 

We were glad to get to the relative 'safety' of our hotel room at night, although I do mean the word 'safety' in the relative sense.

On the way up to our room, my foot (and I am not a heavy man by any means) went right through the rotten stair where water had collected (and likely had pooled for centuries) outside the door to the only working shower in the building. 

Upon arriving at our room we discovered that neither the door handle lock nor the deadbolt actually functioned, largely because the door was no longer (and probably never had been) square with the doorframe and could not be completely closed.

And so we piled our luggage against the door and settled in under the hard light of the single, bare, and gently swinging lightbulb that hung from a length of fraying wire wrapped loosely over a beam in the centre of the room.

Exhausted, somewhat nervous about the possibility of theft, and more than a little disappointed about the lack of charm and romance of the accommodations on our first significant trip away together as a couple, I flopped myself down on the bed which turned out to be a boxspring with no mattress. The box spring had been slapped down unceremoniously on the cracked tile floor and covered in musty threadbare sheets and a sixty-year-old quilt.

I shouldn't complain too much, I suppose. The trip had its moments and we got some good laughs and great stories out of it.

I feel that trips like that one, when you're on a nail-biter of a budget and things that can go wrong are going very wrong, are a rite of passage. You need to have one of those every now and then. We'd had one then. We didn't want one now.

Back to 2016

But this trip was not going to be like that trip. We had jobs now - real jobs - and we'd managed to scrape together a little money. This trip would have the right sort of adventure! Equal parts excitement and comfort along with the financial security to actually order a drink at a cafe; perhaps even two.

And so at last, after a couple of sleepless nights, we stashed our suitcases in the trunk and headed off to the airport.

The airport, as airports so often are, was entirely uninteresting. I have nothing more to say about it except that lunch proved to me that it is not without good reason that the Kelsey's Restaurant chain has, as far as I'm aware, gone out of business everywhere in the world except the Calgary International Airport, and they seem to be clinging tenuously and inexplicably to that last thread of life as well.

A few highlights from the yelp reviews: "This place is kinda awful." "Just terrible." "Dreary." "I have nobody but myself to blame [for eating here]."

The flight was largely uneventful except for an exceptional view of multiple sunrises over Greenland. It was just after the longest day of the year and so the sun never fully set as we flew over the fjords and glaciers, but instead rose and fell in a constant fiery blaze that shone across the sheets of cloud and ice and snow.

I also watched Batman vs. Superman. It was only marginally less disappointing than our lunch at Kelsey's Restaurant.

At first, I was thrilled to have lucked out, receiving a free upgrade to a seat in an emergency exit row with extra leg room and nothing but a bulkhead in front of me.

[image error]

This rare luxury became old after some young gentlemen of the intimate-hygiene-product-disposal sort, who might have boarded the wrong flight to Las Vegas or New Jersey, decided that they had to get the perfect #selfie for #eurotrip2016 with the view in the background, despite not actually having window seats. 

At first when they asked, I was perfectly happy to allow them a quick shot out the window by the emergency exit, I just hadn't counted on the fact that there were six or seven of them in all, each equally enthusiastic about the photo-op and each equally meticulous in their execution of amateur self-portrait photography.

I'd never before appreciated just how difficult it is to get the flat brim of your Raptors hat to sit at just the right angle to compliment your duck-face whilst still allowing at least a sliver of the view from the 30 x 20 centimetre window to remain visible in your picture. It is truly an art form.

Call it Stockholm syndrome, but after many gigabytes of photos, I was actually begrudgingly impressed by their limb contortions and even a little amused by their even more remarkable facial contortions. They'd grown on me. Besides, none of it could dampen my spirits.

We were going on an adventure!

Part II -  Paris | France | 2016

Writers: Why You Shouldn't Listen to Others

(And Why You Shouldn't Listen to Me)

I receive an endless feed of articles on my social media accounts that profess to offer advice, tips and information to authors about how to write, edit and sell books.

The titles of the articles often make bold, simple promises, which is why they spread so widely. It's why they appear on my feed. I clicked on a few myself, so more showed up. Sometimes the advice comes from authors who have published and sold far more than I ever will. More often, it comes from authors who have never published.

We're drawn to these articles. I continually find myself clicking links, partly out of a desire to gain perspective from other writers or would-be writers, but also partly out of a hopeful curiosity to see if there really are easy answers. To see if they know something I don't know.

I think that many authors, myself included, are inherently somewhat insecure and for good reason. We put ourselves out there, investing thousands of hours into work that generally doesn't pay a thing. And even though it doesn't pay and even though it has taken that much time and effort, we're still subjected to criticism (sometimes valid, sometimes nit-picky) from people who have never even tried to write something themselves.

Writing is hard. Really really hard. When things are hard, we seek out advice and quick fixes. We look for anything that might make the process a little easier; a little more certain. 

That person has an article! we think. They've obviously had some success. I should figure out how to do whatever they did.

We feel that someone somewhere out there must have an answer.

I have an answer, too. You might not like it. I won't even make you wait for the end of the article. I'll tell you right now and then you can close this page and never return if you like.

Hard work. Damn hard work. Stick to it. Try different things. Write something, make it the best you can and then let it go, move on and write something else. It might sell, it might not. That's it. There's no secret, you just have to do what you already knew you had to do: sit down, focus and write your story.

But don't listen to me. My advice is no good. I don't know any more than you do.

I really don't. And neither does anyone else.

I recently read an article that inspired me to write this post. It was called "5 Things You Need to Cut From Your Writing Right Now!" or something to that effect.

It got me angry.

These universal turn-offs in writing will make your reader dump your book for good,

it boldly claimed, as though there are any such universal turn-offs.

I've read a lot of articles lately warning emphatically against sins such as

passive voice,flowery prose,dialogue descriptors other than the word 'said',the evils of the clichéand why the world might just end in flame if you ever, ever consider telling the reader something rather than showing them.

It's all well and good to make yourself aware of general writing rules and conventions. It's very important, in fact. As a writer, you must learn the accepted techniques of your craft, but only so that you can be intentional when you then go ahead and break those rules.

Do your research. Study the art of writing. Any artist, musician, or professional who wants to be taken seriously has a responsibility to build their technique in this way, but only with the intent to expand beyond the accepted techniques and create something new and unique.

My personal philosophy in life is that every rule has an exception. Everything is bad for you when taken to the extreme, but most things aren't harmful when used in moderation. I typically shun absolutes, and many of these articles deal only in absolutes.

Take, for example, the absolute that there are "universal turn-offs" and that you should never ever commit them. This is inherently flawed. The evidence would suggest that there could be no such thing as a universal turn-off.

Just look at the wide variety of writing styles, genres and reader preferences in any bookstore. Some people love a well crafted mystery or thriller with unexpected twists and turns. Some people don't want anything unexpected at all. Some people love a quick, simple read written in simple language. Some people want a descriptive and poetic piece of writing.

Flowery prose simply and unequivocally is not a universal turn-off, yet it appears on the list. It may universally turn-off the author of the article, but it certainly doesn't apply to all readers; maybe not even the majority of readers.

For every Hemingway, who surgically and relentlessly cuts every ounce of fat, leaving nothing but the raw, bare bones of the story there is an equally successful Tolkien who tells the reader how many petals are on the flower underfoot, what shade those petals are, what their fragrance is and if they have any medicinal properties. After describing whether the rain had left any dew on the flower, Tolkien will then teach the reader about the place of the flower in the lore and mythology of the Elder Days.

Neither is right. Neither is wrong.

For every lover of Tolkien, there is a lover of Hemingway. For every hater of Tolkien, there is someone who absolutely cannot read even one page of Hemingway.

My advice, for what it's worth, is to tell your story. Tell it in the way you know how. Tell it in the way you want to tell it; in the way you think it needs to be told.

You might find readers who hate it and disparage you for writing it.

You will also find readers who love it and enthusiastically seek out more of your work.

The point is that you wrote it. You achieved what most never do.

And as long as you have poured yourself into it; as long as you have worked hard and put in the effort; as long as you have lovingly crafted it and carefully edited it, it will be what it is supposed to be. 

New Year, New Site, New Projects

New year

I'm not typically one to make New Year's resolutions. My personal perspective is that if you want to make a change, set a goal, accomplish or plan something, the time to do it is whenever you have the idea, not in response to an arbitrary date on an arbitrary calendar. 

January 1st is sort of a weird date to set as New Year's Day anyway... I mean, why not choose a celestial event or change of season to mark a new year? An equinox or solstice would make more sense.

This year however, by chance, a whole bunch of changes, projects and announcements I have planned happen to line up with the start of a new year.

New Website

First of all, if you've ever visited my site before, you might notice that things look a little different around here. I've decided to move things over to SquareSpace and I'm loving the new features they provide and the simplicity of designing with them. I'd recommend it if anyone is in the market for a new web design platform!

My music and writing are both linked on this site, but for quick access to my music, head to www.seansoftley.com and for quick access to my writing, head to www.softleybooks.com.

New blog

I've made this "resolution" before, so I can't promise I'll stick with it, but part of the reason I switched to SquareSpace is because I really like their blogging apps and platform. This year, I'm hoping to share more regularly on the blog and make the content a little more personal.

I've always wanted to share travel stories, provide a behind-the-scenes look at my design process when writing, performing or recording and offer up anything I learn along the way for other travellers, writers and musicians. This is where I'm hoping to collect that stuff.

Check back regularly, join my new mailing list, or click the RSS button to receive updates whenever I post to the blog. I'm hoping to post a story, article, thought or update once or twice a month.

new projects

I have a whole bunch of new projects that have either been newly completed or are slated for completion this year.

New Music

I've just completed recording and mastering all 292 tracks of my new "Irish Set Dances" albums. This is a resource for Irish dancers in order to practice set dances and traditional sets for Irish dance competition. Each set dance is recorded with fiddle and guitar at multiple speeds for varied practice. 

These tracks are available on my store, iTunes, Spotify, CDBaby, GooglePlay, Amazon and a host of other music purchasing and streaming sites. Click on the image to find your set dance or set dances now!

 New Novella

I'm nearly finished a new novella which will be coming soon to print and e-readers in 2017.

After her death, a young girl's spirit must come to terms with the loss of her body while finding the power to save a man wrongfully accused of her murder.

Forced to relive the painful events following her death again and again, will she be driven to madness by her desire to bring her murderer to justice? Or will she come to accept her fate and leave behind the last remnants of her mortal life?

Based on a traditional Celtic/Norse folk ballad, The Dreadful Wind and Rain is a supernatural tale filled with mystery, suspense and fantasy. 

 



























 New Novel

I bet you think I forgot that I'm working on not one but two series right now! 

I haven't forgotten and in fact, Wayfaring Stranger, the sequel to Ain't No Grave should be completed in the second half of 2017. The first draft is well on its way despite occasional breaks to work on other projects that interest me. 

In addition, the continuation of The Luthier is also in the planning stages and I'm hoping to release that novel in 2018.

...And more

2016 was a hugely productive year for me and offered a great deal of inspiration through work, travel, music and writing. I'm hoping to carry that momentum and inspiration into the new year and accomplish even more.

I'm looking forward to releasing another Irish dance practice album this spring featuring reels, jigs, slip jigs, hornpipes and treble jigs at competition speeds.

I'm hoping to complete an additional novella, Love in an Elevator, at some point this year

Finally, I'm hoping that I'll have more opportunities to travel more of the world, finding adventures and inspiration near and far.

Thanks for joining in, following along and supporting me in all of these endeavours.

Stay in touch and I'll keep you posted.

Have an excellent 2017!

The Luthier – Available Now!

The Luthier is officially available in all formats! Get your copy today! www.softleybooks.com/the-luthier.html  If you enjoy the book, don’t forget to rate and review on your preferred retailer’s marketplace and on GoodReads! Reviews and ratings help others discover books to enjoy. The Luthier is available in print here: CreateSpace Amazon SoftleyBooks And is available for eReaders here: Kindle […]

The Luthier – Chapter One

“Again, boy,” the old man barked, glaring over the rims of his thick, gold-framed bifocals. The boy who stood in front of the black tin music stand exhaled in frustration, pouting as his heart began to beat more rapidly and his face changed in colour to a furious red. The boy was slim with the […]

Writer’s Digest Critique

A while ago, I submitted Ain’t No Grave for the Writer’s Digest Self-Published E-Book Awards. While I did not win an award, I did receive a very encouraging critique from the adjudicator. Since I haven’t posted anything in a while, I thought I’d share it. Stay tuned for an exciting announcement in the coming days! New […]

Love in an Elevator – Chapters 1 & 2

Thought I’d post chapters 1 and 2 because why the hell not! 1 The elevator made its slow journey upward. The numbers ticked away on the little screen above the elevator door. The digits fluttered by so quickly that it was impossible to read the smaller place values, indicating that despite appearances, the elevator was actually […]

Sample Chapter of Upcoming “Love in an Elevator” #NaNoWriMo2015

I’m hard at work writing for National Novel Writing Month. So far, I’m at about 12,000 words, the goal being about 50,000. As the novel takes shape, it’s clearly becoming a humorous (hopefully!) and satirical science-fiction mystery/romance. The novel has really taken me in its own directions. Only a few elements were planned in advance, […]

NaNoWriMo 2015 | Love in an Elevator: A Novel

This year I’ll be entering the www.NaNoWriMo.org annual writing competition. The goal is to write a novel of 50,000 words or more in the month of November. Some planning can be done in advance, but the idea is that the writing begins November 1st and ends December 1st. It’s going to be a tough one, I’ve also […]