Tarek Hussein's Blog

A NEW SEASON BY TERRY FALLIS

After reading it a few weeks ago, I must admit that I needed some time to write about ’s new novel, “A New Season,” after reading it a few weeks ago. This is probably because Terry struck several chords in this book that personally resonate with me. In exploring aging, loss, family, friendship, and love, Terry used his unique talent of weaving different apparently unrelated themes into a beautiful, harmonized fabric that carries the story he wants to tell.

Being a male in his mid-fifties, I closely relate to Jack McMaster. I, too, feel like I am in my twenties, but the list of things that remind me of my biological age keeps growing. I also lost my mom to COVID last year, and similar to Jack, I was 10,000 kilometres away and couldn't see her or even talk to her in her last few days as she was on oxygen and then on a ventilator. Like Annie, my mom went very quickly, and it was probably the best for her but the hardest for everyone close to her. Jack's grief resulted in leaning on his son, which transformed their relationship, something I experienced with my brother after our mom's passing.

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This was really interesting as Terry kept beautifully exploring the warmth of male friendship further through the special bond between Jack and his close-knit circle within his ball hockey league. With their support, Jack would more easily negotiate the difficulties of loss and the resulting changes in his life. Against the cultural richness of Egypt, where I come from, where male friendships are a common and celebrated aspect of social life, "A New Season" reflects on the everlasting realities of companionship, loyalty, and the reassuring solidity of enduring friendships, which showcase, the heart and resilience that male friendships provide amid the swirling tides of life's uncertainties; a theme rarely talked about in Canada and Western culture in general.

Terry is as tender and humorous as always, and his sentimental style is magnified by the presence of Paris in the story. Love surely is in the air whenever the city of lights is mentioned. He never "departure" from his own style, yet in this story, Terry dives deep inside each of us, making the narrator, Jack McMaster, feel like our inner voice.

This makes "A New Season" a touching and relatable read for anyone who values the profound impact of friendship in navigating life's ups and downs.

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On Co-Writing

Co-writing can be rewarding as it can bring fresh perspectives and ideas to the story, lead to more profound character development, and potentially result in a more cohesive and well-rounded final product. It can also be a challenging experience, particularly when one collaborator is presumably less experienced than the other.

As a writer with less experience, you may feel unsure of your creative abilities or reluctant to offer your opinions. It can be hard to balance contributing to the project and deferring to your co-writers expertise. Additionally, you may feel the pressure to prove yourself, to show that you belong in the same creative space as your more experienced collaborator.

In my own experience, collaborating with songwriters in my early days was always fun and enticing to the degree of exploding all creativity. Yet, I found it daunting to work with writers, whether fiction or non-fiction, especially those who are more experienced than me in certain areas. I sometimes felt that my lack of experience, in their mind, made me unpredictable and inconsistent. I worried that my co-writer might see me as less of an equal partner or doubt my ability to master the craft of writing on my own. These doubts and insecurities made asserting myself or sharing my ideas challenging.

However, I have come to realize that focusing on my skills and improving my craft is crucial to gaining the confidence to collaborate effectively. Instead of feeling confined to the role of a "storyteller," I can aspire to be a master crafter, someone who can contribute unique and valuable ideas to the project. I can leverage my creative strengths while also being open to learning from my more experienced collaborator.

To achieve this balance, communication is key. Establishing a clear communication protocol early on is so important, including how and when to share work, provide feedback, and resolve disagreements. When sharing my ideas, I also have to consider that people are more apt to understand me when communicating with them clearly and directly. Therefore, my message would benefit by being more assertive and confident. This approach could facilitate the exchange of ideas and a better understanding of each other's vision. It is also a step towards continually refining the work, which both parties can benefit from.

Co-writing is essential for creative writers, allowing them to expand their storytelling and explore different styles and genres. Overall, the experience of co-writing fiction can be enriching, but it requires strong communication, trust, and collaboration skills. Despite any bumps along the way, the result may be a story that reflects the unique contributions of both writers in a way that is greater than its parts.

At the Frontline!

Am I really going to strip down here in the garage? In March, at night?

I shed my clothes and toss them in the designated basket. It's -3C outside, and I'm stark naked. My skin tingles as I'm hit with the cold. The thought makes me shiver. But this feels nothing when it comes to the safety of my family.

Then the key got stuck in the lock again! Just my luck. I cursed myself for not getting it fixed earlier. Finally, I made it inside.

It was the longest day at the pharmacy as we started vaccinating people against the virus. I'm exhausted, but I keep pushing through. People are scared and desperate, coming from hours away for a shot. They're looking to me for hope, but it's hard to find any myself. It was hard to keep up the cheerful facade all day, especially when wearing a mask that made it hard to breathe. But it was worth it, knowing that I was making a difference in people's lives.

As I stepped into the shower, I peeled off my mask and felt my skin crack and itch. For a moment, I felt like a superhero, fighting against the virus and doing my part to protect others. But then a nagging doubt crept in. With all the doubters and angry, the misinformed and taking-it-for-granted, would anyone remember the sacrifices we were all making? Would they appreciate the effort and hard work that went into keeping people safe?

It was a lonely fight, but one that had to be fought. I felt a sense of pride and purpose. It is my choice, and it is worth it. The fight against the virus was far from over, but I had done my part for now.

I sank into the hot water, hoping that the tension and stress of the day would melt away. Yet the hunger in my stomach reminded me that there was still more work to be done!

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On loss and hope

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As the train made its way along the lake shore, the chilly winter breeze carried the sound of its whistle far and wide. This was the only sign of life, while everything else was frozen. The calm, still, icy surface of the water, the barren land with no trace of sand and the trees with naked branches looked as if they all surrendered their life to the deadly cold winter.

I couldn't help but feel the weight of my grief. It had been a year since she had passed, yet the pain still felt fresh. The thought that I couldn't be with her in her final moments haunted me daily. Despite my efforts to save countless lives, I couldn't save hers.

The rhythmic chugging of the wheels crunching the snow under the train filled my head with surreal images of pictures of her struggling to breathe on a machine and the helplessness I felt all over again.

It was ironic that realize that despite everything I know, do, and have, I can't keep my loved ones safe from the harsh realities of life. It was brutally hard not being able to say goodbye to the woman who had been there for me all my life. The last time I heard her voice, though she couldn't speak much, was when she grabbed the phone from her sister to tell me she was okay before her illness overtook her. I sent her daily videos after that call, but she only saw the first one. It cheered her up, I was told, but she never had the chance to see the other ones I recorded after, and I never had the chance to tell her how much I loved her and what she meant to me.

Death is so strange! Her soul was freed from her ailing body that couldn't accommodate her larger-than-life presence. Despite the devastating pain of my loss, I found solace in remembering her kindness, laughter, and love, mainly how she cooked my favourite meals and showed her love and care through food. I know she would want me to continue making a difference in people's lives, just as she had done in hers. I am sure she's in a much better and happy place.

When the train approached the big city, the cold and wind began to feel insignificant in the face of the towering skyscrapers on the horizon. I took a deep breath, gathered my strength and with a renewed sense of purpose and hope, stepped off the train and whispered to myself, "Good morning, Mom. I miss you so much!"

بينما كان القطار يشق طريقه على طول شواطئ البحيرة، حمل هواء الشتاء البارد صوت صفارته بعيدًا وواسعًا. كانت هذه هي العلامة الوحيدة للحياة، بينما تجمد كل شيء آخر. السطح مغطي بالجليد، والأرض قاحلة والأشجار ذات الأغصان العارية بدت جميعا وكأنها سلمت حياتها لشتاء بارد قاتل.

لم أستطع إلا أن أشعر بثقل احزاني. لقد مر اليوم عام على رحيلها، ومع ذلك لا يزال الألم متجددًا. كان التفكير في أنني لا أستطيع أن أكون معها في لحظاتها الأخيرة يطاردني يوميًا. على الرغم من جهودي لإنقاذ حياة عدد لا يحصى من الأرواح، لم أستطع إنقاذ حياتها.

ملأ صوت صرير العجلات الذي يكسر الثلج تحت القطار رأسي بصور سريالية لها وهي تكافح من أجل التنفس اليا وإذا بالعجز يملاني من جديد.

كان من المفارقات أن أدرك أنه على الرغم من كل ما أعرفه وأفعله وأمتلكه، لا يمكنني الحفاظ على من أحب في مأمن من قسوة الحياة. كان من الصعب جدًا ألا أكون قادرًا على توديع المرأة التي كانت موجودة من أجلي طوال حياتي. آخر مرة سمعت فيها صوتها، رغم أنها لم تستطع التحدث كثيرًا، كانت عندما اختطفت الهاتف من أختها لتخبرني أنها بخير قبل أن يتملك منها المرض. كنت أرسل لها مقاطع فيديو يومية بعد تلك المكالمة، لكنها شاهدت الفيديو الأول فقط والذي قيل لي إنه أسعدها، لكن لم تتح لها الفرصة أبدًا لرؤية الآخرين الذين سجلتهم بعد ذلك، ولم تتح لي الفرصة أبدًا لإخبارها كم أحببتها وماذا عنته بالنسبة لي.

غريب امر الموت! فقد حرر روحها من جسدها المريض الذي لم يعد يستطع استيعاب وجودها الكبر من حياتها. وعلى الرغم من خسارتي الفادحة المؤلمة، إلا أنني وجدت العزاء في تذكر لطفها وضحكها وحبها، خاصة كيف كانت تطهو لي وجباتي المفضلة بكل حب واهتمام. أعلم أنها تريدني أن أستمر في إحداث فرق في حياة الناس، تمامًا كما فعلت هي في حياتها وأنا متأكد من أنها في مكان أفضل واسعد.

عندما اقترب القطار من المدينة الكبيرة، بدأ البرد والرياح يتضالان في وجه ناطحات السحاب الشاهقة في الأفق. أخذت نفساً عميقاً واستجمعت قوتي وبإحساس متجدد بالأمل، ترجلت من القطار وهامسا لنفسي: "صباح الخير يا أمي. كم أفتقدك كثيراً!"

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