Jennie Marsland's Blog, page 6

Folk Friday: Heroes

Looking back at my posts over the last couple of months, I see that I've said very little about McShannon's Heart. I've heard from Bluewood and the word is that a Christmas release should be doable, so I'm expecting edits very soon.

I haven't looked at the story much since submitting it, so I'm looking forward to seeing it with fresh eyes. I love the Yorkshire setting, and of course, Chelle and Martin. Which brings me to a topic dear to my heart: heroes.

So far, I've written four heroes: Trey McShannon, Martin Rainnie, Nathan Munroe and Liam Cochrane. I'll count Liam and Nathan because they are fully formed in my mind, even though their stories aren't finished. I love them all or I couldn't write about them, but could I choose a favourite?

Trey is resourceful and tough, a country boy who would look after and protect his woman come hell or high water. He also has a deep-seated romantic streak . He loves for keeps, and would choose an evening at home with Beth over a night out on the town. He's my ideal cowboy. Nathan, on the other hand, is a born hell-raiser, the type to challenge a woman and keep her on her toes. I find his streak of deviltry irresistible, and the vulnerability underneath it doesn't hurt.

Martin has the soul of an artist in a rough-hewn body. He expresses himself through his music, and only shows his real self to the people closest to him. He's very much like my DH. How could I not love him?

Liam is a quick-tempered, Irish-as-they-come lad who would fight a man for fun and then drink with him afterward. I could probably find him in any Halifax pub on a Saturday night. He's solid and dependable, with a soft spot for anyone down on their luck. He's the kind of man a woman could trust absolutely, an every-day hero.

One of the joys of writing romance is spending time with the men of my dreams. Another is seeing how others respond to them. I've had one reader tell me that she thinks Martin is a very hot hero. Several have told me they prefer Nathan, and for others, Trey is the one. I have to confess that I'm partial to him myself. There's something about a cowboy.

This afternoon, I'm off to an RWA retreat, where my chapter mates and I will eat, drink and talk of 'shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings' – and our fictional heartthrobs. What could be more fun? For me, nothing. People of blogland, what qualities do you look for in a romantic hero?

I'll leave you with this Friday's tune, Willie Nelson's 'My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys'. So have mine. Enjoy!

Inspiration and Perspiration

Inspiration of the Poet, Nicolas Poussin. Oil on Canvas, The Louvre

I've always found this time of year inspiring. I've spent a large part of my life as either a student or a teacher, so fall has always been the real start of a new year for me. January? Forget January. Nothing starts in January except diets and Christmas bill payments.

I'm feeling inspired creatively and personally these days. I'm dabbling in writing poetry for the first time in years, I'm getting to the fun stuff in Shattered, and I've made a resolution to get myself into better physical shape over the next few months. OK, I'll put a number on it – I want to lose twenty pounds by March Break.

I know how to do it. I've done it before. Being hypothyroid as well as vertically challenged, weight control is a life-long issue for me. It doesn't help that all the things I love to do most – writing, reading, painting, playing guitar, cooking and eating – are either sedentary or fattening. I've accepted the fact that for me, exercise will always be something of a chore. Not an unpleasant chore, but a chore nonetheless.

About four years ago, it started to hit home that the big 50 was edging ever closer, and I didn't like what I saw ahead for my health or my self-esteem. I looked in the mirror, said 'enough' and joined Curves. It worked. I built muscle, cut back drastically on sugar and starches, and watched the weight melt off. Six months took me from a size 14 to a size 6.

For two years I kept working out and kept the pounds at bay. Then my teaching job ended and I spent a year on the road selling insurance. Hours sitting in the car every day, stopping for junk food on top of the lunch I took with me, getting home at eight or nine o'clock at night, eating supper and falling into bed. When I wasn't working I was writing. That year was plain hell on my body. Relentlessly the weight crept back.

For me, exercise has to be a no-brainer, a part of my routine. No fixed routine, no workouts. Now I'm teaching again, with a regular schedule, and it's time to get back on track. This will be my third three-workout week, and I'm seeing the results already.

One of the things I appreciate about circuit training is that I don't have to think. I change machines on cue, my muscles working hard while my mind is elsewhere. Not bad for the creative juices. Neither is having more energy and focus.
I'm taking it slower this time. Instead of dieting, I'm focusing on the exercise and trying to eat sensibly and sustainably. After all, for me, there is no life worth living without chocolate and cheesecake, or even better, chocolate cheesecake. All things in moderation, including moderation itself. I've lost five pounds and a size so far, so I'm moving in the right direction. I'll update my progress here as part of Folk Friday, starting next week.

Inspiration? Right now I've got it.

Folk Friday and Poetry

'Musikgesselschaft, Petworth', oil on canvas, by Joseph Mallord William Turner

Here it is, Friday again. Today was one of those days when I had to wonder why I'm being paid for what I do. I took our ESL student to the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic, then we had a scrumptious lunch at Le Mercato. I can't think of a better way to spend a work day.

It's been a busy week. Last night I went to an open-mike session with a friend of mine at Local Jo, a cosy coffee house here in Halifax. This session takes place on the last Thursday of each month, and if you're in town and feel like hearing a widely diverse selection of fiction, poetry and spoken word performance, I'd recommend it. Shauntay Grant, Halifax's poet laureate, was among the performers and she is amazing. I couldn't find a sharable video, but here's the link to her myspace page, where you can hear her perform.

Shauntay Grant


The evening inspired me to write a poem for the first time in years. A little background: My husband, a professional-level musician, inherited his talent from his mother, who taught piano into her eighties. When she passed away two years ago we inherited her piano, and playing it has been great therapy for him. In music, 'Father Charles goes down, ends battle' is a memory crutch for learning sharp key signatures and the reverse works for flats.

Chopin falls soft on the ear,

The remembered cadence of childhood

Lessons learned. Father Charles goes down, ends battle.

Battle ends, down goes Charles' father.

Through worn ivory keys

Mother comes to you

Speaking words of wisdom. Let it be.

The Plot Thickens

I finished Chapter 8 of Shattered last night. It's leading me to the middle of the story, where all the plot threads start to interweave. Now I have to decide just how that's going to happen – or rather, being a pantser, I have to sit at the keyboard and see how it all plays out.

One of the reasons being a pantser creates angst for me is that I'm just not a linear thinker. The past, present and future of my characters don't always come to me in the right order. I come up with an idea, and it sprouts offshoots that lead me in a dozen different directions. I want to follow them all, even though I know most of them will come to dead end. Of course all those extra words can still be useful, but sometimes I wish I didn't write quite so many of them.

Then there's those secondary characters. I fell in love with Nathan Munroe, Trey's nemesis in McShannon's Chance, and now I'm smitten with Nolan, Liam's older brother in Shattered. That doesn't mean I love Liam any less as a hero, but Nolan's backstory keeps cluttering up my mind. He's a harbour pilot, once a merchant seaman with the proverbial girl in every port. He makes me think of Stan Rogers' song, Lockkeeper:

'She wears bougainvillea blossoms/ You pluck them from her hair and toss them to the tide/ Sweep her in your arms and carry her inside/ Her sighs catch on your shoulder, her moonlit eyes grow warm and wiser through her tears/ And I say 'how can you stand to leave her for a year?"

But Nolan, unlike the sailor in the song, chose to settle down with his Annie, a down-to-earth farm girl from outside Truro. How did they meet? Was she working or visiting friends in Halifax when Nolan came home from one of his voyages, perhaps with his heart broken by a woman like the 'tropic maid' in Lockkeeper? Or did he go to sea in the first place to nurse a broken heart?

Another prequel in the making? Perhaps, but right now Nolan is a distraction. Maybe if I politely ask him to go away...but not too far away...

I refuse to think of my convoluted way of thinking as bad for my writing. After all, I've read and loved many novels where several plotlines are interwoven and secondary characters are fully developed. I'm thinking of Melanie Wilkes and Gerald and Ellen O'Hara in Gone With The Wind. It's arguable that the story would have been tighter if we'd been told a lot less about Scarlett's parents and Ashley's wife, but would it have been as rich? No. Judith James' masterfully plotted historicals – her latest, A Libertine's Kiss, is amazing – come to mind as well. I love a full-figured plot.

But I'm trying to create a good, believable romantic arc for Liam and Alice and tell their story in under 80000 words, without writing 160000. The middle is always the toughest part of a book for me, so perhaps my distractibility is really avoidance behaviour. Writers of blogland, do any of you do this to yourselves?
And does anyone have any good research material on what it was like to be a merchant seaman at the turn of the last century, in Nolan's time?

I know, I know. Liam and Alice first.

Fall Flavours

Everywhere I look in blogland this week, I see food. As a confirmed glutton, I love this time of year. Roasted veggies, comforting casseroles, hearty stews - yum! Speaking of which, there are some great recipes posted right now on one of my favorite blogs, Petticoats and Pistols.

In the spirit of the season, I'm posting a favorite family recipe for apple pie. For me, its the apples and the touch of brown sugar that makes this one special. Enjoy!

Gravenstein Apple Pie

Gravenstein apples (see photo above)are an old variety that, I discovered today online, came from Denmark. In Canada, they are grown in Nova Scotia's Annapolis Valley and, as far as I know, almost nowhere else.

Tart and flavorful with mottled red and yellow skin, they are delicious straight off the tree, but unfortunately don't store well. They are a seasonal delight and the best pie apples on the planet. This recipe brings back memories of fall days in windy orchards in "The Valley", as it's known here. When my mother calls herself a valley girl, she isn't talking SoCal.

Pastry: Stir 1 tsp salt into 2 cups of flour. Cut in 1 cup cold vegetable shortening until the texture is coarse and crumbly. Do not overmix. I use my grandmother's old pastry bowl - I think it knows the recipe by heart.

Stir together 1 egg, 5 or 6 tbsp ice cold water and 1 tbsp white vinegar. Add to dry mixture, stir to form dough. When it comes together turn out on a floured surface and knead two or three times, just until workable. Pastry making is a metaphor for life - you get better at it with practice, and you spoil it by trying too hard,
Wrap and chill for 30 - 60 min. Makes enough for two 9-inch double-crust pies or one larger pie and a turnover.

Filling: for one generous ten-inch pie, peel and slice 8 or 9 fresh Gravenstein apples. Sprinkle with 1 tbsp lemon juice. Combine 1/2 cup flour, 1 tsp cinnamon, 1/3 cup brown sugar, and about 3/4 cup white sugar (taste apples and adjust as needed.) Pour over apples and mix.

Assemble pie and bake at 425 for 15 min, then reduce temp to 350 and bake for another 45-60 min or until apples are tender. Serve with sharp aged cheddar cheese.

Folk Friday and a lesson in canine grammar

Friday again!

This week has flown by with lightning speed. We have very few students in our ESL program right now, so I've been busy doing the prep work I didn't have time to do before the term started. That includes dusting off the grammar lessons I've had packed away since I took my CELTA course in the summer of 2009.

I'm having a wonderful time (not!) with verb tenses. I think of it in dogspeak.

Chance woofs. Present simple
Chance is woofing. Present continuous
Chance has woofed. Pre...

Priming the Pump: Writing Exercises

I don't know a writer who doesn't experience times when the ideas flow freely, and times when the creative juices dry up. We all need a kitbag full of strategies to prime the pump.

From writing groups, workshops, and other sources, I've come across a few good quick writing exercises here and there. I like to use them when I'm feeling stale and uncreative, when I need to solve a problem with a manuscript, or sometimes just for fun. Here are a few of my favourites:

1. Free writing. I think every...

Folk Friday #8

I've been off track with Folk Friday lately, what with vacation followed by work craziness and family responsibilities, but it's time to get back into a routine now. I'm looking forward to a busy fall, teaching ESL full time and working on my goal of having the rough draft of Shattered finished by March Break. I'll also be putting on a set of four workshops at Northwood, a local seniors' centre. The workshops have a theme of 'passion in our lives', and I'll be using McShannon's Chance as a sp...

Counting my Blessings

These two cardinals are my father's work. He loves to carve, mostly birds and other expressions of his love for the outdoors.

I'm counting my blessings tonight. On Tuesday, Dad underwent surgery for a gastrointestinal tumor. I haven't said much about it, mostly because my father is a private person and I respect that, but now that it's over and he's expecting a full recovery, I need to express my gratitude.

Like most girls, I grew up thinking of my father as my hero, always there and always str...

A Few Days Out of Time

Last week, we got unexpected news that my DH's sister had bought a cottage on Grand Manan, a jewel of an island in the Bay of Fundy, off the coast of New Brunswick. The house needed work, so we piled Chance and Echo in the car and headed off for what turned out to be a magical few days.

Grand Manan is the kind of place where people don't wear watches. Things happen in their own time. The closest thing to a spectator sport is watching the Cape Islanders chug out into the bay in the morning and ...