Thea Atkinson's Blog, page 17
October 5, 2011
October 2, 2011
Freebie! a collection of short #chicklit fiction with … shadow.
Ratling Bones is FREE
So. I've been thinking: not everyone knows me, knows my style, knows what kinds of things drive my characters. What is character driven fiction anyway? That's what some of you wonder. Well, I've got a solution.
I give you a free short story collection to give you an idea of what kinds of things drive my plots, my characters, my writing. You get a taste of what I mean by dark or edgy. I imagine most of my audience is female so I selected mostly female driven stories.
Rattling Bones is not horror. It's just…edgy in places fiction. All short stories. Some very short. Two favorites in terms of downloads are in there (God in the Machine and Whitecaps)
It's on Smashwords at the moment, but it'll soon be available from BN as well for free, and following that, I imagine Amazon will change the 99cent price they make me add to free. So if you see it on BN, please do tell Amazon so they can make it free for Kindle lovers too.
Meantime, go pick it up.
Purchase Anomaly from Amazon
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If you liked this post, please do share. If you tweet it with the hashtag #theagimmesome I will enter you into a weekly random draw to win a Thea ebook.
Anomaly is my most reviewed novel and it's available from BN, Smashwords, and Kobo
Plus grab a free short story: God in the Machine from Smashwords just for visiting.
Filed under: Thea bits
October 1, 2011
New short story collection FREE
Thought I'd make a quickie blog post to let you all know I've launched a short story collection and I'm giving it away.
You can find it on Amazon for 99cents or you can visit Smashwords and grab it from there. It will soon be at BN for free too.
the amazon link is: http://www.amazon.com/Rattling-Bones-...
In the meantime, feel free to tell Amazon that it is available for free from Smashwords. All you have to do is scroll down to Product details where it says: Tell us about a lower price.
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/...
September 24, 2011
Gathering secrets like dust bunnies
Last year, I started getting antsy when one of my old school chums reminded me that we were coming upon our 25 year class reunion. Twenty five years, really? Where did the time go? I thought of all the kids with pimples and all the beauty queens and all the just-there teens who came, went, and never really made an impact (read: me) and I wondered where they all ended up. It was a passing mindful meander, because all those who I wanted to keep in touch with, I did. My best friend in school is still the gal I call on a Saturday night for a social event, she's still the one I call when I need an honest, secret shoulder.
Yes. All of those who mattered to me are still in my life.
Except one.
I lost touch of one particular friend shortly after high school. He was my gossip buddy, a lively fella who always had a smile, who always delivered everything he had to say with breathless excitement. Literally. Sometimes, I swear we had to remind him to take a breath. He knew everything. If someone had a secret, he knew it. He was master of secrets and he always made me laugh.
I missed him.
I wondered where he went. What happened to him. I saw him once, just one year after we graduated. He was working in leather somewhere in Toronto and had come home for a week. We all went out pubbing at our one and only late night bar. All I remember from that night is that we talked of purple leather.
Then I never saw him again. There was no internet, no Facebook, no MSN at the time. We lost touch. Once I decided to move onto FaceBook, I did search for him, but he never ever showed.
So I asked the reunion planner through FB chat of course, "Where's Glenn, anyway?"
No one knew.
It would be a month at least, just a week or so before the reunion, before I had my answer.
He had passed away twenty years earlier.
Twenty years.
Twenty.
But the news hit as if he had just died. The rawness, the shock, the grief was still there, it didn't matter that he'd been long gone. I wanted to know why, what happened, and the word was chilling if it was indeed true: that dreaded 'A' word that terrified sexually active people everywhere in the 80s like the horrible 'C' word scares most everyone else now.
I wasn't surprised to realize that my friend who gathered secrets like dust bunnies had one of his own, one he wanted to keep silent until he could get out of town into the anonymity of a big city like Toronto. But that was no secret, not really. There are no secrets in a small town.
Still, I grieved. I grieve. I think about him frequently. He would have died before he was twenty five. I hope he let that secret go before he did. I hope he didn't die in anonymity, and if he did, I hope he knows now that there are people who think of him still. People like me.
It all makes me think about the need for secrecy for people who are other minded than the 'norm'. It makes me wonder about the damage it does to a person's psyche, their spirit, their sense of self when they have to be constantly fighting against the stream of bias and discrimination.
I didn't write Anomaly for Glenn, especially, though I'm sure a little of him is in there.
I wrote it for me, so I could process all the strangeness of what we consider normal and how those of us who do not have to fight a battle that some wage just to get through the day affect others with our own baggage.
Because we all have some damage done somewhere inside that we need to process and assimilate; it doesn't matter that Anomaly has a transgender character, the truth is J is a person first. Just like you and me.
We need to honor each other. Right from the school chums with pimples to the ones who are just there, doing nothing but living their lives quietly anonymous from your scrutiny.
Purchase Anomaly from Amazon
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If you liked this post, please do share. If you tweet it with the hashtag #theagimmesome I will enter you into a weekly random draw to win a Thea ebook.
Anomaly is also available from BN, Smashwords, and Kobo
Plus grab a free short story: God in the Machine from Smashwords just for visiting.
Filed under: Thea bits
September 21, 2011
Bleeding on the page: @jasoncmcintyre guests
Bleeding on the page: Just how much blood is in my new book 'Bled'?
Jason McIntyre
Jason has been called worse than a horror writer
I've been called a horror writer, I've been called worse.
But I have (so far) never been called a writer of gore. Early reviews of my novella, Bled, have had a resoundingly positive vibe, but so many readers — particularly women — wanted to know, "Just how much blood is in this thing?"
Given the title and the cover art, and my history for trying new things with the stories I'm telling, I suppose it's a reasonable question. After all, if you're squeamish about that kind of thing, then you might like to know before you invest a couple hours reading a novella called Bled. Is this thing gonna make you queazy?
Bled takes place in Dovetail Cove, the same island town where my novella from last year took place, but two years later in the timeline, 1974. That book was called Shed (sensing any vowel-chime here?) and while there was an actual shed in the story, it wasn't really about that. It was about a lot of things, primarily about one's ability to shed their past, shed the shackles of an outrageous fortune, etcetera, etcetera.
So I'll say this about Bled. There's at least a bit of the red stuff within the actual story. Is it the central reason for the name of the book? Not by a long shot.
Hope you give it a read; hope you enjoy it.
Purchase from Amazon
Bled: About the Novella
She only wanted to leave. But he took that option from her. Now she wants it back.
Set on the same island as the reader favorite Shed, the latest literary suspense novella from bestselling author Jason McIntyre picks up the Dovetail Cove saga with this story of one lonely woman…trapped.
Tina McLeod is on the cusp of a new life. Extraordinary change is rare in her world but this newsflash means she can finally leave her small island town for good. No more pouring coffee for townsfolk in Main Street's greasy spoon, no more living under the weight of her born-again mother. That is, until Frank Moort comes in for his usual lunch and dessert on an ordinary Friday in May.
Bled sees things turn backwards and upside down for each of them. Their encounter is prolonged and grotesque, the sort of thing splashing the covers of big city newspapers. Both are changed. And neither will come out clean on the other side.
A story about taking what's not yours, Bled explores pushing back when you've been pushed too far. It paints in red the horrors from our most commonplace of surroundings: right out in the open where nothing can hide behind closed doors and shut mouths.
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About the Author
Jason McIntyre has lived and worked in varied places across the globe. His writing also meanders from the pastoral to the garish, from the fantastical to the morbid. Vibrant characters and vivid surroundings stay with him and coalesce into novels and stories. Before his time as an editor, writer and communications professional, he spent several years as a graphic designer and commercial artist.
McIntyre's writing has been called darkly noir and sophisticated, styled after the likes of Chuck Palahniuk but with the pacing and mass appeal of Stephen King. The books tackle the family life subject matter of Jonathan Franzen but also eerie discoveries one might find in a Ray Bradbury story or those of Rod Serling.
Jason McIntyre's books include the #1 Kindle Suspense, The Night Walk Men, Bestsellers On The Gathering Storm and Shed, plus the multi-layered coming-of-age literary suspense Thalo Blue.
Bled: Teaser Trailer
Filed under: guest blogging
September 14, 2011
Do you repeat yourself? A Writer Wednesday exercise
Walter Shuler
I've never felt particularly comfortable giving writing advice. Mostly that's because while I've written all of my life, I've really only written in earnest and for the public recently. I guess that boils down to a lack of confidence at times 
However, this post stems directly from a personal experience with my own writing so I feel pretty comfortable sharing the exercise. It was a good friend, talented fellow fantasy writer and beta reader James Tallett (@thefourpartland, TheFourPartLand.com) that pointed out the unconscious repetition in my story. The piece in question was The Clockwork Men from my short story collection Blood and Brass. Here's what happened (well, mostly).
James: Stop with the repetition!
Me: What?
James: Seriously. Stop it. Now.
Me: I have no idea what you're talking about.
James: You really need to figure out some new ways to describe your character.
Me: Umm… ok.
James: No, really. You've called him "the boy" approximately 9,000 times just in the first 2 pages.
Me: Really? No way!
James: Yup. Go look.
I did go look, and he was right. The character in question was a boy named Aelfgar and the setting was a slaver's ship after the boy had been abducted (see there? I did it again). I used Word's handy find feature and low and behold, what do you think I found?
The boy looked.
The boy turned.
The boy.
The boy.
The boy.
The boy.
Wow! It was everywhere! Let me clarify something here too – this was not my rough draft. I'd read over the story probably five or six times by that point. And I had NEVER caught it. It just goes to show you how when reading your own writing, you're more likely to see what you THINK you wrote, rather than what you REALLY put on the page (seriously, beta readers are essential).
Was there anything inherently wrong with using "the boy" to describe Aelfgar? No, it was pretty apt. The character IS a boy. However, it ruined the flow of the story at that point, and if it weren't for James, I would never have noticed. Upon further inspection, the repetition carried over throughout the entire story (not just 'the boy', but with other monikers too).
You might not have the same problem, but I'm willing to bet that at least a few other writers have struggled with this issue. So, what's the exercise here? Check your work. Then DOUBLE check it. Then have a beta reader check it.
Pick a character in your work.
Figure out how you refer to him/her/it.
Tear your writing apart to find out exactly the words you use to refer to that character.
How many times do you say "he"? How often do you call her, "the thief" or "the president" or whatever? Can you improve on those at all? Variety is the spice of life, and there's always several ways that you can refer to a character without losing your reader. Use Word's find feature to highlight every instance of that phrase in yellow throughout the story (this works better if you're looking for something non-generic).
If you don't have Word, you likely have a similar feature available to you. Use it. A lot. Remember, just because something makes sense in your head, that doesn't mean that it's not going to derail the story with mind-numbing repetition. Oh, and get yourself a handful of beta readers.
***
Blood and Brass is available NOW
Walter Shuler is a father, husband and fantasy writer. His debut book Celadonian Tales Vol: 1 Blood and Brass is now available through Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005LST00C and through Smashwords here: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87076
You can connect with him on Twitter at: http://twitter.com/#!/anakronistical
Through Facebook at: http://www.facebook.com/hallalitriocht
And check in at his website here: http://hallalitriocht.com/ You'll find sneak peeks and even some freebies, plus plugs for some other awesome writers (like Thea!).
Filed under: writerwednesday exercises
September 10, 2011
A King in a Court of Fools book launch: discovered script
Some of my visitors will recognize my guest today from Twitter as he's one of those folks who does what he can to help others and connect with them through social media. Larry Enright is the author of the bestselling mystery Four Years From Home. I'm excited to say he has a new launch today of his most recent project: A King in a Court of Fools. Please do read and comment and share to your heart's delight.
And…
we're live!
I am happy to present this extremely interesting artifact from the archives of the National Unbelievable Foundation of Filmmaking (NUFF) that was recently uncovered stuck behind a towel dispenser when workmen were redoing the rest rooms at the South Park McDonalds — one of the original McDonalds from the 1950s. An expert at NUFF said that, originally hand-printed on composition notebook paper and written in the form of a TV script, this piece is a classic example of a 1950s Catholic school punishment assignment. There you have it! Enjoy!
A King in a Court of Fools, the TV show
INT. ST. CATHERINE'S SCHOOL – SISTER CARMELLA'S CLASSROOM – LATE AFTERNOON
Several students from Sister Jeanne Lorette's sixth grade class are in the front of a classroom of eighth graders, preparing for their weekly TV show. A semicircle of five wooden chairs has been positioned opposite one other chair. Two students are setting up the "camera" which is a large cardboard box on a stand with a funnel sticking out one end. One student has a makeshift clapboard and is pacing about, practicing saying "action." Another, obviously the director with a clipboard, is telling the others what to do while trying to arrange the chairs perfectly. The announcer is practicing her lines. The eighth graders are politely waiting for the show to begin, having given up their last period Latin class to allow the sixth graders to put on their show. Sister Carmella and Sister Jeanne Lorette are standing quietly in the back of the room.
SISTER JEANNE LORETTE
Let's begin.
CLAPPER
Action!
ANNOUNCER
Welcome to the Kids of St. Catherine's Show, the only weekly TV show produced, directed, and hosted by the sixth grade of St. Catherine's School.
A snicker from the back of the classroom draws a clearing of the throat by Sister Carmella, followed by silence.
ANNOUNCER
Our host today is the sixth grade, straight-A student Frankie Marx. Ladies and gentlemen, Frankie Marx!
Frankie Marx enters, dressed in sports jacket, tie, and black penny loafers with a shiny new dime in each. The two nuns begin to clap and the eighth graders join in halfhearted applause.
FRANKIE
Thank you, thank you, and welcome to the show. We appreciate your taking the time out of your otherwise boring and pointless day to listen to someone obviously your intellectual superior.
There is an awkward, dead silence, and then a single cough from the back. Sister Jeanne Lorette is shaking her head. Frankie clears his throat and adjusts his tie.
FRANKIE
As I was saying, today's guests are the Ryans, not by my choice, but they are here nonetheless. They live on Caswell Drive and all five of them are students here. How exciting is that? Without further ado, please welcome Mary, Kate, Sam, Harry, and Tom Ryan.
The director holds up an applause sign and the students begin to clap. The classroom door opens and the Ryans enter, led by Tom. The director points them to their seats. Frankie sits down across from them.
FRANKIE
Please introduce yourselves to the studio audience.
Each stands up in turn and says their full name. Tom is the last to speak. He faces the eighth graders.
TOM
I'm Tom Ryan. I was the one they blamed when someone closed all the windows and let a few thousand caterpillars loose in your room last week. They made me clean them up, including all the guts you guys squished on the floor, but I didn't do it and they could never prove it. Thanks a lot.
VOICE FROM THE BACK
Nice going, Ryan!
SISTER CARMELLA
Thank you for volunteering to clean all the desks after class today, Mr. Kelly.
Laughter rolls across the room. Tom sits down. Frankie gestures outlandishly to the Ryans and speaks.
FRANKIE
Tell us, what brings you on the show today?
TOM
They made us, Frankie. Remember? It's part of my punishment.
HARRY
Can I wave to Mom and Dad, Tommy?
KATE
It's just a pretend TV you little goof.
HARRY
Then why are we here, Katie?"
SAM
(whispering) The book, Harry, the book.
FRANKIE
Yes, the book. Specifically, this book, the one you call the "Book of Tom."
The director hands Frankie a composition notebook:
TOM
Hey, give me that. That's mine.
He grabs it from Frankie.
FRANKIE
Yes, it's part of your punishment from Sister Jeanne Lorette, isn't it?
TOM
You better not have read any of it, Frankie. You see what it says there, right? I'll pound you. I mean it.
FRANKIE
Yes, I read your idle threats. Why would I bother to read your ridiculous homework?
SAM
You take that back, Frankie. Tom's journal isn't punishment and it isn't ridiculous. It's a story about us.
FRANKIE
Oh yes, the infamous Caswell Gang, with your silly hats, and your secret handshakes, and…
SISTER JEANNE LORETTE
Frankie… Tom… back to the script, please.
FRANKIE AND TOM IN UNISON
Yes, Sister.
FRANKIE
So, tell us about the story, Tom. What's so special about it?
TOM
That's for me to know and for you to find out.
MARY
Tell him about the Pink Lady, Tom.
TOM
Ixnay on the ady-Lay, Mary.
HARRY
But I like your story, Tommy.
TOM
Fine. You tell it.
Frankie turns to the studio audience and stands up.
FRANKIE
Ladies and Gentlemen. I now present Harry Ryan telling us the story of A King in a Court of Fools.
Harry stands up. Applause. Fade to the story of A King in a Court of Fools.
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I hope you have enjoyed this little bit of humor about the newly published work, A King in a Court of Fools, by Larry Enright.
About the book: A King in a Court of Fools, originally published as a serial novel, is Larry Enright's second published work. It is humorous, nostalgic fiction about kids growing up in the 1950s and has been already enjoyed by ages ten through ninety-one. It is available in both eBook and paperback from Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com. Click for details to Purchase or sample A King in a Court
Larry Enright, author of Four Years from Home
About the author: Larry Enright was born to Irish Catholic first-generation immigrants and
raised in Pittsburgh. After college, he moved to the Philadelphia area where for the past 40 years
he has filled his life with many careers including musician, teacher, programmer, researcher, and writer. He has written three other novels, including the best-selling Four Years from Home. Visit Larry Enright's site.
Filed under: guest blogging
September 5, 2011
Search for your soul among shards of glass
blue beachglass is not as common as brown or green
The end of summer. It had to come, we all knew it would. It's as inevitable as the coming of summer–its going–and truth betold, I love fall best anyway. But it's always bitter sweet, this end of the season. I feel older each time it wanes. I felt especially old this last weekend with a challenge ahead of me that I did not ask for and do not want. This challenge has taken the wind out of my usually amply puffed sails, and so thanks to my brother and sister in law, I spent my time in respite with my husband this last weekend, beachcombing for beachglass.
It's a strangely addicting activity that I succumb to each time I'm ferried to my husband's family fishing shanty, a twenty minute sail out into the Atlantic. Oh, they don't fish from there anymore, not like when I first started dating him and he stayed in his little island home for weeks in the winter and spring during the lobster season. No. Not many fishermen really stay in their island shanties now for longer than 3 weeks in the first of the season, but they all go there in the summer for the weekends. It's become a place of leisure not so much of bone weary work–unless you want it, and some do. They like to work when they are there. Mostly, the shanties have become cottages where its inhabitants party, drink, relax, work on gear, and in some cases have potlucks and bring their newborns to see from whence their grandfathers have come.
So as I pick about the rocky beach with so little sand you couldn't truly call it a beach, I scout for telltale signs of frosted colour among the pebbles and can't help but think I'll find my spirit in the crags too, broken maybe, frosted with anxiety, but still a thing of beauty if the pieces can be found and salvaged.
I let the search and the intoxicating MEDITATION of it fill me. I have no reason to pick the beach, I have enough glass at home. There's pieces in the shanty to fill at least 8 old coffee jars. No. It's not the acquisition that I seek. It's the act.
It's not enough spy the glass, you see, one has to LIFT it from the beach for it to truly be yours. You can't just let someone else pick it for you and pass it to you. It must come to your hand and nestle in your palm, be turned over and admired. Brown, green, white, sometimes lavendar and blue. Even once a shard of orange.
I scan, step, bend, reach, and grasp over and over as this particular island has a lot of beachglass to reward a committed eye. As I step, scan, reach, step, I sense something shift within. I think about another beach: one of my own imagining and put down into words for another broken person. This person exists only in my mind: well, there and in the novel I put him into.
Luke MacIsaac has my maiden name because he lives in the Maritime provinces. I wanted him to have some of my blood and heritage. Not because he's a great protagonist: he's miserable, actually. He's mean and spiteful.
And he's broken into as many pieces as I can find pieces of seaglass on this little Tusket island.
I think about him and why I felt he had to lose himself and find himself again on a beach in order for his arc to be right, and I think that maybe it's because of the intoxicating nothingness of the sound of surf. The feeling that a beach is a sort of soul's plane for any Maritimer. We need the sand beneath our toes to feel grounded. We need the smell of seaweed in our lungs to be able to breathe.
Luke was broken in One Insular Tahiti, but he came out whole, I remember. I tell myself that as I scan, step, reach, pick another piece of glass: turquoise, this time–a rare find.
And he found his spirit too. In pieces at first, but fully repaired when all the hard work was done. I'm certainly not in as bad a shape spiritually as Luke, but he serves to teach me a lesson.
Luke, a man who existed only in my mind for a while until he forayed into e-ink has reminded me that sometimes things can be more beautiful after they've been broken.
He, and a few pieces of frosted, colourful beachglass.
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Please Click to buy One Insular Tahiti for 2.99
If you liked this post, please do share. If you tweet it with the hashtag #theagimmesome I will enter you into a random draw to win a copy of One Insular Tahiti.
If you want to read about Luke and his search for redemption, please click the link to Amazon or BN or Kobo to sample–or buy–a copy. It's only 2.99 and I don't think you'll be disappointed.
Filed under: Thea bits
August 28, 2011
horoscopes and characters: guest post by @patricialynne07
A great twitter friend is on a blog tour and I offered her my spot for today. I do hope you decide to follow her (she's @patricialynne07). She gave Anomaly a really great review–said it was her first. I felt pretty chuffed that she liked my lil book enough to draft her first book review.
I asked her to write a post on horoscopes and characters as one of my readers (a great writer too) mentioned that she thought J (the main character in Anomaly) was a gemini because of the duality in his nature. I hadn't thought about it before and thus this post.
Horoscopes and Characters
by
Patricia Lynne:
It's always fun, when creating characters to go the extra mile. It makes them more realistic when they have favorite colors, movies, music. Or birthdays. Some authors just know when what day their character was born. The knowledge is just there along with how they look, height, weight and personality. Me, I hadn't really thought about when Tommy or Danny were born. I only knew their births were far enough apart that the dates were different. So when Thea suggest horoscopes for her stop on the tour I had to think.
When were Tommy and Danny born?
I knew I couldn't pick any date. I'm a firm believer that astrological signs sync up with how a person is. I'm a Scorpio and when reading a Scorpio profile, the mark is pretty dead on. It would be the same for Tommy and Danny. So I went looking and discovered Tommy is so a Taurus and Danny is an Aries.
I will admit, this was the selling point for deciding Tommy is a Taurus.
The throat and neck are the hot spots for any Taurus. Lightly rub the neck, kiss it gently, lick it lightly, even a soft nipple will make them melt like butter! Massage the back of the neck while you are relaxing, this relax them and set the mood for passion!
Yeah, I think you can see why too. And if not, hello! He's a vampire! There's more than just that too. These are just the key ones that stand out to me.
Taurus is the one who has immense perseverance, even when others have given up, the Taurus rages on. – Tommy's need/instinct to survive
Taurus are not fond of change. They like the familiar and routine comfort of life. In fact, is change is imminent, they get very nervous and worried. They do not like anything new because anything new is unknown and Taurus fears the unknown. – How many times did I have him wining about change?
Taurus are down to earth, they do not like gaudy, flashy or over the top things. – Remember his cellar? Bare.
He fits other characteristics, but not as to a T. The one characteristic I think he doesn't fit is laziness. They can be very lazy when someone gives them orders or wants them to do something they do not want to do. They are not lazy when it comes to themselves. That isn't true for Tommy. You want him to do something, order him with his name. But I don't think every person fits their astrological sign to a T. There are traits for Scorpio that don't fit to well with me.
As for Danny, I decided he shouldn't be a Taurus so that is how he ended up an Aries. It's not a bad fit though.
Aries is the first of the zodiac signs. Aries is the sign of the self, people born under this sign strongly project their personalities onto others and can be very self-oriented. Aries tend to venture out into the world and leave impressions on others that they are exciting, vibrant and talkative. Aries tend to live adventurous lives and like to be the center of attention, but rightly so since they are natural, confident leaders. Aries are enthusiastic about their goals and enjoy the thrill of the hunt, "wanting is always better than getting" is a good way to sum it up. Aries are very impulsive and usually do not think before they act – or speak. Too often Aries will say whatever pops into their head and usually end up regretting it later!
Although, Danny is present throughout the whole story, there's not a lot of delving into his life. But reading that I can see a lot of Danny in it. I think the last sentence is the most accurate for Danny. Especially when he's drunk. And between him and Tommy – when Tommy was human – Danny was the one that attracted people. He made the friends and left a lasting impression on others.
So there is Tommy and Danny's birthday April 20th and 19th. Thanks Thea for being a stop on my blog tour. It means a lot given how much I enjoy your writing.
Filed under: guest blogging
August 22, 2011
bedrock of family and story @theaatkinson #mywana
Thea Atkinson
Introductory price of .99c
My Grandmother was a war bride. I never really understood what that meant as a kid. I assumed it meant she'd left her country to marry a man she'd met during the war. And it does. It does mean that. But I've realized over the years that it means so much more.
I learned during my early school days that the province I call home: Nova Scotia means New Scotland. Because of the heritage of this long strip of land surrounded on three sides by Atlantic ocean, it's named for my grandmother's home. I imagine that despite her love for her new beau, it must have given her some pause, some sense of comfort and security, that she'd be moving to a place that would seem like her own home. The name must have taken some of the fear away.
She'd seen hardship in Glasgow. I know this. I imagine the hardships she faced were even more daunting here if only because the support system we all take for granted was gone. She had no family to run to when she and her new husband fought. She had no mother to coddle her when she nursed her first born and struggled with trying to figure out what it meant to be a mother, how to make formula, change diapers, calm the squalling in the middle of the night. She had no friends to relieve the stressful hours with chitchat over a hot cup of tea.
And she had no one to turn to when she and this new husband realized they'd made a mistake.
I think she went home once, packed up my mother and rode the waves back to Scotland. I wonder what they thought of her back there: was she a failure, were they excited to see her? She had brothers who I don't doubt would have torn my grandfather limb from limb if they'd been able to get hold of him. (what brother wouldn't feel such fierce protectiveness over a hurt sister? See: my blog post about my own brothers)
But she returned to Nova Scotia and she stayed here. My mom tells me stories of her walking home from work in the winter. They had no car and 'work' was 10 kms away, in the town. I think of the 10km drive from my house to my work and it takes 15 minutes. What must it have been like to walk to work everyday, work, and then walk home. So you can feed a family, put clothes on your three girls' backs?
I only know that in the story, my grandmother's nylons are torn and holey in places. Her shoes are soaked. She's wet and cold from the snow. I take snow in the winter for granted. I just assume the snowfall is going to be a foot high with temperatures below freezing and a wind chill that gains fierceness from the Atlantic air. In Scotland, the average precipitation is 9cm in January. The average low temperature is 1degree.
In the story, my grandmother doesn't complain. Just hangs her threadbare coat behind the stove and asks for a good hot cup of tea.
That hardy Scots will, I suppose, as hard as the brogue that never left her despite living in an area where English and Acadian French mix to form an odd sort of accent that most folks in my area call Fringlish. How she must have stood out in that.
What kept her here, I don't know, but I imagine it had to do with family. Her new family. Those three girls married and had kids of their own. Her grandchildren–my brother and I especially–practically lived there. We ate pizza late at night in her bed and watched The Rockford Files. She made me Koolaid and told me tales of Nessie and Robbie Burns.
Is it any wonder I've remained fascinated with Scotland?
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Filed under: Thea bits
