Kate Jarvik Birch's Blog, page 4

If I had a... Knight

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Forget the suit of shining armourForget the talk of strength and honorForget the quest for good and properThat’s not what a knight is for.
Forget the sword and battle scarsForget the daring repertoiresForget the grit and dragon charThat’s not what a knight is for.
Forget the dimples and chiseled chinForget the locks and pearly grinForget the muscles and golden skinThat’s not what a knight is for.
Find someone with unfettered kindnessWho’s lavish with laughterAnd doesn’t mind wryness Who’s witty, And thoughtful And tender And warm
That is what a knight is for.

If I had a... Jar

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My jar is large, 
Big enough for a child 
To crawl inside,
Big enough for an imagination 
to hide.
I'll take my dreams 
And thoughts
And plans,
Each one a colored ribbon,
A silky strand,
Plucked from my head.
I'll drop them in
Watch them mix
And knot
And blend
Into a messy ball.
These are the treasures
Not coins 
Or shiny jewels.
My jar is large.
Big enough for an imagination
Like ours.

If I had an... Identical Twin

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Would I secretly stare at her while we ate breakfast or waited in line at the post office, studying the way her nose looked in 3D?Would I hate the way she moved her mouth when she talked, the way her chin crinkled and her lips pulled into a thin line?Would I be jealous that she could sing better than me and cook better and spell better?Would I always wonder if I were the smarter one, the prettier one, the nicer one?Would we talk on the phone each day or would we go weeks without speaking because we sort of already knew what the other one was doing?Would she look like a backwards image of me or would I look like a backwards image of her?Would we have a secret language and would it be mostly made up of clicks and hand signals?Would we have a day each week where we dressed up the same and played pranks on strangers in the grocery store?Would we have secret handshakes?Would we live together in the city and spend all our time at the park people watching and laughing at inside jokes?Would she be a better version of me? Would I be a better version of her?Or would she make me appreciate all my flaws and imperfections because they were mine? All mine.

Author Spotlight: Judith Tewes

Judith Tewes

Judith  resides in small town northern Alberta, where she: writes, sings, plays bass guitar in an all-woman band, and suspects she's living the life of a superhero's alias.

Q&A


What’s the best book you’ve read recently?
I’m pretty new to the contemporary YA / NA fiction world, both in terms of writing and reading in the genre. I’ve been devouring as many titles as I can to play catch up and get a solid foundation for the dos and don’ts. So far, I’ve been impressed with a few standout authors and I’d recommend snagging any of their titles: Rainbow Rowell, John Green, Gayle Forman, Jennifer E Smith, and Tammara Webber.
What made you decide to become a writer?
The voices in my head left me with no choice. Write or die, they said. Lol…I’m kidding…sorta.
Do you have a favorite genre to write? How about to read?
As I mentioned, contemporary YA/NA is a new love for me, but I’m enjoying learning everything I can about this genre. I also write paranormal / horror / thriller YA under the pen name, Judith Graves. Expanding into different genres is a challenge, but oh, so fun. At this point, I’m into reading just about anything – well, except I have a ton of adult literary fiction I want to dig into, but haven’t had time yet. Hopefully this summer, I’ll tick a few more titles off my to-be-read list.
Do you write every day? Do you set word goals?
I do. I get up early (5am) everyday to write. Sometimes the words come easy, but most days I slog through the first bleary-eyed half-hour until things start to flow. I have a general goal of at least a page or 1k per day. I write multiple projects at once, alternating days and my focus, however, if one story is going like gangbusters, I stick with it as long as I can before moving to the next WIP.

Is there any special writing paraphernalia that you’re obsessed with: notebooks, pens, special paper?

Yes! I have an obsession with buying coil notebooks – the funkier the better. And nothing can save you if you steal my “special” fine point pen.
































Charlie is down to her absolute. Total. Last. Resort.
Despite a thoroughly comprehensive list of potential cherry poppers, er…suitors, and careful plotting, Charlie is three weeks into her devirginization campaign, still untouched, and getting desperate. In the movie of her life, this aspiring screenwriter is giving herself a PG, for please, get some.
Her project goes into freeze frame when her mom checks herself into rehab and packs Charlie off to live with her estranged, or just plain strange, grandfather, Monty. How is she supposed to get a date when she has to go pick up his Depends?
Enter Eric, a hot rehab grad on the road to redemption, and the only one who can make Charlie rethink her strategy. The more she gets to know him, the more convinced she becomes that is the one, and not just another to add to the list of people who will abandon her.
In this hilarious and heartbreaking story of one girl’s detoured road to womanhood, Charlie’s list develops a life of its own – right when she realizes there’s so much more to lose.

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Learn more about Judith and her books here:
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If I had a... Hipster

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Everybody needs one, a hipster to call their own. Mine will be a man named Bill or Teddy or maybe Steve. He won’t be a big man, and even though he used to be a bit embarrassed by his slender frame, he will have embraced it now. He’ll wear the kind of skinny jeans that taper so close to his ankles that you wonder how he could have possibly pulled them over his feet in the morning. Did he have help, an assistant to tug on his toes while he pulled on the pants? Sometimes I’ll want to ask, but it will seem like too personal a question.
He’ll wear suspenders of course. They’ll be thin and black with little leather hooks that attach to special buttons that he’s sewn into his pants. Or, I assume he’s sewn them in. Maybe he only buys special pants made to be worn with suspenders. I don’t know. But he wouldn’t seem the same without them.
He won’t wear glasses, but I’m pretty sure that he’ll wish he could. They’d have thick, black frames, the glasses he imagines he’d have, kind of like the ones you get at 3D movies. Sometimes he’ll steel those when he leaves the theater. He’ll slip them into his shirt pocket and when he gets home he’ll pop the lenses out and wear them around, admiring himself in the mirror while he eats cereal.

I don’t have time to tell you about his tattoos. There are too many and they’re far too intricate to describe in detail, but I’ll tell you this: they’re beautiful, delicate and colorful. You could spend hours looking at them. Maybe some day you will.

If I had a... Ghost

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A puff Cold air againstMy cheek Skin tinglesLights flickerOnOffOnThe floor creaksA groan A gaspA sighBreath catches in my throatAt the back of my neckThe hairs stand on endGoosebumps
Raised flesh

If I had a... Flying Machine

Illustration by ME

If I built a flying machine, I’d start with strings and gears.And try to ignore the blunt advice I got from engineers.
They’d say to use an elephantJust wouldn't be intelligent.Plus the smell would be repugnantIf I built a flying machine.
If I built a flying machine, I’d add levers and balloons, To give my craft the kind of oomph to get me to the moon.
I’d sew on wings to give us lift.Add rocket fuel to make it swift.Glue on feathers to help us drift.If I built a flying machine.
If I built a flying machine, I’d add a hanging basketSo there would be a place to ride that was a bit more private.
The view would make you drop your jawThe prettiest thing you ever sawA sight to make you call your Ma. If I built a flying machine.
You’d fly across the moonlit sky, upon a silver cloudAnd never want to come back home. It wouldn’t be allowed.
A gust of wind would catch your hairAs you drifted softly through airLiving life without a care'Cause I built that flying machine. 

If I had an... Eccentric Uncle

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His name is probably Wilbur, or Theodor, a proper sort of name (which is the very reason he forbids anyone from calling him that). Instead he goes by Nibbly, or Uncle Nibbly in my book. Don’t ask him how he got the name. The story is long and a little disturbing.
We meet each Sunday for brunch, sipping our mimosas while we nibble eggs Benedict and crumbly biscuits. I throw my head back and laugh when he tells me his escapades, stories about his last trip to Paris and the debacle with the bellhop. Truly, I’d tell him, I’ll never look at a luggage cart the same way again.
Uncle Nibbly wears velvet suits in the winter and lederhosen in the summer. He’s also got quite an amazing collection of kilts, but he only wears those to weddings and award ceremonies (maybe that’s where you got the idea that he wore them all the time).
His hair is all gray now, but it used to be the deepest black, shiny and thick. I’ve seen the pictures that he displays on his mantle; the ones that show him perched on balconies in Rome or riding elephants in India.

Most of my friends are jealous. They wish that they could ride in his Bentley with the top down, the way we do, hair blowing in the breeze, sunglasses perched atop our noses like we’re starlets or, at the very least, the starlet’s lovers.

If I had a... Dozen

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If I had a dozen arms,I’d put a pencil in each hand And watch while they scratched happilyCreating something grand.
If I had a dozen cats,I’d give them old-fashioned namesAnd dress them up in top hats And monocles with ivory frames.
If I had a dozen feet,I’d caper an Irish jigAnd make the people from late night showsCall to book me for their gigs.
If I had a dozen tall white horses,I’d gallop them in a lineAnd jump with grace from back to backWith my favorite trained canine.
If I had a dozen kids,I’d rent a giant circus tentAnd teach them all to juggle and flipTo their hearts’ content.
If I had a dozen penniesWell that would be sort of dumbBecause what can you get for less than a quarterBesides a stick of gum?

If I had a... Carnival

The first thing you notice is the smell: hot cinnamon almonds and cotton candy… the fiery char of hamburgers. You can already imagine the towering ice cream cones and vats of fresh lemonade, hot dogs and funnel cakes and strawberries dripping in chocolate. The scent drifts across the parking lot, pulling you in like a warm arm draped across your shoulder.
You’re here! Welcome! 
Don’t worry about buying a ticket. My carnival is free. Simply step across the threshold and pay me with some laughter. Do you hear that? It’s everywhere. The sound of it mixes in the breeze with the clickity-clack of the roller coaster and the whirr of the ferris wheel. For a second it sounds like music, a tinkling chorus, a trill, a sweet symphony.
In front of you, the carousel twirls, red and blue and green and silver. But my horses aren’t the quiet kind. They whinny, tossing their manes as they carry you around and around, almost like a time machine. Is it the future or the past that blurs the edges of your vision, spinning past you as you ride?

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