Bill Engleson's Blog, page 4

An exciting Monday Morning in the life of an older writer…

For those of you who might be interested in what the Monday morning of a somewhat older writer might look like, here goes.

For the past year or so, I begin Mondays writing a haiku for Ronovan Writes. I did so today. Ronovan offers two words to be used in the haiku. Today, those words are dare and dream.

I find this weekly ritual cranks up my brain cells…though I may be deluding myself on that score.

I was also fortunate this morning to have my flash fiction piece for Microcosms recognized. The theme/prompt was Leonard Cohen. All the entries were excellent. Yesterday, not in anticipation of anything, I read my almost three-hundred-word entry at my monthly writers group. It garnered some well-deserved criticism, particularly with my image of dust balls fornicating. I confessed I had toned down what I had wanted to suggest the dust balls were engaged in. I am occasionally a cowardly writer with the sensibility of my mother.

Another writer, Stewart G, read a piece which also mourned the passing of Cohen, but overall was somewhat upbeat, a paean to Stewart’s eternal optimism.

While I am at it, the three other readings were engaging and evocative. Annie S read a wonderful piece in progress about her brief very back to the land stay at a Galiano Island Commune in 1969. Rosa T transported us along with two real travelling friends of hers to an imaginary holiday in Greece. Christine S revisited the 1980’s and Trudeau Liberal largesse. So, you can see that Sunday was as exciting as I hope today will be…and I haven’t even mentioned Pickle ball.

Apart from a few chores today, I will devote my time to polishing a review I am writing for the Ormsby Review (a new literature review named after Margaret Ormsby.) It is my first real review. Assuming it survives whatever cut it receives from the publisher, I’ll mention it in a future post.

Well, there you have it; an exciting Monday morning in the life of an older writer…

 

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A Sad Tale of Social Work from Detroit, Michigan…

News reports of Social Workers being charged with the death of a child are, thankfully, quite rare. Social Workers, by my standards, by most standards I would hope, are usually (as they should be) on the other side of that tragic equation.

On the evening of November 14th, I caught a few moments of local news from Detroit Michigan. I do that from time to time, watch local news from across Canada and the States. That evening, race occupied the initial stories. At a local University in Detroit, an array of students had gathered in a vigil to support Muslim students. Two separate police investigations were underway regarding possible hate crimes.

At the Grosse Point School Board, a four-hour meeting had just wrapped up. The meeting had focussed primarily on a complaint by a parent that the Principal had issued a statement embracing diversity. One hundred parents and students attended to show their unqualified support of the Principal.

And then, the story about the two social workers. The husband of the older SW, a supervisor of the younger woman, was briefly interviewed. Not much was revealed. His wife has been a social worker for twenty years. Apparently, the charges are new; involuntary manslaughter and child abuse.

I sought out the printed press. Here is the story:

Prosecutor says social workers failed to follow up on 3-year-old after finding inadequate food in house to feed him

 

Elaina L. Brown, left, and Kelly M. Williams (Photo: Detroit Police Department)

Two state social workers have been charged with involuntary manslaughter, child abuse and more in connection with the death last spring of Detroit 3-year-old Aaron Minor, the Wayne County Prosecutor’s Office announced today.

Elaina L. Brown, 24, and Kelly M. Williams, 47, both of Wayne County, were “grossly negligent and reckless in performing their duties” because they didn’t properly follow up after visiting the child’s home and finding that there was inadequate food in the house, according to a news release from the prosecutor’s office.

Detroit police officers found the boys decomposed remains the afternoon of May 25 at an apartment on the 4400 block of Trumbull on Detroit’s west side. An apartment maintenance man was drawn to the unit by a bad odor and had found the body, police previously reported.

 

Officers searched for the boy’s mother, Deanna S. Minor, after his body was discovered and found her nearly a day later in a psychiatric ward at a local hospital. Nine days earlier, police said, the mother had been found unresponsive and lying in the grass  at the complex and was  hospitalized for at least two days.

 

Minor, 28, was charged in August with felony murder, second-degree murder, first- and second-degree child abuse, and failure to report a dead body. She was referred for a competency evaluation and is scheduled to appear Nov. 30 in 36th District Court.

Brown, a Michigan Department of Health and Human Services Child Protective Services worker, on April 21 had received a referral from Deanna Minor’s mental health worker and she visited the home April 21 and 22, finding there was inadequate food, according to the news release from the prosecutor. Williams is Brown’s supervisor, and the two spoke on April 22, according to the news release.

It’s alleged Brown never saw the mother and child again. On May 9, Brown sent a letter asking Minor to contact Child Protective Services, and she didn’t, according to the news release. CPS policy and procedure require that when a family can’t be located or doesn’t cooperate, and there are allegations of imminent risk, the social worker must contact police for a safety check and file a petition with the juvenile court, the prosecutor said.

The prosecutor alleges that Brown and Williams failed to: provide a safety plan to protect Aaron, respond and follow through on reports of the mental health workers, ask police for a safety check, file a petition with juvenile court authorities or follow CPS policy and procedures.

Both are charged with involuntary manslaughter, punishable by up to 15 years in prison; second-degree child abuse, 10 years, and a public officer’s willful neglect of duty, 5 years. The two were arraigned Monday morning, with a probable cause conference set for Nov. 21 and a preliminary examination set for Nov. 28.

“We charged this case after much thought and deliberation. We did not make this decision lightly. We must seek to hold these defendants responsible for their alleged inaction. The ultimate result in this case was the death of a child that never should have happened,” Prosecutor Kym Worthy said in the news release.

Both Brown and Williams received $25,000 personal bonds with the condition that they are not to be around children in their work capacity, according to the prosecutor.

Brown’s attorney Darryl Eason declined to comment, and Williams’ attorney Deana Kelley didn’t immediately respond to a voicemail Monday requesting comment.”

 

A bare telling of these details reads like so many cases that a child protection worker would be involved in. I must have investigated dozens like these in my long-ago time.

Of course, beyond the rendition of this stark tale, there are gaps. Huge gaps. The initial referral came from a mental health worker. The social worker visited on two successive days, on April 21 and 22, reportedly determined that there was insufficient food. Three weeks later, on May 9th she sent the mother a letter. A week or so later, the mother was hospitalized. Nine days after that, the boys body was found.

I am left wanting details of the time in between. Poverty, a shortage of food, are often factors in many neglect reports. I find it hard to believe that follow-up of some description did not occur. I couple this wishful thinking with my somewhat limited understanding of Detroit these days. I offer this story more as an awful urban fable (although it could easily be an awful rural fable.) As best I can I will follow it and comment on how it unfolds. This has not been a happy story nor will it ever become one. The child is dead. The mother has been charged. The social worker and her supervisor have been charged.

Will more charges come?

Are there enough social workers to service the child protection needs of  Detroit these days?

There are never enough in British Columbia so I imagine that the case loads of Detroit social workers are dreadfully large.

To gratuitously give it a literary sheen, this has the makings of a new child protection version of Theodore Dreiser’s An American Tragedy.

Or maybe just another tragedy in a long list of tragedies in America.

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An enthusiastic plug for CQ Magazine and Denman’s Stephanie Slater…

As I make the journey, late in life, as an author, I am continually discovering new paths for expression. But I am by no means the only one. Many many months ago I recommended to the members of my Denman Writers Group, which has been meeting for almost five years now, and was brought to life by the Denman Island Readers and Writers Festival Committee, and given most of its enduring oomph by Stewart Goodings and Jo-Anne (JP) McLean, that they might want to consider entering CQ Magazine’s 1st Short Story Challenge.

Stephanie Slater took up the ‘challenge.’

While my entry in the same contest failed to be selected, Stephanie’s story, ONLY YOU, won 3rd place and is featured in the just issued November edition…on page 8-9.

CQ Magazine, incidentally, is a beautiful on-line international compendium of writing, art, environmental activism and a host of other artistic medium.

I should note that I entered CQ Magazine’s 2nd Short Story Challenge and I am thrilled to report that the announcement on page 54-55 of the winners of that challenge includes my name. My Story, A TUMBLING OF TENDER RAIN, will be published in February 2017.

Denman Island has a population of 1000 folks, give or take. I think that having two writers (and counting, I hope) featured in this beautiful on-line magazine says something (heaven knows what) about the creative energy on our little island.

 

 

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Why does it always take so long…?

 

The news that the Ministry of Children and Family Development will be extending supports to former youth in care from the current two years to four years and from the current age range 19-24 to the new 19-26 is most welcome. Actually, it is only mildly encouraging… and painfully overdue.

I have to assume that the recent report by the Vancouver Foundation that clearly showed the economic value of supporting youth had some impact on the  Christie Clark government and their sluggish response to positively changing and improving the lives of the children in their care.

On a slightly different point, and although I agree with the Children’s Representative who has argued for the extension of the time youth can stay in care beyond the age of nineteen, I’ve never believed that that concept had any appeal to the Liberals. So this initiative has to be seen as a compromise.

In my day, the program of support beyond the age of nineteen was called Post-Majority Services. The name of the program recognized that the state was providing some semblance of support to youth for whom we had been responsible.

Somewhere along the way, as program names do, it was changed. It is now called Agreements with Young Adults.

I suppose the name doesn’t really matter and Post-Majority Services did have an unfortunate acronym.

If I have a question for MCFD and Minister Stephanie Cadieux at all it is, why did it take so long? It is certainly a question the Children’s Representative, about to take her leave after an amazing run, has asked. And what is often required, and rarely provided, to assist former youth in care to succeed in a program the likes of Agreements with Young Adults, is a battery of mentors, supporters, social workers, outreach workers, all of the human resource ingredients that youth still in care require if they are going to stand a chance of succeeding.

Hopefully those supports will be there for the Young Adults who sign agreements with MCFD.

Although money is useful, youth, indeed all of us, need to nurtured along the way.

 

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Ta da…The Release of my New Book…

As I write this, two boxes containing my new book, Confessions of an Inadvertently Gentrifying Soul, are in the efficient hands of Canada Post. They may be flying over the Salish Sea, or in a truck waiting in line at Horseshoe Bay for the ferry. How they are actually travelling to my waiting embrace is a bit of a mystery to me. Nevertheless, they are on their way.

They will arrive by October 5th. In the next while, beginning on October 8th at the Courtenay Library Indie Author Day, I will be somewhat focussed on making the book available to anyone of a mind to buy it.

The day before, October 7th, I will do an Internet Radio interview on BlogTalkRadio.

On October 15th, I will launch the book at Abraxas, Denman Islands delightful book store.

This is the author’s lot. At least this is this author’s lot. So, after they arrive, I will be spending a reasonable amount of time promoting the book in what I hope will be a stylish and graceful way.

I will crave reviews from those who have the time and inclination to offer them. I will, however, remain humble and grounded, knowing full well that although the book is humorously entertaining and reasonably well written, it is just a book and not a life-sustaining medicinal product. Other than the laughter. That probably counts for something.

Anyways, after those two events, I will engage in a ground and air promotional blitz. One event I am looking forward to is the Coombs Christmas Faire on December 2nd  and 3rd. A fellow writer, J.P. McLean , and I have signed on for the two-day stint of book selling surrounded by truer artisans.

Beyond that aside from a couple of kind bloggers who have or will give me some “air” time, my promotional business plan will of course rely on word of mouth.

Links to buy my two books are on listed on this site. Check them out.

The fun begins. I’ll keep you posted.

The Republican Presumptive VP Nominee, and Nice…

Although much in the world wears us down, the journey continues. I have no answer for the tragedy in Nice. Yesterday I wrote a bit of whimsy about Donald Trump’s first major decision as nominee, as presumptive nominee, the selection of Indiana Governor, Mike Pence as his  VP running mate. Today,  apparently, he is having second thoughts.

This must be a new experience for him, having a  second thought. In any case, here is the little tale I wrote yesterday for Thursday Threads. As a piece of flash fiction, it has a very short shelf life and so is excellent blog fodder I’m guessing.

 

The V.P.

“My goodness, it is a conundrum, Mr. Trump.”

“What are you on about, Squig? What drum? I don’t like drums. I don’t even like parades…unless I’m leading the damn thing.”

“Conundrum, Mr. Trump. It’s not a drum. It’s a…”

“Squig, I don’t need you telling me what I heard. I heard DRUM. I also heard CON, Squig. Martha Stewart is out. I won’t have an ex-con on the ticket. And besides, she’s a Democrat.”

“Mr. Trump. Donald. Sir, we are down to the proverbial wire. Cleveland is next week. You have to decide.”

“This is nuts, Squig. So many things to figure. Demographics! Geography! Sex! Let me see that list again.”

“The short list, sir?”

“No, the damn laundry list. Of course the short list. Gimme, Squig!”

“Yes sir. Here it is.”

“So! Newt! What kind of name is Newt? Sounds like a bloody frog. Christie! I like Chris, Squig. Sharp tongue on that boy. Christie? Hmmm. Don’t they make crackers? Name like that could get us the southern vote, right?”

“I suppose, sir.”

“Pence? Smooth as a long silk tie, that guy. What’s that name you gave him, Squig?”

“Pensive, sir.”

“Yeah! Pensive. Mike’s always thinking of ways not to say something. Don’t know how he does it.”

“The wire, sir. It’s gonna strangle us. Can you decide sir, or should we continue our search?”

“Okay, Squig, put their pictures on the wall and hand me that dart. It’s time to pin the tail on the donkey.”

 

 

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It is incredibly gratifying to be mentioned…

As I await the imminent publication by Silver Bow Publishing of my second book, a work of literary non-fiction titled Confessions of an Inadvertently Gentrifying Soul, I want to be clear that I have not abandoned my first book, Like a Child to Home.

A few months ago, I submitted that first novel to the Whistler Independent Book Awards. I was ecstatic that the world of Canadian Self-Publishing was beginning to recognize the efforts of independently publishing authors. It was and remains a tremendous pleasure to participate, in even a small way, in this ground-breaking inaugural award.

Well, the results are out. Some fine works, I’m sure, have been selected for the long list in four categories; Fiction, Literary non-fiction, Crime Fiction and Poetry.

Though Like a Child to Home did not make the long list, I, along with a number of others, including my friend, Denman Island’s own Jo-Anne McLean, Louis Druehl, the father of old friends, and recent acquaintance, the award winning author Lyn Hancock, received “Honourable Mentions” for our submissions.

Writing, as most writers know, is a solitary exercise. There is a compulsion to it. Writers are not alone in being driven, dragged forward to create their art. Most of us, even if we have grandiose ambitions, a desire for success, have to accept that we will create in a very small world. Within those parameters, any recognition is a bright glow of warmth. That is the way I feel today with my “honourable mention.”

I am humbled to be even a small part of the Whistler Independent Book Awards.

 

 

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A great pleasure indeed…

Having self-published one book, a novel,  Like a Child to Home, a work of fiction, vaguely autobiographical with a few camouflaged twists and turns, I set to work on a prequel. It continues to be, as Canadian Senators frequently say about the hoary old Canadian Senate, a work in progress.

Other companion fiction projects have accompanied said prequel, all existing in the same, yet slightly different, narrative universe, each plucking, in the assorted dusty pockets of my mind, my creative strings.

Along my writerly way, I have also assembled two non-fiction compilations of essays written about my life on Denman Island. These jewels, generally captured under their respective headings, Confessions of a Gentrifying Soul and DIRA Diary, were not originally designed to be collated into books.

Nevertheless, some time ago, I began fiddling with the notion that one or the other might actually have some cachet beyond my idiosyncratic Island. Hence, the assembled Confessions of a Gentrifying Soul is in the process of becoming Confessions of an Inadvertently Gentrifying Soul.

You notice the subtle difference, I hope.

How did this come about?

This past May, in response to a small note in the Federation of BC Writer’s on-line newsletter, WriteOn, seeking non-fiction manuscripts, I sent a finely-honed query letter to Silver Bow Publishing. Within days, they expressed interest. Since then a publishing contract has been signed, a mock-up of a cover has been conceptualized, the work itself is being edited (clearly a necessity, I believe) and I’m over the moon.

Being, of necessity, a modest sort, I am trying to contain the joy to be had. For instance, to use the term synchronicity, a concept probably best left to my friend, author Ro DeDoming, and her book, Out of the Blue: Musings on Synchronicity,  Silver Bow Publishing is headquartered in New Westminster, my long term adult home town.

For me, there was an immediate affinity.

Slightly less synchronistic perhaps, but it entertains me nevertheless, SiIver Bow asked me to take a photograph for the cover of the book. “Confessions” is somewhat of a memoir, backstopped by my dozen or more years as an unapologetic, inadvertent agent of change on Denman Island.

What one image could capture that swath of guilt?

As I pondered this unanswerable, I roamed the WEB.

Some years earlier, I had engaged in a similar search to find a near-perfect image for the cover of Like a Child to Home. It took a number of months to settle the matter then. I am that much older now. There is less time to dawdle.

In any case, as luck would have it, I found what I consider to be an iconic representation of change, of the old and the new, in a matter of hours. It took a few further hours to determine that the   photographer, Wilf Ratzburg, lives in the town I grew up in; Nanaimo. A selfless and very practical beta reader and friend, Mary McDonough, also lives in Nanaimo. And once lived in New Westminster.

The circles were colliding like bowling pins.

These observations may seem like small details, synchronistic butterflies at best, but the gratification found not only in having a second book poised to achieve its get-up-and-go, the comforting harmony of time and place, but also the process of fashioning how this it will find its literary legs, all of this is a great pleasure, for me. A great pleasure indeed.

Needless to say, I will keep you all posted.

 

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Privacy before Transparency…a real connection

We live in an age which cries out for transparency. We have the technology to make revelation and exposure almost unavoidable. Many of us demand disclosure; who knew what, when, where, how, and why?

Who is responsible? We always want to know who is responsible.

I follow the activities of The Representative for Children and Youth fairly closely. Her reports over the past few years have shone an impressive and unrelenting light on our child welfare system. The needs of the most vulnerable children in the Province of BC have, over and over again, been brought to our attention.

Though I am a decade and a half away from the demanding and dark cut and thrust of child protection, these situations of system failure at worse, of human failure at best, that seem to repeat themselves with an agonizing regularity, with a sombre sense of inevitability, haunt me.

I am not naïve enough to suggest that I know what might make a difference, other than to submit that with enough committed, energized and creative personnel and a wealth of appropriate resources, there might be fewer lives shattered.

As I write this, hundreds of migrant’s lives have been lost in the Mediterranean in the past few days. Both our macro and micro rescue and salvage systems are being challenged in ways that must constantly be reconfigured. It may be ill-advised to compare the almost incomprehensible complexity of the world’s migrant dilemma with our child welfare system. I only do so to remind myself that some things in our immediate world are there to grasp and to manage.

Earlier this month, an unusual report, Approach With Caution: Why the Story of One Vulnerable B.C. Youth Can’t be Told, was issued by Mary Ellen Turpel-Lafond.

In very guarded language, we are told next to nothing about the life of the youth who is the subject of the report. Both MCFD and the Representative are seemingly in accord that the privacy of this youth trumps transparency.

The youth’s current situation seems to be partially summarized as follows: “For the young person who is the subject of the RCY investigation, the initial efforts to stabilize them in a new placement failed and resulted in their returning to an SRO in the DTES. After months without any effective ministry supervision, a compromise was reached that placed the young person with a former caregiver. Although the new placement was an unconventional one and represented a significant deviation from standard ministry practice, the caregiver has maintained a real connection to the young person and may represent the best hope currently available, although meaningful stability remains elusive.”

Such a statement resonates with me. I can think of a dozen or more situations from my social work time that could easily be described in much the same language. Although it is hard to know the specifics of this particular case, the placing of a youth with a “former caregiver,” in my rather jaded experience, has never been “unconventional.” More frequently, it was serendipitous and slightly magical. The child welfare system has always seemed to me to access caregivers who have “maintained a real connection” with a range of youth seeking, needing, crying out for a real connection.

The report ends with the following: “This is a difficult situation with very little positive to report, other than to record the Representative’s most serious concern for the youth who was the subject of this investigation and the more than 100 others in B.C. who are in a similar situation.“

I truly hope that there are no more than 100 other youth who are at the same level of risk as the youth alluded to in this latest report. Personally, I imagine the number, 100, is optimistic.

 

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An odd, yet not uninteresting, morning reflection…

Most morning I don’t wake up all aflutter with thoughts of my own mortality. Time, eventually, will have its way with me although I do take the usual precautions to maximize my chances. In any case, usually I am more consumed by contemplations of breakfast, my favourite morning meal.

Today, though breakfast was close to the top of my list of eagerly anticipated activities, along with my frequent Wednesday morning Pickleball Tournament, I had fallen asleep the night before beginning to read Atul Gawande’s excellent meditation, Being Mortal.

Hence, I was more available to thoughts of impermanence.

Most mornings, I also write. The means vary but my intent is to begin each day with a creation, something of worth to me if to no one else.

I write reams of flash fiction. Today, there was a new (and first for me) challenge from writer/blogger Sacha Black.

This was the challenge:

Wherever you’re sat, whatever you’re doing. Scan the vicinity for the nearest document/book/magazine etc. you haven’t written. Pick it up.

If it’s a book turn to page 77, Take the tenth ,   thirty-third and the last word, then pick the longest word you can find on the rest of the page.

Write a story or poem in less than 100 words containing all the words. AND I want to know what the words are when you post your story.

This was my submission:

Moments

I look ahead and MY world

seems destined to dissolve

into tiny fragments,

shards of unexamined lives,

comfortable experiences

I will not enjoy,

lips, untouched,

skin, sweet skin,

wine left wanting.

I look back,

nostalgic, of course,

and vaguely disappointed

at myself,

at the hurried loss

of the decades,

my times,

which I let aimlessly let slip by

like grains of sand,

why,

always,

grains of sand?

Why?

I am stilled

by an inertia,

of moments

yet to be,

never to be

for me.

Moments!

Bill Engleson

The book, just to my left, atop a sad bit of paper clutter, No Regrets by Larry Gambone

the words on pg. 77

Decades

Tiny

My

Disappointed (although mimeographed was also 12 letters)

Pickle Ball was fun. I am still alive. I will have breakfast tomorrow, see an old friend and get back to reading Being Mortal.

 

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