Allan Hudson's Blog, page 5

The Story Behind the Story with Author Caroline Topperman.

 

We are most fortunate to haveCaroline visit us this week.

She was introduced to the Scribblerby one of our previous guest, Hollay Ghadery , publicist for River Steet Publishing.

I know you will enjoy learning moreabout Caroline and her writing.

Read on my friends.  

 

Caroline Topperman is a European-Canadian writer, entrepreneur, and world traveler. Born in Sweden, raised in Canada with a recent stint of living in Poland. She is a co-founder of Mountain Ash Press and KW Writers Alliance and currently teaches at an underground school for Afghan girls. Her book, Tell Me What You See, serves as a toolkit for her writing workshops. She has written articles for Huffington Post Canada, Jane Friedman’s blog, was the Beauty Editor for British MODE Magazine, and served as managing editor for NonBinary Review. Her hybrid memoir, Your Roots Cast a Shadow: one family’s search across history for belonging with HCI Books, explores explosive intergenerational histories that link war zones and foreign shores with questions of identity and belonging.

 

 

 

Title: Your Roots Cast a Shadow: one family’s search across history forbelonging

 

Synopsis:
A narrative of cultural translation, identity, and belonging.
The thrill of a new place fades quickly for Caroline Topperman when she moves from Vancouver to Poland in 2013. As she delves into her family’s history, tracing their migration through pre-WWII Poland, Afghanistan, Soviet Russia and beyond, she discovers the layers of their complex experiences mirror some of what she felt as she adapted to life in a new country. How does one balance honoring both one’s origins and new surroundings?

Your Roots Cast a Shadow explores where personal history intersects with global events to shape a family’s identity. From the bustling markets of Baghdad to the quiet streets of Stockholm, Topperman navigates the murky waters of history as she toggles between present and past, investigating the relationship between migration, politics, identity, and home. Her family stories bring history into the present as her paternal grandmother becomes the first woman allowed to buy groceries at her local Afghan market while her husband is tasked with building the road from Kabul to Jalalabad. Topperman’s Jewish grandfather, a rising star in the Communist Party, flees Poland at the start of WWII one step ahead of the Nazis, returning later only to be rejected by the Party for his Jewish faith. Topperman herself struggles with new cultural expectations and reconciling with estranged relatives.

A study in social acceptance, Topperman contends with what one can learn about an adopted culture while trying to retain the familiar, the challenges of learning new languages and traditions even as she examines the responsibilities of migrants to their new culture, as well as that society’s responsibility to them.

The Story Behind the Story:

These experiences sparked a deepsense of and got me thinking about my own family's history. Their journeysthrough pre-war Poland, Afghanistan, and beyond were filled with displacement,persecution, and a constant struggle to belong. I felt an urgent need toexplore these themes and understand the roots of prejudice and the fragility ofacceptance.

My family's story became a lens through whichto examine the complexities of identity and the enduring impact of migrationand historical trauma. My grandmother navigating the restrictions of apatriarchal society in Afghanistan, my grandfather fleeing Poland ahead of theNazis only to face rejection from the country he loved– their struggles resonated with the challenges I saw people facing aroundme in Poland.

I believe stories canhelp us connect and build empathy. By sharing my family's experiences and myown journey of navigating a new culture, I hoped to offer a personal andrelatable way to understand these complex issues. Your Roots Cast a Shadowis more than just a historical account; it's about the human need forconnection and belonging. It's a reminder that we need to learn from history tocreate a more inclusive future for everyone.

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Caroline:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?

Caroline: My favourite spot to write is wherever I can set up my laptop but often I find myself taking notes in the most unexpected places. I have been known to pull out my voice recorder in the middle of a meal, when an idea strikes.

While I would love to say that I am neat and organized, my writing desk is a huge mess with sticky notes and study materials strewn across every empty surface. Lately, my writing involves a lot translating and research. On any given day I may be working through old letters, incomplete family memoirs, maps, and history books.

My go to beverage is coffee which sounds like a cliché but a cup in the morning is how I like to start my day. I am, however, trying to drink more water. I don’t do that enough.

An Excerpt from Your Roots Cast a Shadow

CHOINKI ANDMENORAHS: A CLASH OF HOLIDAYS IN WARSAW

Hanukkah comesearly in 2013, starting on November 27. Most of our things are still in boxessomewhere on the ocean. It’s at this moment that it hits me. Where do I buy amenorah and candles in a Catholic country? In Toronto or Vancouver, it waseasy. But in Poland? I finally realize that the only place to find a menorahand candles is in the general store next to the Nożyk synagogue on TwardaStreet, in what was once the Jewish part of town. Entering the courtyard, Ifeel the same way I do when I first see the boundary marker embedded in thesidewalk on Swiętokrzyska depicting the wall where the Jewish Ghetto oncestood. The friend I’m walking with, a longtime resident of Warsaw, admits it isthe first time she has noticed the marker. I don’t say anything, but I want toyell out at everyone mindlessly stepping over the metal plaque, “Do you knowwhat you just walked over? Do you know what happened here? How can you go aboutyour day and ignore history? At least take a second to acknowledge it.” Thisisn’t about religion; it’s more 74 Your Roots Cast a Shadow about humanity. Iam frustrated. I am terrified that this is ignored. Why isn’t more being doneto educate the public? I know that there is a good chance that the Holocaustwill be forgotten in the near future, and that will be dangerous for the entireworld. I feel paralyzed with my thinking, and I’m not entirely sure what I cando to relay my fears to anyone who will listen. A uniformed soldier cradling alarge gun stands guard out front. This is a very common sight around mostEuropean synagogues. The main synagogue in Berlin stands behind a ten-footfence. The main synagogue in Florence has concrete barricades spanning asix-foot perimeter around the entrance. Paris, Prague, Venice—if the city evenhas a synagogue, then it’s most likely behind some sort of wall, populated witharmed guards. Churches on the other hand are easily accessible, with doors thatare open to the public. We approach a man sitting behind a large glass wall.“What do you want? Why are you here? Are you Jewish?” I say that I am, and myhusband is not. We have to hand over our passports and with much skepticism heallows us, finally, to enter. I am more welcome in the general store, and whenthe man behind the counter learns I’m in the market for a menorah, he isthrilled to show me everything they have. I also buy some candles and a fewother treats that will get us through the holidays. As we leave, after he tellsme that I’m always welcome, he says a few words in Hebrew. I smile and mumblesomething. I hope he doesn’t guess that I have no idea what he said.

Thank you so much, Caroline. for being our guest this week, and for sharing an excerpt. We wish you continued success with your writing.

Thank you to all our readers and visitors. Please leave a comment below if you have a moment.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Connie Cook

 

Let’s welcome Connie back to theScribbler.

 

She has been busy since her lastvisit in 2022 with a new novel to share with us.

If you missed her most recent visit,please go HERE.

Read on my friends.

 

 

 

Connie Cook is a Retired Registered Nurse. As backgroundresearch for the novel, she completed an online course to become a privateinvestigator. Connie enrolled in writing classes and has been writing eversince. Her short stories have been published by Chicken Soup for the Soul,Pacific Magazine, CommuterLit and Feminine Collective.

 

 

Title: The Queen of Swords

 

Synopsis: When Jennifer's best friend Deslyn vanishes after a date with an online stranger, her world is thrown into chaos. As a seasoned ER nurse, Jennifer thrives under pressure, but this time it's personal-and she refuses to sit idly by. Meanwhile, Detective Joe Moretti from the Boston PD is hot on a similar case: three women dead, all linked through the same online dating site Deslyn was using before her disappearance. The trail has gone cold, until a chilling new discovery points north to Port Credit, Ontario, where a recent victim pulled from the lake matches the killer's MO. But this time, there's a twist: the victim is still alive.

Arriving in Canada, Joe meets Jennifer, the ER nurse assigned to the latest victim. Sparks fly between the sharp-witted nurse and the determined detective, each holding pieces of a puzzle that could stop a killer. But Jennifer has a secret weapon-her mother Portia, the town witch and psychic, who might be able to tip the scales in their favor. In a race against time, they'll need every advantage they can get.

As danger escalates, Jennifer and Joe must navigate a tangled web of deceit and trust, their quest symbolized by the tarot cards that guide their path. Can they expose the killer and locate Deslyn before it's too late? Will Portia's magic help uncover the truth? Intuition meets investigation in this gripping thriller, where the power of the otherworldly may hold the key to solving the case and saving lives.


The Story Behind the Story: I’ve always been a fan of mysterynovels and TV shows so creating a mystery novel was fun to do. Also, I’ve beenfascinated with tarot cards in the past, not necessarily for fortune-tellingbut more on how they can help you be more creative in interpreting the picturesand making up a story out of groupings of cards.

Atthe local bookstore I came across a book titled Tarot for Writers, byCorrine Kenner and published by Llewellyn Publications. It seemed a perfect fitand I used the cards to depict either the character in the chapter or an actionthat occurred within. This resulted in the novel The Queen of Swords, a TarotCard Murder Mystery.

A question before you go, Connie:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? 

Connie: Favourite place to write has to be at my desk, with my black cat laying in front of the monitor and occasionally stepping on the keyboard.

 

THEHIGH PRIESTESS/Prologue

   

The Card depicts a woman holdinga crystal ball in one hand, an open book in the other. A full moon overheadcasts shards of light through the darkness.

Meaning: Look inward andseek enlightenment. The Priestess is a channel, a medium for exploration of thesoul. She embraces the elements of earth, air, water, and fire to balance herintuition and magick.

 

Portianever read the tarot cards on a Monday. Card reading required her fullattention, and today was her day off. For most people, Mondays were forcleaning, doing laundry, and other normal things. But Portia came from a longline of witches and being normal was not how she would ever begin to describeherself. As the town witch and local psychic, cleaning took on an entirelydifferent perspective.

Sheopened the windows to let the fall breeze blow through, ridding her storefrontshop of bad karma and residual effects from customers over the weekend. Love,money, health, and travel were the big four when it came to a reading, and as awhite witch, she adhered to the mantra of doye no harm. Portia picked up the antique straw broom with its leather-lacewrapped handle and swept, even though it wasn’t dust she was sweeping. It wasthe air that needed cleansing.

 Syris, her twelve-year old black cat,skillfully moved and weaved his way over the tall wooden shelves stocked withapothecary jars filled with mugwort, wormwood, vervain, and the more commonchoices of lavender, geranium, and rose petals. He was careful and neverknocked anything over; even tolerated the broom when it came near.

Thetinkle of the shop bell over the door startled her. Darn, had sheforgotten to engage the lock after cleaning the windowpanes? The CLOSED FOR THEDAY sign was clearly posted. She frowned, then summoned a smile as she tuckedan errant strand of hair behind her ear.

Atall, slim figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. The background sun made ithard for her to see his face. His stance seemed harmless enough. The reek ofstench that surrounded him and wafted through the open door spoke otherwise.Odor infiltrated her nostrils, sent her sixth sense into overdrive. Portia wasno stranger to evil. She had faced it in the past and survived, but not withoutsacrifice.

Careful,I must be careful, she cautioned herselfbefore speaking. “Sorry, I must have forgotten to lock the door when I wascleaning. I’m closed today. Perhaps you could come back another time?”

         The sound of a glass bottle hit the floor.Shards and splinters sent flying. Syris leapt from the top shelf and raced tothe back of the shop. Okay kitty, good response. I’m getting your messageloud and clear. A chill reverberated up her spine. Syris was an intuitivecat, her “familiar” in witch-speak, and she’d learned to trust his instincts.

        She waited for a response from the manwho had insinuated himself into her space. He was taking his time, as if he wasin control. Portia knew better. The Purple Pentacle was her shop, her domain,and whoever this demon was, he’d best not tangle with her. Even so, sheclutched the straw broom in front of her, as if to put a barrier between herand the stranger.

“Myapologies,” he replied. His voice was surprisingly mild, not what she’d beenexpecting. “Yes, I’ll be sure to visit you again when you’re open. I’m new tothe area, just absorbing the local flavor.” As he came closer, blackexpressionless eyes took in not only her, but the entire room. Portia met hisgaze, not flinching, totally focused.  Heturned to leave and said, “Perhaps you’ll do a reading for me another day. Inthe meantime, remember to lock your door.”

Hisstench permeated the shop. It smelled like death and rotting flesh.  Portia couldn’t get to the door fast enoughwhen he left. Even the sound of the lock clicking home didn’t make her feelsafe. She peered through the window as the tall lanky stranger wandered downLakeshore Road towards the Credit River. He tossed his head back a couple oftimes, looking at her as if to say, You’ve not seen the last of me!

Adark brown aura wafted over the Port Credit marina, a mere block away. Normallyit was a clear blue azure, and in Portia’s experience, the universe always gotthings right. Bottom line, this guy would be back. Instinct told her she wouldneed to be prepared. It had been many moons since she’d faced someone thisevil. Every ounce of her being and skills would be pulled into action.

 She closed her eyes, willed her mind to focus,and called on the spirit guides to aid her in what was to come. They’d neverlet her down before and she trusted their guidance. We’re here, we’re herefor you. Trust in your abilities and all will come to pass the way it isintended. The welcoming whispered voices soothed her soul and intuitively,Portia knew they would be present with her along this journey, as they’d beenthere for her in the past.

Shelit a lavender incense stick to cleanse the air and restore peace and calm toher shop. As smoky plumes of fragrance filtered through the room, Syrisreturned from his hasty retreat and perched on the wooden counter, near thedeck of tarot cards. It wasn’t like him to be there. He’s picking up on myvibes, she thought. I need to reassure him. Upon her approach, heswatted the deck. Five cards were strewn on the floor. Four were turned faceside up. His message was clear. The cards needed to be read.

Portiaknelt beside them, gently brushed the glass shards aside. First was the King ofSwords, a protector. Who was he and why was he there? Beside him andoverlapping was the Queen of Swords. Portia knew that card well. It representedher daughter Jennifer, a Registered Nurse who frequently showed up in herreadings.  But why were they so entwined?She’d never had Jen show up in the cards before with a man.

Afoot away was The Devil, no doubt the guy who’d been in her shop earlier. Itwas the fourth card that clamped her heart in an icy grip. A female body lay onthe ground near water, her back impaled with ten long blades. It was the Ten ofSwords. There were three swords in the first four cards, too many to be acoincidence. Swords meant strife or conflict. Was her daughter or someone sheknew in trouble?  Or could it be someoneelse?

Thefifth card had skittered under the table a few feet away. Her hand shook as sheturned it over. It was from the major arcana, the card of Death. Mostly, thedeath card meant unexpected change, a release from the past, or transitioning.It wasn’t to be taken literally. The chill up her spine spoke otherwise.

Portiareached for the Ten of Swords, the presumed victim, one who required safety.The card vibrated between her palms. She closed her eyes and listened to thespirits, surveyed the scene, heard the message sent from the heavens. Some ofit was a vision, part sounded like a voice pleading for help, like a desperatelast attempt to stay alive. The images faded in and out. She struggled to makesense of them, closed her eyes, and focused, trying to hone in on the message.Through the fog in her brain, a voice filtered, not that of the victim—perhapsa spirit guide speaking for her, guiding her to safety.

…

She is cold, barely anyfeeling left in her body.  Her shoulderscrapes against a rock as gentle waves from the Credit River wash her to shore.She is oblivious to the abrasions, the pain. As her head grates against thegraveled shoreline, she struggles to inhale. Her chest feels tight, pressured,like a weight is sitting on it. The rest of her still floats in shallow waterat the river’s edge.  At least her faceis above the waterline. She struggles to gather her bearings, struggles tobreathe. It is a mess of confusion. Lost thoughts, memories, what in hell ishappening to her?

Is that a dog barking, orjust more noise in her head? It jumbles together as she hears a voice yell,“Shit, call 911.” More movement as she feels herself being pulled from thewater, something thrown over her. Don’t cover my face, she silently begs. I needto breathe.

Minutes later, thepulsing wail of a siren splits the cold autumn air. She closes her eyes, andhopes and prays they are coming for her.

…

        Portia knew this girl was still alive.The victim’s subconscious thoughts were vivid, current. But there were otherswho had passed. Shades of spirits floated, surrounding this girl who was stilltethered to earth.

Syrispaced a protective circle around the cards three times, including the errantfifth card. His paw came to rest on the King of Swords.

Andso, it began.

 

 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Connie. And for sharing an excerpt from your novel. We wish you continued success with your writing.

And a thousand thank yous to all our visitors and readers.

The Story Behind the Story with Author donalee Moulton of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada

 

Let’s welcome donalee to the Scribbler

I had the pleasure of meeting donaleeat a book fair recently. She has kindly agreed to be our guest this week. Sheis an award winning author, as well as an educator and poet. Or as her websitesuggests,

… a woman of mystery …

Read on my friends.

 

 

donaleeMoulton’s first mystery book Hung out to Die was published in 2023. Ahistorical mystery, Conflagration!, was published in 2024. It won the 2024Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense (HistoricalFiction). donalee has two new books coming out in 2025, Bind and Melt, thefirst in a new series, the Lotus Detective Agency.

A shortstory “Swan Song” was one of 21 selected for publication in Cold Canadian Crime.It was shortlisted for an Award of Excellence. Other short stories have beenpublished in numerous anthologies and magazines. donalee’s short story“Troubled Water” was shortlisted for a 2024 Derringer Award and a 2024 Award ofExcellence from the Crime Writers of Canada. 

donalee isan award-winning freelance journalist. She has written articles for print andonline publications across North America including The Globe and Mail, Chatelaine,Lawyer’s Daily, National Post, and Canadian Business.

As well,donalee is the author of The Thong Principle: Saying What You Mean and MeaningWhat You Say and co-authored the book, Celebrity Court Cases: Trials of theRich and Famous.

 

Title: Conflagration!

Synopsis:

Conflagration!

On a warm springday in April 1734, a fire raged through the merchants’ quarter in Montréal.When the flames finally died, 46 buildings – including the Hôtel-Dieu conventand hospital – had been destroyed. Within hours, rumors ran rampant thatMarie-Joseph Angélique, an enslaved Black woman fighting for her freedom, hadstarted the fire with her white lover. Less than a day later, Angélique sat inprison, her lover nowhere to be found. Though she denied the charges, witnessesclaimed Angélique was the arsonist even though no one saw her set the fire.

In an era whenlawyers are banned from practicing in New France, Angélique is on her own.Philippe Archambeau, a court clerk assigned specifically to document her case,believes Angelique might just be telling the truth. Or not. A reticent servant,a boisterous jailer, and three fire-scorched shingles prove indispensable inhis quest to uncover what really happened.

Angélique’s timeis running out as Archambeau searches for answers. Will the determined courtclerk discover what really happened the night Montreal burned to the groundbefore it’s too late?

 

TheStory Behind the Story:

This book was agift from my publisher, BWL Publishing, which has a series of historicalmysteries set in each province and territory in Canada. My publisherunexpectedly lost her Quebec writer and asked if I could step in. I couldn’twait.

Conflagration!, a historical mystery that follows the trialof an enslaved Black women accused of arson in Montreal in 1734, is founded inreal-life events but wrapped in a mystery of my own making. The level of detailin court transcripts and the timelines set by the trial process meant I had adetailed blueprint for the book before I even began.

Website: Please go HERE.


A  couple of questions before you go donnalee:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write?

donalee: There is no special place for me when it comes to writing. Whenever I have a chance to engage with words, that is the most special of all places. I am not a marathon writer. I am a sprinter. I can’t sit and write for hours at a time. I break up my writing by taking a yoga class, soaking up some sunshine, checking email, doing some paid work. I do try to write 1,000 fictional words a day. Some days I achieve this. We don’t need to talk about the other days.

Scribbler: Are you messy or neat?

donalee: I find myself in the midst of clutter dreaming about sparse, well-organized places.

Scribbler: Your beverage of choice?

donalee: A smoothie with avocado, fruit, yogurt, protein and chocolate.



An Excerpt from Conflagration!



Conflagration! follows the arrest, trial, and execution of Marie-Joseph Angélique, an enslaved black woman accused of burning down Montréal’s merchant quarter more than 250 years ago. Here’s where it all started.

***

The soldiers are beating a warning on drums that can be heard throughout the streets. Soon troops are running through town with buckets, ladders, shovels. The town crier can be heard in the distance. He says only one word, over and over and over.

Fire.

My boots are on, and I am heading out the door. It is the law. All able-bodied men must report to the scene of the conflagration to assist. I take a cloth to wrap around my mouth. The smoke is starting to fill the streets, and it will be intense the closer I get to the blaze.

I turn to kiss Madeleine goodbye. She has a shawl on. “Where are you going?”

“With you.”

“Absolutely not. You can’t fight a fire.”

“But I can help those in distress.” With that my wife and my unborn child are out the door and heading down rue Saint-Antoine. I look at her retreating back, proud and perturbed.

We follow the crowd, the drums, and the voice of the town crier to rue Saint-Paul. The street is in flames. The de Béréy house is consumed. It was only yesterday I stood inside that home, admired its design and its furniture, spoke with its owner.

We form a brigade; bucket after bucket after bucket of water is passed and poured on houses that line both sides of the street. To no avail.

In less than three hours it is over. The fire has won. More than forty homes are gone. Gone. Reduced to black ash, burnt stubs of wood, and tar, from the water that was tossed everywhere in a futile attempt to squelch the flames.

Also burnt to the ground – again – is the Hôtel-Dieu de Montréal. The sisters who run this convent and hospital are outside helping those who have sought refuge. A few buildings remain to offer sanctuary including a private courtyard, a small chapel, and a garden. People gather here, at what is often considered to be the heartbeat of Montréal. Mercifully, no one is seriously hurt. No one has died. But families are without homes, their servants and slaves displaced. Businesses destroyed. I see the Panis slave from the de Béréy house and the servant girl who answered the door. They are drinking tea; others are drinking sweetened brandy. They all look past me.

Neighbors and nuns are handing out blankets and offering comfort. Fortunately, the night is mild, wrapped now in a layer of damp smoke. I look from across the street at the human remnants of the fire, at the sisters who scurry to lend aid, at the neighbor woman who holds a child while its mother consoles another. I lock eyes with the neighbor woman through the heavy haze. I know those eyes.

Madeleine.

* * *

We start to make our way home slowly. Our bodies are heavy; our hearts carry the same load. I have never experienced a fire like this. We have been warned, of course, but those warnings pale in comparison to the reality. There is solace only in knowing that we did all we could as a community. I wonder, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, if we did all we legally could have done. But that is a question for another time. Now is the time to mourn what has been lost.

I hold Madeleine’s hand. We are about to leave rue Saint-Paul behind us when we hear banging of the drums. François Roy, the town crier, has an announcement. It is perhaps more devastating than the debris and ash that surrounds us.

Marie-Joseph Angélique, Black slave of Thérèse de Couagne de Francheville, set the town of Montréal on fire.

Before there is time to think, to absorb this news, a man in the hospital courtyard turns to the slave woman at the centre of the firestorm. He, too, accuses her of setting the fire, insists everyone knows this. I see people nod their heads. I anticipate their will be trouble.

There isn’t. Marie-Jospeh Angélique confronts her accuser. There is no vacant stare, no deference here. No one, she says, would be so stupid as to light their own home on fire.

There is merit in the argument. I wonder if it is an argument that would win out in a court of law. I will soon find out.





Thank you for being our guest this week, donalee. We wish you continued success with your writing.

And a GIGANTIC THANK YOU to all our visitors and readers

The Story Behind the Story by Author/Poet Armand Ruffo of Ontario, Canada.

 Let’s welcome Armand to theScribbler.

Armand is represented by River StreetWriting and the second in a series of visits from their distinguished authors.

Thank you to Hollay Ghadrey of RiverStreet for introducing us.

I’m sure you will enjoy learningabout Armand and his writing.

Read on my friends.

 

 

ArmandGarnet Ruffo wasborn and raised in remote northern Ontario and is a band member of the ChapleauFox Lake Cree First Nation in northern Ontario. He is the author of some dozen books of prose and poetry, ranging from writingNorval Morrisseau: Man Changing Into Thunderbird (2014) and Treaty# (2019),both finalist for the Governor General’s Literary Award, to editing An Anthology of IndigenousLiterature in English: Voices from Canada for Oxford U Press.  A recipientof an Honourary Life Membership Award from the League of Canadian Poets, andthe Writers’ Trust of Canada Latner Poetry Prize, h e is recognized as a major contributor to bothcontemporary Indigenous literature and Indigenous literary scholarship inCanada. His most recent book is The Dialogues: the Song of Francis Pegahmagabow,winner of the 2024 VMI Betsy Warland “Between Genres” Award.  He currently lives in Kingston and teachesIndigenous literature and creative writing at Queen’s University.

 

 

Title: The Dialogues: the Song of FrancisPegahmagabow

 

Synopsis:  A poetic narrative (which makes up the libretto for the musical version) about the life of the renowned WWI Ojibwe sniper Francis Pegahmagabow with textual interventions that address the narrative and the reader, raising questions about human-kind’s drive to make war on each other and the very planet that sustains. Moving in multiple directions, The Dialogues employs historical documents, philosophical queries, questions of translation, opera scores, graphic design… each resonating their own kind of poetry, while laying bare the struggle to reach through the past and into truth.

TheStory Behind the Story:

The originallibretto ­– titled “Sounding Thunder: the song of Francis Pegahmagabow” – wascommission by the Festival of Sound in Parry Sound to mark their 35thanniversary.  Because the production wasreceived with standing ovations (It will be performed in Vancouver at The ChanCentre in early February 2025.), I was asked by audience members during theQ&As if I would consider publishing it. I thought about it, but because it was not written for the page I had tofigure out a way to do it.  Then onemorning I awoke knowing what to do.  Mysubconscious had figured it out.  And soI created a dialogue by stretching out the libretto – the poetic-narrative –onthe left-hand side of book and adding new material on the right-hand side,creating what I might call inventions. In a sense, then, the two sides of thebook talk to each other resulting in a dialogue which in turn creates aconversation with the reader.  In short,whatever Francis’ story touches on, be it war, politics, spirituality, theenvironment, residential schools, etc., is opened up on the right-hand side ofthe page.  By this I mean that elementsof the narrative are potentially reframed, expanded, developed, and, in turn,they address and implicate the reader. I hope this is making sense, or at leastarousing curiosity.

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Armand:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?

Armand: In the winter I do most of my writing in my home office. It’s cramped and cluttered with books everywhere, filing cabinet overflowing, pictures askew, paddles and bags propped in a corner, but it has a nice big window, and it’s comfortable. In the summer I used to work in a cabin near Haliburton, but the property next door was flipped a few years ago by real estate investors and nearly all the trees were cut down to build a monster cottage. (I mention this in The Dialogues.) For obvious reasons I don’t go there anymore. I now go to a cabin just north of Kingston. In the fall I often head up to remote northern Ontario to visit my family, but I never get much writing done. Too busy visiting and playing!


An Excerpt from The Dialogues: the Song of Francis Pegahmagabow (Wolsak & Wynn, 2024)  

 

SCENE ONE – SETTING THE SCENE -- HEREINTHE NARRATOR MAKES HIS APPEARANCE                    

ANDIN A STEADY VOICE INTRODUCES FRANCIS PEGAHMAGABOW 

PICTURE HIM, male, 25, Anishnaabe-Ojibwe

compact, sturdy, brave,

self-reliant, defiant.

 

He steps out of the shadows

and stands quietly

in a distant corner of the trench. 

 

In his left hand he holds a pinch oftobacco

that he raises up

to beseech Gitchi-Manido,

The Great Mystery.

 

He prays aloud so that the Creator

might hear him

and take pity on him and thecompany. 

 

He begins by honouring the fourdirections.                                                           

                                                          XXX

 

                                                                            keeper

                                      Wabenokkwe,master of the east.

 

                                                                     keeper

                                                     Shauwanigizik, rulerof the south.

 

                                                                              keeper

                                                     Nanabush, guardianof the west.

 

                                                                        keeper

                                                      Giyuedin,spirit of the north

 

 

Translations can never be exact. In her novel Fugitive Pieces,a book mired in war,

Ann Michaels writes that translating poetry is like kissing awoman through a veil.

You never quite get it.  Sherefers to the difficulty of translating Greek poetry. What aboutAnishinaabemowin?  Linguists consider itone of the most complex languages on the planet.

Six Thousand verb forms.  Areflection of a peoples’ reality.

The Dialogues: Winner of the VMI Betsy Warland “Between Genres” Award.
Read about it HERE.

Thank you for being our guest this week,Armand. We wish you continued success with your writing.

 
And another HUGE thank you to all our visitorsand readers.

Don’tbe shy, tell us what’s on your mind.

The news we've all been waiting for. A new novel by Allan Hudson of Dieppe, NB, Canada.

 Here it is folks!

Cover reveal.

The Jo Naylor adventure series in onebook.

 

Due to popular demand, the original storieshave been compiled and given a fresh new cover.

Ta Da!

 

 

DetectiveJosephine (Jo) Naylor receives an email telling her where to find the nextbody.

 The messenger tells her “… only you can stopthis madness…” Discovering a shattered figurine on the corpse, she’soverwhelmed by the possibility it might be the one she sold in

ayard sale.

Ifso, she knows who the killer could be. She prays she is wrong.

 

Inpursuing the criminal, she uncovers her worse nightmare.

Nowshe’s on the run. Thailand. Paris. New Zealand.

Willshe ever be able to return home?

 

Originally, the story of Detective Josephine, (Jo) Naylorstarted as a short story in my collection titled A Box of Memories.  My earlier inspiration was a thought that whatif a detective was investigating the crimes committed by what looks like aserial killer, is someone she’s know all her life. 

The stories slowly evolved over the next year or two withme adding additional stories of JO’s hardships when she has to run.

It began with Shattered Figurine. Then Shattered Lives. ShatteredDreams was next and to tie everything together, Shattered: The Final Act.

 

When searching for a new title, a good friend suggested thatthe new book would be completely shattered. I loved it right away and it fits. 

The following reviews will give you an idea of what toexpect should you decide to order my new book

ShatteredFigurine

Reviewby author Anita Dawes.

The opening chapter presents the detective, Jo Naylor, with a very important question. One she didn’t really want to answer but knows she must.
The next chapter, one year later, hits you square in the face with full on complicated and violent action as we discover what this story is all about.
Shattered Figurines is a surprisingly unusual detective story in that it doesn’t follow the usual plotline for this genre and the characters aren’t run of the mill either. The author has captured a very real element in both the story and the characters and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
I love a good detective mystery story and Shattered Figurines is one of the best I have read this year. I shall be first in the queue when the author writes another one in this series.

ShatteredLives

Reviewby author MJ LaBeff.

One tough heroine, one fast-paced read!
Former detective Jo Naylor is on the run and finds a whole lot of trouble in paradise when she saves a young girl from the clutches of a predator. She becomes a temporary guardian to the orphaned girl and a special bond between the two is easily formed. When another girl is taken her mother pleads to Jo for help- who can’t say no despite the limitations she faces. Jo enlists the help of a PI who like her isn’t a woman to be underestimated. Together they uncover a crime ring that runs deeper than either could anticipate and puts both of them in danger.
Jo’s take no prisoners attitude, relentless pursuit of justice, and fearless fight against the men she encounters is an action-packed adventure. The author’s snappy writing and spot-on pacing makes this mystery a perfect page-turner.


Shattered DreamsReview by author Mark Scott Piper.


I previously enjoyed Allan Hudson’s short story collection, A Box of Memories, and I wanted to try another of his works. I chose the third release in the Jo Naylor Adventure series, Shattered Dreams. The cover art and the idea of a tough woman protagonist were intriguing. I was not disappointed.
Jo Naylor is attractive, an ex-cop, and a highly skilled combatant. She arrives in Paris to try to stay under the radar, but she’s soon involved in confronting a human trafficking ring. She’s the instigator of the plan to find and stop the bad guys. Jo meets an intriguing, unconventional group of friends—Max, Aurora, Brandy, and eventually Bertrand—all likable and relatable characters who’ll live long in the memories of readers. The criminals, on the other hand, are pure evil, cruel, and dangerous, although they stop short of becoming mere stereotypes.
Although she takes charge and jumps into the fray with enthusiasm and skill, we learn that Jo Naylor is more than just a tough combatant who’s bent on stopping evildoers—even though that might be enough in this genre. As her relationship with Bertrand develops we find that Jo has a softer side.
The ending wasn’t what I expected, probably because I haven’t yet read the first two books in the series, but Jo’s decision at the close of the narrative fits her personality perfectly. The plot is fast-moving and action-packed. I read Shattered Dreams in a day. Yes, it’s a short piece, but I was racing to the end before I remembered I meant to be doing other things. That’s the mark of a well-written, compelling novel.
I highly recommend Allan Hudson and Shattered Dreams. Find out for yourself. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.

Shattered:The Final Act.

Reviewby author Anne Smith-Nochasak.

Shattered: The Final Act is the culminating book in author Allan Hudson's Shattered series.
Fans of Jo Naylor will not be disappointed. Once again, the author presents a fast-moving, action-packed plot with Jo as strong and committed to justice as ever. It is a short read, but not a light read, for, as is always the case in Allan Hudson's books, although there is an economy of words, each is necessary and well-chosen. Each character is well-developed and true to life. The sisters sound like people I have met, and Jo's alliance with the enigmatic Drake reveals the strengths of both. Especially, I appreciate receiving just enough backstory to jog the reader's memory, without retelling the first three books.
The story rushes forward to a surprising conclusion, and although this is the "final act", I am relieved to see that there simply must be another series to address this outcome.
An excellent read, highly recommended for those seeking justice with a conscience!
I believe another Allan Hudson series is next on my list; after you read, you will see why.

Physical copies available from me, signed and shipped anywhere in the world.$29.99 CDN(shipping charges are extra)
You can also purchase the eBook version from me as well.$6.99Contact me for details, payment and shipping of eBooks at
sbscribbler@gmail.com

Or on Amazon – go HERE.

Copies will soon be available at Chapters, Moncton, NB location

Thank you for you tremendous support.


Let me know if you have any questions.
I look forward to your comments.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Eve Koguce of Jurmala, Latvia, Europe.

 

Let’s welcome our first guest from the beautifulcountry of Latvia.

I met Eve through mutual author friends and wasdrawn to her stories.

She has accepted our invitation to share thegood news about her novel. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.

Read on my friends.

 

 

I’ve been blessed to be born in the best place on the planet. Myhometown, Jurmala in Latvia, is a seaside town on the coast of the Baltic Seawith an endless sandy beach. Riga, the capital of Latvia, is the city rich withhistory and extraordinary architecture. Riga has the largest number of splendidArt Nouveau buildings in the world.

I guess that living surrounded by the beauty of nature and historyignited a creative spark in me. But still, it lay dormant for a long time. I’vebeen an avid reader since the age of five. My parents didn’t have to read to mebefore bedtime for too long, for I quickly snatched the book from them andasked them to leave me alone with reading. I started writing poetry when I wasa teenager and also attempted to write a novel. But being a ‘good girl’, Ididn’t pursue my passion for writing after school graduation. I spent fifteenyears trying to fit into the office work pattern. And although I was feelingmiserable and out of place every day of that climbing the ladder process, Imanaged to build a relatively successful career after an ambitious shift fromthe private to the public sector. The job I had wasn’t boring. It was actuallypretty exciting. I worked with internationally funded projects and met peoplefrom all over the world every day.

After my son was born, I had a unique chance to stop and rethink notonly what I’d achieved so far, but what I really wanted from life. I made adecision to leave my old life behind, and I’ve never regretted it.

Since then, I published six books. Pleasevisit my website to discover more about my novels. Link is below.

 

Title: “The Accidental Cop”

 

Synopsis:

What if to havefood on your table every day, you have to cross the line? Cheat, take bribes,and grovel before people in position of power and influence? Welcome to the“savage 90s”… A personal hell of Roberts Bergs.

To succeed you must play by the rules. Roberts learns the rules quickly. Thesystem run by the Soviet-era ex-militia officers is a good teacher. Who youknow counts for more than your abilities, qualifications, and knowledge. Thesystem also doesn’t tolerate disobedience.

Roberts Bergs had to start making difficult choices early in life. With few optionsto choose from, he settles for available ones. Beggars cannot bechoosers, is his motto.

His coursemates at the Police Academy dip their toes into adulthood while stillliving in the cocoon of their parental homes. For them, life is about parties,new experiences, and searching for their true self. For Roberts, it’s aboutpoverty, hunger, and not being killed by a crazed drunkard with an axe during apatrol shift.

A patrolman of the Public Order Police patrol battalion isn’t Roberts’s dreamjob. But it is better than not having one. Trudging through the grim slums ofthe city, his interest in arts, history, and literature is what sustains him.

He believes in human dignity and freedom of choice. He wants to become alawyer.

Despite the resistance from his superiors, Roberts keeps climbing up the careerladder. The contrast between those who play by the rules and those who believein honesty and justice becomes starker. Luxury and self-indulgence for thefirst, and dragging out a miserable existence for the latter.

Is it worth it to remain true to his principles? Or is succumbing to thecorrupted and merciless system the only way to survive?

Set in Latvia at the end of the first post-Soviet decade, named bypop culture as the “savage 90s”, “The Accidental Cop” is a blendof noir crime and police procedural with psychological suspense elements.

The ”Accidental Cop” has won several literary awards:

- Honorable Mention award in the 2023 Royal Dragonfly Book Awards contest/ Fiction Novel category;
- Finalist award in the Pacific Book Awards contest 2023 /Best Thriller category;
- Finalist award in the Readers’ Favorite Book Award contest2024 / Fiction Crime category.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

"TheAccidental Cop" is set in Latvia at the end of the first post-Sovietdecade. The decade branded by pop culture the ‘savage 90s.’ In Latvia, many remember that decade as thecraziest time of their lives. Some managed to grab the chances to start makingmoney through all kinds of illegal schemes. Not all of them got away with it.Still, those who did climbed even higher. By the arrival of the new millennium,they were respected businessmen, and their influence spread wide. Even into thelaw enforcement authorities.

In 1998, the population of Latvia was2.41 million people. More than half of them lived in poverty. Dry figuresprovided in official reports hide family tragedies and countless lost andwrecked lives.

At times of transition, old rules don’t apply whilenew ones aren’t yet established. Because of that, the 90s were the decade whencriminals flourished. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, people were freeto start private businesses. But due to holes in the legislation and theoverall chaos, you had to pay for “protection” to keep your business running.And the guys who collected the money had effective persuasion methods for thosewho refused to agree to the rules.

Once, the bell at our door rang. My aunt – Mom’solder sister – and I were in the kitchen. Mom went to see who came. We heard anunfamiliar man’s voice. My aunt went to the corridor in case Mom needed help. Itrailed after her.

The man stood at the doorway – Mom didn’t let himin. Before leaving, he looked at my aunt and me and turning back to Mom said:“Bring the money or I’ll cut off your kid’s and your mother’s heads and bringthem to you.”

At those times, it was incredibly difficult to keephope that life can change. And a lot of people didn’t live long enough to seethat it actually did.

“We never knew what it was like to be hungry.” Mom once dropped thisphrase, years after the worst time had ended. She added that it was thanks tomy aunt – Mom’s older sister – and her extraordinary, almost magical, landcultivation skills. In good years – harvest isn’t the same every year – we hada ton of apples and a ton of cucumbers. And this apart from all kinds ofberries, potatoes, carrots and I don’t remember what else.  I never knew hunger. I never thought about usnot having enough food. So, Mom’s words hit me like a bullet. Mom said that becauseof Aunt’s excellent cooking skills, we didn’t even notice that for months, ourmenu consisted almost solely of four ingredients: potatoes, carrots, beetroot,and zucchini.

Roberts in “The Accidental Cop” knows what hunger is. And what it doesnot only to your body. Still, he doesn’t give up. This is what a reader saysabout Roberts in their review: “He crawls untilhe can walk, and walks until he can run. He shows the immense and unimaginablecourage it took to survive his circumstances, by taking things one hour, oneday at a time, surviving one hour, one day at a time. He clings to hope, andhis personal integrity and honour, like a drowning man, until he canpotentially surface into a brighter future.”

“The Accidental Cop” gives readers the chance to get a glimpse of whatit was like to try to survive in the savage 90s in post-Soviet Latvia. In away, this book is a tribute to those who either hadn’t lived to tell theirstories or, after the grim times ended, preferred to leave them behind.

When I started writing “The Accidental Cop”, I was certain it would bethe only story set in the savage 90s that I’ll ever write. Those were dark andsad times for many, including my family. Still, now, after the book ispublished, I realise that the material I’d collected while doing research isenough for a few more stories. People shared their memories about the mostcontroversial decade of Latvia’s modern history with me. And I feel theinspiration to interweave these memories with fiction to draw a picture of thatwild decade on the pages of my books.

 Website: Please go HERE.


A question before you go, Eve:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?
Eve: I can’t answer with a description of a picture-perfect, Instagram-style, cosy nook where I can write in silence, enjoying the free flow of inspiration and creativity. Alas, the reality, as it is so often, is a little harsher than retouched images on social media. Having said that, I won’t deny that I like my practical arrangements for writing. I usually write in the kitchen, and my laptop – with a huge monitor my husband brought me so my poor eyesight doesn’t suffer more than it is absolutely necessary – sits on the table hand-crafted by a dear friend of my beloved late Mom especially for her.

I am boringly neat, and my working table is never messy. Yet, it isn’t due to my high standards, but rather because, as I mentioned earlier, my worktable dabs as a kitchen table – or it’s probably the other way round – and it’s impractical to spend time clearing the mess several times a day when my family gathers for a meal.

During the day, I drink copious amounts of tea – Rooibos with orange and cinnamon or with honey and vanilla is my favourite choice of late. I have a cup of coffee after waking up and also after lunch.




An Excerpt from "The Accidental Cop"



******

They found a gruesome scene. Still, if it was a crime scene or anaccidental tragedy display remained to be determined.

The operational group got to work, and soon, the place resembled astaged movie set ready for filming a detective story. Everyone moved aboutefficiently, performing the actions according to their duty list just as actorswould play their roles.

He mumbled while doingwhat he was supposed to do, not trying to suppress a whistle of surprise, achuckle, or a hiccup – whichever impulse was appropriate to demonstrate areaction of his body or mind.

“What a waste, what a waste,” he muttered under his breath, fussing overthe dead bodies it was his job to examine and identify the reasons for theirturning into such, “isn’t it always a waste? Of course, it is. Even if you werea poor bastard whom no one would miss, it’s still better if you had lived. Yes,yes, life is sacred…Life is a gift….”

Roberts entered the basement that the police had been called to checkafter he, Edgars, and the forensic team ensured the place was marked as a crimescene and the interest from neighbours ran dry. Edgars refused to go down tolook at the bodies saying it wasn’t his job and he wasn’t interested.

It wasn’t the adrenalin from the macabre sight that drew Roberts in. Hedidn’t feel any looking at the remains of what used to be a living creaturewith hopes, dreams, and people who cared about them. His interest wasn’t purelyprofessional, either. He didn’t see himself examining yet another crime scenein five years. Still, his life was now connected with crime and investigation.He had recently passed a Criminal Forensics exam successfully. It was a uniqueopportunity to compare theoretical knowledge with practice, even if the subjectwouldn’t have been his first choice for testing if he had one.

“Koha kungs,”Roberts greeted the forensic medical expert respectfully. He didn’t have tofeel the smell to know Zalamans’s breath betrayed alcohol consumption. Thenot-so-faint vodka aroma was an inalienable part of Zalamans Kohs’s image, andone which he did nothing to distance himself fromSo,nobody ever thought of complaining, and Kohs’s permanent inebriated state wastreated more like an oddity rather than a protocol violation.

“Oh, good day, young man!” Kohs raised his head from the dirty tabletophe was examining with absorbing intensity. “What a pleasure to see anintelligent face among this…,” Kohs cast a glance around the dirty, sordidspace, his face incredulous as if he had just seen it for the first time,“…chaos.”

“I hope I’m not disrupting your work.”

“The fact that you’ve thought about it at all means you aren’t.” Kohsturned away and made a wide gesture with both hands. “Tell me, what do you see?Never jump to making assumptions before you’ve looked at the crime sceneproperly. Never mix the order. First, watch carefully. And only then – think.”

Roberts looked around the basement.

Thank you for being our guest this week, Eve. I now have a copy of this book and am looking forward to reading it. We wish you continued success with your writing.


And thank you to all our amazing visitors and readers.
Don’t be shy. Leave us a comment below. TY.

The Story Behind the Story with Anne Smith-Nochasak of Nova Scotia, Canada.

 

Let’swelcome our first author of the new year.

 

Anne hasa new novel she’s excited about, as are her readers.

Shekindly accepted my invitation to share the SBTS.

Thisis not her visit and if you missed the one before, please go HERE.

Readon my friends.

 

 

I grew up in rural Nova Scotia, and nowreside there full-time after many years living and teaching in northern andisolated settings. In retirement, I teach part-time, work on my property, andenjoy the many aspects of writing life. My stories have grown from myexperiences and perceptions of the world around me. I have completed threenovels: A Canoer of Shorelines (a story of homecoming, family,self-acceptance, and love), The Ice Widow: A Story of Love and Redemption (alove story but not a romance, in which youthful infatuation becomes somethingunique and special in maturity), and River Faces North (the beginning ofa dystopian trilogy set in rural Nova Scotia, in which saving River will meanthe saving of much more.)

 

Title: RiverFaces North (Taggak Journey, Book 1)

Synopsis:

The year is 2036, and the land once known as North America is ravaged by environmental decay and ruled with an iron fist by the oppressive Millennial cult known as The Elect. Seventy-eight-year-old Flo is documenting what might be, in her opinion, “the last history of the world,” while managing the diverse, odd, and sometimes dangerous individuals hiding out in her rural Nova Scotian swamp. Flo clings to her granddaughter River, the only light left in this otherwise dark existence. Her Inuit-born son and his Salish partner, River’s parents, have escaped to Quebec to lead the resistance. There is no one left for Flo to trust now, but she holds onto the belief that change is possible and she diligently prepares for the revolution.

As River approaches her twelfth birthday, the Elect’s sinister plans threaten to tear them apart. Forced into a breeding program euphemistically dubbed “The Resurrection,” River faces a grim fate. Determined to defy the tyranny, Flo and River race against time to ensure River’s escape. There will be pain and sacrifice, but there will also be hope—and great love.

Through three books, the stories of some unlikely heroes, little people who set out to save the earth, will be revealed.

The Story Behind the Story:

While a student at the Atlantic School ofTheology many years ago, I completed a thesis in the area of eschatology, thestudy of the “Last Things.” The future of our world and its ending have alwaysfascinated me, and I consider this set of novels to be the secular retelling ofmy thesis. That is, I have taken a religious topic and turned it into a veryhuman story. Like my main character, Flo Hardy, I have a very practicalspirituality.

Ons spring day I was dabbling with ideas,writing short reflections and imagining characters. In one, I sketched adelightful old “rebel granny”, the kind who allowed no nonsense but perhapssecretly took her grandchildren white water rafting. Initially, she soundedcomedic. As I got to know her, I realized she was wise, passionate, perhapsslightly off-centre in her perception of the world, and someone I would want bymy side if the world were ending.

Someone like my late Aunt Ila—a battle axe witha heart of gold.

In another file, I was musing on my latehusband’s history, and wrote: “It begins in fire, and it will end in fire.”

From there, it was a quick jump to the plot!And when the third part is completed, you will see that it is indeed fire thatbegins the story, that ends the story, and that fills the hearts of ourunlikely heroes in between.

Website: Please go HERE.



A question before you go, Anne:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?

Anne: Currently, my favourite spot to write is at my old desk in the loft, overlooking the woodlot with a dog at my feet and a cat draped across the back of the chair. I sometimes have coffee, but usually just have a water bottle close by. It is a mess indeed, with cat hair, dog hair, and strewn papers.



An Excerpt from River Faces North

This excerpt begins our story.

A Rebel Grandmother Takes Her Last Stand. (Concerning June 2035)

I grip River’s hand tight to my side. We standamong the scraggly weeds, the bent stalks, the dead leaves that mark the placewhere once I had a driveway.

It is June. The heat and humidity pack aroundus here in the stifling bush; the sun pulses already and it is only six o’clock.

June is no longer lilacs and flowers and plantsbursting green from the rich loam. It is waves of heat rolling over a dulllandscape, the month that begins the grim journey to the mist and stickiness offall. The heat clings to the skin, and then there is rain pounding over theunyielding soil, with no relief to body or earth. We work in the night, gropingthrough the darkness and the bugs, senses alert for the first taste of smoke.Even beside the pooling flood waters a fire will rip through the earth withoutpity. I almost welcome a sudden, cataclysmic end to the world, all thingsconsidered.

The tears press my eyes, oozing and burning.

I force my chin up and raise my free hand.

My heart swells as I gaze after my son. He isstraight and tall like his father, strong in the ways of the Land, like himwith that quick grin, the light in his eyes.

I squeeze River’s hand. The tears are pushinghard and my body is spasming, straining to hold them back. My son and hispartner stride down the hill, shoulders set, nylon backpacks snug to theirshoulders, canteens bobbing at their sides. Down at the bend, they pause, atrace of dust scuffed up by their battered hiking boots.

My free hand lifts high, an open hand, a handof blessing.

I have precious little faith left, but I stillbless them.

And they smile and turn, a dazzle of light inhis eyes, so like his father, and they vanish.

Beside me, River moans as the sobs shake herbody. Her tears stream.

My Skye sits at her side, ears perked, tenseand watching.

Here is where River and Skye and I will makeour revolutionary stance.

It will be a secret one, and it will bring downthe Elect.

When River turns thirteen, you see, they planto take her.

Let them try.

I am a rebel grandmother, and this is myapocalyptic niche, my last stand, with all my secrets and my memories.

I stand tall, still clinging to River’s hand.Today is my seventy-eighth birthday. Blow out the candles and make a wish. Wishfor Jacob and wish for Reah. Wish for River, and Skye, and me. Wish for abreeze that is not a tornado, for a spring shower that does not rip out thehillside. Wish for a campfire that does not rain down fire on the earth. Wishfor a long and happy life for your loved ones. And for the desert to bloom withjoy.

I do not want to tell this story.

But I will. For you.

Your story sounds intriguing and something to look forward to, Anne.
Thank you for being our guest this week.
We wish you continued success with your stories.



And a HUGE thank you to all our readers and visitors.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Suzy Krause of Saskatchewan, Canada.

 Let’s welcome Suzy to theScribbler

 

Our last post for 2024 isactually the beginning of featured guests from the River Street Writingpublishing company

This week you will meet Suzyand read the SBTS of her newest novel.

Read on my friends.

 

  

 

Suzy Krause is a writer and music lover from the Saskatchewanprairies. Her first novel, Valencia andValentine , was inspired by her time as a debt collector and thesong Heart by Stars and was anAmazon Editors' First Reads Pick. She wrote her second book, Sorry I Missed You , after walking past a house with three mailboxes that looked likeit could possibly be haunted. It was also a First Reads pick, and was abestseller on Kindle and Audible. Her third book, I Think We've Been Here Before , is due September 2024 in Canada and December 2024 worldwide andhas been optioned for TV. It was inspired by a recurring dream about the end ofthe world that was oddly comforting. Her books have been translated intoRussian and Estonian.

 

Title: I Think We’ve Been Here Before

 

Synopsis:

Marlen and Hilda Jorgensen’s family has received two significantpieces of news: one, Marlen has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Two, acosmic blast is set to render humanity extinct within a matter of months. Itseems the coming Christmas on their Saskatchewan farm could be their last.

Preparing for the inevitable, they navigate the time they haveleft together. Marlen and Hilda have channeled their energy into improbablyprophetic works of art. Hilda’s elderly father receives a longed-for visitorfrom his past. Hilda’s teenaged nephew goes missing, and his mother refuses tobelieve the world is ending. All the while, Hilda’s daughter struggles to findher way home from Berlin with the help of an oddly familiar stranger. Foreveryone, there’s an unsettling feeling that this unprecedented reality issomething they remember.

As the planet holds its collective breath to seewhat happens next amid chaos, denial, acceptance, and hope, this one familydetermines to live every moment as if it’s their last. Because, well, it justmight be.

 

TheStory Behind the Story:

This book was born out of a recurring dream I had for a while where the world was ending. I'd always wake up from this dream feeling calm and comforted, wishing I could go back into it—which was so weird, I thought. It was an objectively terrifying dream: me, standing on a hill, watching a burning ball of flame coming straight at me, knowing it was The End. But I wasn't scared.

A friend told me that people often have dreams about the end of the world when, in real life, they're leaving something behind, moving on to something new. She said dreams can be a person's brain trying to make sense of stuff that's weird or hard or unprecedented. This seemed accurate to me—a lot of big things in my life were changing at the time. And it made sense to me, that these dreams might be my subconscious working through these changes. Maybe I was trying to comfort and reassure myself. Maybe, underneath all of the uncertainty and fear, I knew that the changes were good.

Anyway, it got me thinking about that phrase, 'the end of the world,' and how often in life it really does feel like the world is ending: we change our mind about something big, we move to a new job or a new place, an important friendship shifts or ends. 'The end of the world' has such a negative connotation—but it's often so necessary and even beautiful, for a thing to end, even a good thing. We say, "Calm down, it's not the end of the world." Well, so what if it is? Maybe what comes next is going to be better.

So I wanted to write a book about the end of the world, but I didn’t want it to be a disaster novel, a terrifying depiction of everything on fire. I wanted it to be calm and comforting, a story about relationships and love and grief, a story about life as much as it is about death.



Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Suzy:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?

Suzy: I love writing in coffee shops. There’s something about knowing that others in the room might be working on creative things of their own, being able to watch the people that come in and out and draw inspiration from them. Feeling like you’re part of something even while you’re doing something as solitary as writing. I get a latte if it feels like a special occasion, coffee with cream otherwise. 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Suzy.Your novel sounds intriguing and we’ll be sure to add it to our TBR list.We wish you continued success with your writing.
Thank you 
And a HUGE thank you to all out visitors and readers. Feel free to leave a comment below.

Wow... what a year. 2024.

 

 

Wow!

What a wonderful year it has been forthe South Branch Scribbler!

 

Join us today as we uncover a fewfacts about last year.

125000 visitors

47 guests

 Here's a few of them

Our most popular guest posts of 2024 participatingcreatives.

Olive Mazerolle of NB, Canada – 711 visits

Please go HERE

Katherine Melanie of Atlantic Canada- 560 visits

Please go HERE

Nancy Cusak of NB, Canada - 501visits

Please go HERE

Suzanne Casey of NB, Canada - 494visits

Please go HERE

Sally Cronin of Ireland – 373 visits

Please go HERE

 

This year we even had a visual artistas a guest.

 

Nadine Godin 0f Neguac, NB, Canada –202 visits

Please go HERE 

The top pages from the past but visitedin 2024.

 

Artist Susan Jardine of Shediac, NB,Canada – 958 visits

Please go HERE

Author Susan Toy of Bequia, Caribbean& NFLD – 783 visits

 

Please go HERE.

A list of creatives who shared the Scribblerpages over the last year.

Ivan Holiday Arsenault. Hollay Ghadery

Susan E. Wadds. Valerie Sherrard

Jon Hurd. SC Eston

Zev Bagel. Brian Francis

Andrew MacLean. Anne Dowdall

Mark E. Shupe. Sally Cronin

A Few More.....

Chuck Bowie. Michelle MacLean

Bea Waters. Gianetta Murray

Chantal MacDonald. Kade Cook

Paige LePage. StellaMacLean

Nicola Davison.Nadine Godin

Olive Mazerolle.Kathy Shuker

Joe Mahoney. D. C. Malcolm

Louise Boulter. Rhonda Bulmer

Sandra Bunting. Tina Lalonde

Angela Wren. Raymonde Savoie

... and a few more ...

Dianne Pennell. Rick Revelle

Joanna Vander Vlugt. Sandra WoodsPoulin

Diane McGyver. Suzanne Casey

Katherine Melanie. Em Whelly

Sheryl Doiron-Powers. Joe Powers

Hannah State

 

... and a few more ...

 

Personally I’ve had a great year withthe introduction of my latest novel

One Bedroom Ark.

 

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I participated in another anthology witha group of eight other talented authors know as the Seasonal Collective.

Summer Paths

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In the works …

Code Name: Iron Feather 1942

Arriving Spring, 2025.

 

CampDebert, an army base being built next door to Royal Canadian Air Force Base inDebert, Nova Scotia on the east coast of Canada. Thousands of thousands of menand women will pass through on their way to Europe. Units will be mustered,weapons handed out and training for war. The contractors are still erectingbuildings as fast as they can.

The newmess on the army base is partially completed until work stops when the foreman findsa dead body hanging from the rafters. Not a soldier, but an airman.

Everythingis hush-hush. The commanding officer has asked for the investigation to behandled by Warrant Officer Stefan Kravchenko of the Air Force Service Police.He’s ordered to Camp Debert, immediately. Upon arrival he discovers the sceneis all wrong. The medical examiner suggests it may look like a suicide, but …

 

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The Alexanders Vol 3 1926 – 1930

Fall 2025.

 

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Earth

Ananthology from the Seasonal Collective,ten authors joining together with their short stories under the theme Earth.June, 2025.

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The Greater Moncton, Riverview &Dieppe Book Fair was held in July of 2023.

An enjoyable day with curiousreaders.

50 authors gathered in one place.

Fun!

Planning for the 2025 event isunderway and I hope you will join us.

Same place – Riverview Lions Center

April 26, 2025 10 AM – 3 PM.

 Click on FUN! above.

 

Watch next week for the last guest ofthe year, we are excited to have Suzy Krause of Saskatchewan, Canada. 

 

 

Thank you everyone for visiting,reading and your comments.

The Story Behind the Story with author Ivan Holiday Arsenault of Daytona, Florida, USA.

 

Let’s welcome Ivan back to theScribbler.

For all you fantasy and sci-filovers, he has a new book and he’s here this week to share the SBTS and anexcerpt.

He’s been a guest before and if youmissed his previous visit, please go HERE.

Read on my friends.

 

Iam a former American Mensa member with a passion for adventure and a lifelonglove for the open road. Since 1986, I’ve ridden my 1979 Harley Shovelhead,embracing every mile as part of the journey. My diverse career spans service asa Private Military Contractor and former Blackwater member, along with trainingU.S. Army soldiers on Heavy Tactical Vehicles in Iraq and Afghanistan in 2008.In 1986, I invented the CRV Child’s Riding Belt, a device designed to aid inthe rehabilitation of paraplegic children, which earned me a nomination for anHonorary Ph.D. from the University of Alberta. Beyond my professionalachievements, I am deeply passionate about the realms of fantasy and sciencefiction. I have a special appreciation for Harry Potter, Tolkien’s works,Dungeons & Dragons, cosplay, and Comicon, where I fully embrace the magicof imagination.

 

Title:  Merlin Ragnarr – Curse of theBloodDrinker

 

Synopsis:

 A sixteen year old freshman, thehalf human / half god - son of Thrud Thordottir, conceals his identity while studyingat the esteemed Şeiðrune School of VikingSorcery. Tragedy strikeswhen Merlin's girlfriend and her twin sister become vampires,victims of a plot orchestrated by the malevolent Darkmind,who previously attempted but failed to force him tounlock an evil Grimoire.

 

Swamped inguilt, Merlin Ragnarr embarks on a quest for a cure. He visits the lairof Valsorra the Vile, the mother of all dragons, who informs him of abanished Norse god, who has been living on Earth for eons, posing as Lucifer.Armed with a magical compass guiding him through the Mirror Realm, Merlin'sjourney takes him to Mississippi's crossroads where he traps and eventually kills Lucifer, and his blues playing demon.

 

On his return to the MirrorRealm, a Mongolian necromancer named Sokkhora Sain, a god-cursed ghost locked in the maze, battles Merlin but later offersknowledge of an Egyptian blood amulet, which could suppress the twins' vampirictendencies. In exchange, Merlin must find Sokkhora’s long-lost love, Mjöll.

 

Back atŞeiðrune school, with a group of allies - Mouse, Jackyl, Jenna Bug, and Angus,Merlin navigates the mystical Mirror maze, retrieving Sokkhora's demonic Katanaand a Jade pendent, he is able to reunitethe necromancer with Mjöll.

The reward for his efforts is the knowledgethat the amulet lies in circa 1590 Scotland, whereMerlin, accompanied unexpectedly by his cockatoo Sidney, lands inancient Scotland.

Merlin allieswith Tara, a teen healer accused of witchcraft, and faces adversaries,including a Viking warlock-turned-vampire named Gerhardt Wolfthorn. A treacherous turn sees Merlin betrayedby Tara's friend,Randall, who revealsthe theft of the originalamulet by Wolfthorn. In an intense confrontation, Merlin defeats Wolfthorn butsuffers the loss of an innocent, Ella, who becomes collateral damage.

 

Furthercomplexities arise as Merlin discovers that King James VI is exploiting thewitch trials, exchanging the souls of the condemned for occult secrets,using a book called the 'Key of Solomon'.

Facingcapture and threats to his companions, Merlin hunts down a royal galleon,confronts a demon- possessed king, and saves both Sidney and Tara. Beforereturning to his time, Merlin is forced to navigate a delicate emotional landscape with Tara,who briefly contemplates destroying the compassto keep Merlin in her era. But, cunningly he convinces Tara to turn overhis compass, and returns to the school.

 

The amulet's power allows Frost and Raven to control their newfound vampiric instincts, offering a semblance of normality. Yet, Merlin, to his surprise, learns he's to chaperon the girls during summer vacation, and as a final twist, before leaving for Norway with the Blackwell family, he gifts his mentor, Magus Lin Po, the arcane katana – only to discover, it once belonged to the mentor's lost brother.

TheStory Behind the Story:

This novel is book #2 of my Merlin Ragnarr series—a standalone story in its ownright—and I believe it represents my best work to date. It took me three yearsto complete, a journey that has not only refined my writing but also deepenedmy connection to those I’ve lost. Friends and family members who have passedaway live on as characters in my novels, keeping them close to my heart.Through these stories, I create a space where I can continue to interact withthem, ensuring their presence remains part of my life.

At 66,890 words, this young adult/urban fantasy novel embodies mylifelong passion for the genre. That passion began with a cherished possessionfrom my childhood: the very first Dungeons & Dragons dice bag I received at12 years old. Now, at 65, as a Tolkien aficionado, devoted Potterhead, andadmirer of Viking Magick, I bring a unique, reflective perspective to thisstory.

While the larger saga continues to unfold, The Curse ofthe Blood Drinker stands complete as its own rich narrative, whilelaying the groundwork for future adventures in the series.

 

 

Website: Please go HERE.


A couple of questions before you go, Ivan:

Scribbler: Where is your favorite spot to write?

Ivan: In my Arcane Officer! lol

Scribbler: Are you messy or neat?

Ivan: I’m a neat person with a messy office.

Scribbler: Your beverage of choice?

Ivan: Joe Muggs coffee shop - The Frappe That Shall Not Be Named



An Excerpt: Merlin Ragnarr – Curse of the BloodDrinker

Merlin loweredhis hood, sportinga triumphant smirkthat only fueled the Devil's tempestuous rage.Clawed fists pounded the pentagram’s invisible barrier as Helblindi’s primalfury shook the ground of his mystic prison.

“Are you angry becauseyou’re trapped?” Merlintaunted, his voice a blendof confidence and mischief. “Or because it was I whotrapped you?”

Frothing throughhis fangs like a rabiddog, Helblindi bellowed, ramming his horns against the impenetrable barricade.

 “You didn’t trap me, you little shit! Youtricked me!” His voice reverberated with murderous malice, “And when I get outof here, you insolent little mongrel, I’m going to roast you alive in theeternal flames of Hell!”

Knowing the devil’s rage stemmed from injured pride,Merlin hoped it would fuel hisdetermination to broker a deal.

Boldly the young sorcerer positioned himself nose to sternum with Helblindi.

 

“That Beelzebub crap may scareyour weak-minded minions, but it doesn’t scare me,so let’s cut the crap. Give me the vampire fix, and I’ll cut you loose.”

 

"Fine!" The Devil sneered,fangs snapping in annoyance. “Nowrelease me.” “Not until youtell me first.” Merlin stated.

Helblindi slammedhis horns and hands againstthe impenetrable curtain. "You really think I'm goingto trust a filthy Æsir mongrel like yourself?"

A powerful jolt from Splinter sent the Devil to his knees, as Merlin raised his eyes to the flash of chain lightning in the distance. Theincoming storm mirrored the escalating intensity of their confrontation.

 “Bastard, son of Thrud!” Helblindi hissed,digging his claws into the earth at his knees.Merlin retaliated with a swift neck strike, delivering a second powerfuljolt. “Tell me!” A mouthful of blood spatteredthe ground as Helblindi raised a malicious grin.

“I’ll tell you this. Yourwench will gorge herself on blood till the day you spike her!” Helblindi’sinsolent snicker transformed into a gurgling gasp as Merlin drove Splinter intohis chest.

The dying Devil fossilizedinto a charcoal statue as the almighty hand of the Cosmos ripped his black soul from within.Merlin booted the satanic sculpture, reducing it to a moundof ash. “I had no choice!” Hegrumbled under his breath, his frustration unmistakable.

“Helblindi wouldnever have talked,and there was no way in hell I couldtrust him. He’d haveghosted me the second I cut him loose. I just gotta find another way.”

Book 1 of the series. 

You novel sounds like a winner. Thank you, Ivan, for being our guest this week, We wish you continued success with your writing.

And another HUGE THANK YOU to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to tell us what’s on your mind.  TY.