Allan Hudson's Blog, page 8

The Story Behind the Story with Stella MacLean of Riverview, NB, Canada.

 The Scribbler has another first-timevisitor as our featured Author this week.

Stella has kindly accepted our offer toshare the SBTS of her  latest project.

Read on my friends. 

 

 Stella MacLean is a story teller.Simple as that.

An author of many books, both fiction and nonfiction, she has served asWriter in Residence at Vancouver Public Library in Vancouver, British Columbia.She has been a board member of Romance Writers of America and is member ofWriters Federation of New Brunswick and Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Hershort stories have won several short story contests, most recently The LetterReview Contest.  Stella relishes thehours she spends hiding out in her office making up stories about the lives ofimaginary people.

Having found love again in the third act of her life, Stella enjoystelling stories about people who find love elusive and complicated, but stilltry with all their hearts.

Stella's past includes being a registered nurse, from which she has drawnstory ideas for several of her books. She went back to university when herchildren were older and was granted a Commerce Degree, majoring in Accounting,from Mount Allison University in Sackville, New Brunswick, Canada.

 

Title: FamilyTies, Family Lies

 

Synopsis:

It's New Brunswick in 1940. Jessie Perry lovesto teach. She and her husband, Walter, and daughter Sarah, live in Saint John. Jessieteaches and Walter has a good job with the railroad. But when a news photo of asocial event in the city shows Jessie and Walter drinking, her parents object,calling their behaviour immoral. Her father, Adam, is furious that hisgranddaughter is being raised in a place like Saint John, a city ofphilanderers and criminals. He offers Walter a loan to buy a farm. DespiteJessie's objections, Walter accepts.

Jessie leaves her teaching job, moves to thefarm, a life she hates. Then she has to protect her family's reputation bytaking her sister Pauline's illegitimate baby. Once again Jessie has to give into her family's wishes. She raises Marguerite, keeps the secret of the child'sparentage, allowing Pauline to return to her life.

Determined to get back to teaching when herchildren are in school, Jessie secretly uses birth control, a decision thatnearly ends her marriage. When Jessie finally gets the chance to teach shegrabs it, creating an emotional separation between Walter and her.

Marguerite never felt a part of her family.Jessie is emotionally distant, and she is treated differently from her sisters,Sarah and Beth. To compensate Marguerite becomes a very successful woman,working in marketing in Toronto. In 1986,a year after her mother's death, she seeks the help of a psychiatrist toresolve her lack of feelings around her mother's passing, and learn why shecan't maintain a relationship with the man she loves. Her efforts to find thetruth lead her back to her family, her aunt Pauline and the parents she’dnever known.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

Although thisbook is fiction this story has consumed me for a very long time. My mother wasa very private person, sharing very little of her life before she had a family.She taught during those years when women were not recognized for theirabilities, where working outside the home was frowned upon. In this story Ihave tried to showcase what her life might have been like as a wife, mother,and teacher who lived on a dairy farm in Southern New Brunswick, and the priceshe paid in her family relationships in order to find her way in the world. Itis also about the dynamics of a second-generation Irish immigrant father who couldn'taccept how much the world changed during World War II

If I were towrite the blurb it would be something like this;

A mid-twentieth century story about the forceof love, of family demands for obedience to the past, and the soul's need tofind acceptance in the space and context of family. Most of all it's anexploration of the complex relationship between mother and daughter, the shiftsand changes, the words said in anger, the words not spoken, opportunities lostto fear of rejection.

 A photo taken next to the full size sculpture of Shakespeare in Stratford Upon Avon in England

Website – go HERE.

 

A question before you go, Stella.

Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet. Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?

Hi Allan, my favourite spot is wherever I find myself. I have an office which serves for all the routine writing work related to book production, marketing and assorted other duties involving the time needed to keep my writing career going. But I am always taking notes, either on my phone, on paper, or making a mental note about something. For instance, I'm working on a new book, Gone World, simply known as an artificial intelligence tragedy. I have made copious notes on my phone about the space in which my characters live. When I settle at my desk to do what I call formal writing, I will write the pages needed to incorporate these ideas into the stories. I am also gathering information about Marguerite from Family Ties, Family Lies, to write her story. I have note pads all over the house to allow me to work on a scene, to write the dialogue of a character that comes to me when I'm doing some non-writing activity.


An Excerpt from Family Ties, Family Lies

This is an excerpt fromthe scene on which the story turns:

It's 1944. Life in ruralNew Brunswick, Canada is very traditional, very strict. At the insistence ofher parents and her husband Walter, Jessie gave up her high school teachingposition in the city of Saint John to move to an isolated farming community.

She was trying to make thebest of her new circumstances when she got a call to come to her parents'house.

Her sister Pauline ispregnant and the man responsible has moved back to Montreal.

******

The door opened and herdad came in. "You told her?" he asked, as he sat down heavily in thechair next to his wife Maeve.

Jessie saw theharsh redness of her father's cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes.

Her mothernodded, leaning across the table toward Jessie. "We talked to Paulineabout going to the home for wayward girls near Moncton. It's far enough awaythat no one will know, and we can take her there and have them look after heruntil the baby is born."

"But shewon't know anyone there," Jessie said.

"Andthat's good. No one will know about the baby and she'll be able to move on withher life after it's born," her father said.

"You meanshe'll come back here to Apohaqui?"

"Whereelse can she go? She won’t have a job in Saint John anymore," her fathersaid as he stared at his hands. "She was damned stupid to let this mananywhere near her without his agreement to marry her."

"And nowshe must be really scared. I would be. What about the child?" Jessieasked.

Her fatherglanced at her mother, then at her. "Because my family were Irishimmigrants to this country, we had to learn to survive. I've lived most of myadult life wishing my family could have stayed together. Not a day goes by thatI wish my parents had not taken my sisters and moved to Boston. When I wasyounger I didn't understand why having no money meant we couldn't stay together. But I grew up. I saw what was needed tomake my way in this world. And in time I forgave my parents for leaving Tom andme here to be indentured to a mean-hearted farmer who simply wanted us to workhard while he got all the benefit of our work." Her father fisted hishands. "I never forgave old man McNutt for what he did to my brother andme. He hated us because we were Irish. He was cruel and mean and we had nochoice but to put up with it." He raised his head and stared straight atJessie. "And that's when I decided that no blood of mine will ever leavethe family. I won't have it happen again."

"What areyou saying, Dad?"

He leaned hiselbows on the table. "When Father and Mother left Tom and me here, Ivowed…." His jaw clenched. "This baby is my blood. Our blood. We willnot abandon the child."

"But Dad,how does Pauline have this baby and keep it? Mom says she can go to a placenear Moncton to wait for the baby, but what happens after she has it? She can'tgo back to work in Saint John witha child to care for." She looked from her mom to her dad. "Surely youdon't think you can raise the child? You've already raised your family."

Her fatherleaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. "Jessie, we want you totake the child."

"What!No! I don't want to do that!" She jumped out of the chair, her facereddening in disbelief. "I have a child."

"But onlyone," her father said, dropping the words into the silence of the room.

Jessie grabbedthe back of the chair for support, her glance swerving from her father to hermother and back to her father. "Walter and I will have more."

Her fatherturned to her mother. "Maeve, tell her what we talked about."

Maeveswallowed. "Jessie, you only have one child to care for. You have a bighouse, a good farm. Walter's a good husband. The child will have a goodhome."

"Jessie,this wee baby will have no place to go if you don't take it," her fathersaid.

"Whatabout Edward and Vera? They don't have children."

Her fatherwinced. "Jessie, this has to stay inside the family. Everyone has tobelieve that this child was born to a woman in our family--a married woman.Edward lives on the homestead in Sussex Corner. It would be very difficult forVera to pretend to be pregnant with her neighbors and friends all living soclose. But you live in a small community, and you don't have neighbours livingclose to you."

"And Icould make you a couple of loose-fitting dresses," her mother said.

"And Ipretend to be pregnant?" Jessie felt her voice rising, tears threatening."Mom, Dad, you can't be serious! I can't pretend to be pregnant for thenext five months. That would mean I couldn't go anywhere or do anything."

She thoughtabout her friend Maggie Ingalls who’d promised to see her this summer. Shethought about her plan to convince Walter to let her visit with his sisterEvelyn in Saint John over the next few months. She thought about how hard itwould be to raise another woman's child, especially her sister's. She thoughtabout her plan to return to teaching in two years when her daughter Sarah wasold enough to go to school.

"Jessie,I know we're asking a lot from you. But we have to do what your father wishes.We can't let this child go to strangers. We can't." Her mother movedaround the table to where Jessie stood. "We'll make it up to you. Wewill."

As Jessiestared into her mother's tear-stained faced, she knew what that meant. Shewouldn’t be able to return to teaching until Pauline's baby was old enough togo to school. That would mean at least another six years. She couldn't surviveliving on a farm, away from any contact with teaching. She needed it, and she didn't trust that there wouldn't be anotherdemand on her to give up something else she needed. She could hardly breathethrough the pain in her chest as she considered her future. "How? How willyou make the loss of my plans, the end of my dream of being a teacher, up tome? Tell me!" she yelled as she headed for the door.

"Don'tyou yell at your mother. You come back here, Jessie," her father said, histone hard. "We haven't finished talking.”

She reachedthe door, put her hand on the knob. "We have, if this is how my life isgoing to be. And God knows what else. When is it my turn to have the life I want?"

Her fathercame toward her, placed both hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently as heturned her to face him. "I remember so well when my parents left me and mybrother. They went to live in the Boston states where they could find work.They took my four sisters. They couldn't afford to keep all of us, and thatmeant Tom and I were left to fend for ourselves. I remember all of it. I wishcircumstances now were different and that your sister had used her head insteadof her body. But there's nothing either you or I can do about that," hesaid, his voice sad, his expression one of yearning. "I love you. I lovePauline. Your mother and I are trapped by that love and our need to keep ourfamily together. What this situation has done is leave all the responsibilityon your shoulders, which isn't fair. But there it is." He kissed herforehead as he used to when she was young, bringing back memories of a fatherwhose love was fierce and all encompassing.

"Jessie,I know you didn't want to move to a farm, give up your life in Saint John. Butwe often don’t get what we want. What I amgoing to do is forgive the loan I made Walter to buy the farm. I know it isn'twhat you need, but it's all I canoffer."

Through thehaze of regret and disappointment, all Jessie could think was that the life shewanted was over. Once again, she had to give up a part of herself so otherscould have what they wanted.

Fighting backtears, she looked at her parents. They were getting old, and they were in avery difficult position. All her life, she'd heard them talk about doing theright thing, about being a family with standards of behaviour. And theexpectation that she and her sister would marry and have a family had been avery important part of her upbringing. She could understand why they didn’twant Pauline's reputation to be damaged. They wanted her to have a decentchance of marriage when all of this was over. She understood that. Saving facemeant everything to her parents.

But at thesame time, she couldn't accept this decision without a fight. There had to beanother way. It wasn't fair that Edward and Vera, who didn't have children,weren't being considered as the parents for this baby. And most of all, itwasn't fair that Pauline would get to keep her own life while she was expectedto give hers up. It just wasn't fair. "I'm going home to talk toWalter."

Yournovel sounds like one I need to add to my TBR list. Thank you for being ourguest this week. We wish you continued success with your writing. 

Anda HUGE thank you to all our visitors and readers.

The Story Behind the Story with Nicola Davison of Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, Canada.

 

The Scribbler is beyond excited tohave Nicola as our featured guest this week.

Her novel has garnered tons of ravereviews and we wanted to let you folks know.

She has graciously accepted our invitationto tell us the SBTS of the book.

Read on my friends

 

 

 

 

Nicola Davison is a professional photographer and the author of IN THEWAKE and DECODING DOT GREY. Her first novel won the 2019 Margaret and JohnSavage First Book Award, The Miramichi Reader's Very Best Book Award and was afinalist for the Dartmouth Book Award. DECODING DOT GREY won the 2023 AnnConnor Brimer Award for YA fiction and was nominated for the White Pine Award.Nicola is a member of the Writers’ Union of Canada and the Writers’ Federationof Nova Scotia. In 2016 she completed the Alistair Macleod Mentorship Program;polishing off the umpteenth draft of her first novel with her mentor, CarolBruneau. Born in Nova Scotia, she has lived in too many places and done justenough world travelling to appreciate home. She lives in Dartmouth with her boat-crazyfamily and delightfully stubborn Basset Hound.

 

Title: DecodingDot Grey

Synopsis:

Eighteen-year-oldDot Grey doesn’t hate people; she’s just not especially fond of their company.It’s 1997, and she’s just left home in favour of a dank, cold basement, whereshe lives with several small animals, including a chorus of crickets, a familyof sowbugs (they came with the apartment), a hairless rat, and an injured crow.Her job at the animal shelter is her refuge—so long as she can avoid herfather’s phone calls. He’s trying to get Dot to visit her mother, but Dot knowsthere’s no point. No one ever understood her like her mum, who helped Dotchannel her vibrating fingers into Morse code, their own private language. Buther bright, artistic mother was terribly injured a year ago and Dot can’t reachher, even with her tapping fingers. Left with only a father who refuses to facethe truth, she focuses on saving the little lives at the shelter. When Joestarts working there, everyone thinks he has a crush on Dot. Dot thinks he’sjust awkward and kind. He shows his good heart when they rescue an entirelitter of puppies together, and Dot finds herself warming up to him. But Joewaits too long to tell her his deepest secret, and soon she is forced to dealwith two losses. In the end, Dot’s weird way of looking at the world is the onething that will, against the odds, help her connect with it.

With clever wordplay and the most motley of crews—human andotherwise—Decoding Dot Grey is a tender and delightful novel from theaward-winning author of In the Wake.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

Igrew up in a house full of animals. We had all sizes–from hamsters tohorses–and we always had cats and dogs. As a child, I felt more comfortablewith animals than people. Still do.

Inmy early adulthood, just like my main character, I worked at an animal shelter.I witnessed a lot of suffering and was often frustrated by the system and howsociety treated animals.  Some employees were pragmatic about things whileothers harboured elaborate revenge fantasies. I’ve frequently thought aboutthose people and wondered what they did after.

I’ma huge fan of coming-of-age stories. Most of the books and films on my re-readlist fit that description. I especially like it when there’s a role for adog/cat/donkey/bird/fish, told with a good dose of humour. Main characters whoare decidedly quirky are also a favourite of mine. So, if I was writing a storyin an animal shelter, it had to have those elements.

Earlyin the writing, I knew Dot had difficulty with human communication, preferringthe company of animals and a few people in her close circle. I thought of Morsecode; and how it could serve as an outlet for her anxiety as well as a secretlanguage with her mother and grandfather. As Dot emerged, her identity woveinto her name, like a dot: for her use of code, feeling insignificant, hopelessand unable to get through to the people in her life. But it’s also a source offun for her, using it to communicate with the crow in the book and a way tomake wry comments on things without people catching on.

Assoon as Dot took shape and I had the setting of the animal shelter, I was madlytyping. The only hiccup I had was that animal shelters have improved greatly inthe past twenty-five years (phew!). So, instead of setting it in the present, Iswitched to 1997. I have since seen the book described as historical fiction.*snort*

 

Website – go HERE. 





A question before you go, Nicola:

Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet? Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?


N: The ideal spot? It’s an island in a temperate climate. Somewhere with horses, donkeys, scruffy dogs, lazy cats and fields of sheep. Early mornings, I’d write at a small table in front of a window with a view of the sea, taking frequent breaks for tea. A small stone pub is a half hour walk away - accessed by cutting through the field of horses/donkeys/sheep. There’d be large open hearth, a good dark beer on tap and locals who know when to keep their distance if I’m typing. But, late in the day when I’m letting the story rest, there could be poets, comedians, sailors who tell a good yarn. Maybe the occasional open mic night for everyone to share their work. A loose sort of writers group. In this scenario, I’d have a pen name because the popularity of my books have made it necessary to retreat from the public eye. The checks roll in and pay the bills while I keep on rolling out the stories.

My actual writing is done at a desk that looks out on a tree-lined city street. When I’m stuck with the story I head out for a walk around the nearby lake and record any flashes of insight on my phone with voice memos. I like working at coffee shops but I’m anxious about taking up table space and nursing a single cup of coffee for hours so I’m usually at home.

Last week I realized my son has outgrown his treehouse so I’ve claimed it as a writing spot. I have to climb a narrow ladder carrying my computer and there’s just enough room to sit with it on my lap but it’s quiet and I can stare off into the fluttering leaves and think. Yesterday, I surprised a squirrel who must frequent the little house, he did a double-take and sprinted off. Sometimes people walk past and I overhear snatches of conversation. We writers are shameless eavesdroppers so I suspect it will enrich my characters, reminding me that people have so many layers.




Your new writing spot sounds delightful, as does your new friend. Maybe he/she will be back.
Thanks for being our guest, Nicola. 
We hope you find that small table and view of the sea to write one of your stories.



And thank you, dear readers.

Interview with Visual Artist Nadine Godin of Neguac, NB, Canada,

 

Hey Scribbler fans. Someone new!

I met Nadine at a major craft fairand was immediately drawn to her vibrant and colourful paintings.

         Shehas graciously accepted our invitation to be our featured creative this weekand to share some of her fabulous images.

Read on my friends.

 

 

Welcome tothe Scribbler, Nadine. Before we discuss your art, tell our readers aboutyourself.

 

Nadine:I am an artist from Tabusintac,New Brunswick. I was raised in Fair Isle, a small community not far fromNeguac. I own a fabric shop and this year is our 25th anniversary. Ihave been teaching quilting for ten years. I previously owned a flower shop forfifteen years. Mother of two and a grandmother of four. Married to a wonderfulhusband, Marc.

 

Scribbler: Onyour website, you mention you started painting in 2012. Tell us about thebeginning.

 

Nadine:I started painting in 2012when the kids were older and I didn’t need to spend as much time with them. Inthe beginning it was for pleasure until a cousin encouraged me to display myart in an event happening in Caraquet. This was the opening of a new career forme.

 

Scribbler: I’m fascinated with yourimages of boats, particularly fishing boats. What is your inspiration forthese?

Nadine: I grew up in a village offishermen. MY brother-in-law is a fisherman also. It has always amazed me howpeople work hard at making a living and how fishing was the main source ofrevenue for many back in the days.

 

Scribbler: Are you participating anyfuture events or showings where the public can see your work?

 

Nadine: FromJune14th to August 18th, my paintings will be displayed at de Quaides Artislist which is situated behind Le Carrefour de la mer in Caraquet, NB.People can also find me at my studio at 1110 Principale, Neguac.

 

Scribbler: Your Artistic Mission states, “Ipaint to touch the soul through the eyes.” Can you tell us more?

 

Nadine: I want people to look at my work andfind a sense of past memory, something that speaks to them. Something thatbrings them home.

 

Scribbler: Anything else you’d like to sharewith us?

 

Nadine: Thank you so much for giving me theopportunity to be a guest. People can find my calendars throughout the provinceat In Colors, Moncton, Village de la Sagouine in Bouctouche. Libraries, Monctonat the Coliseum and...

                             .......by visiting our website HERE.

 

 

 

You are most welcome, Nadine. Thankyou for being our guest this week. We wish you continued success with yourpainting.

 

And a SPECIAL THANK YOU to all ourvisitors and readers.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Olive Mazerolle of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

The Scribbler is pleased to haveOlive as this week’s guest. 

She has an interesting and thought-provoking storyto share. You will be treated to the SBTS, so read on my friends.

 

Olive Mazerolle was born in Baie Sainte-Anne, New Brunswick, Canada. She worked with the New Brunswick RCMP as a Civilian Member for 35 years and retired in 2016 with an unfortunate PTSD diagnosis. Discovering the post-traumatic growth (PTG) concept has given her a new lease on life.

Title

Dancingwith the Clouds - A true story of post-traumatic growth

Synopsis

"Is it possible for trauma to lead to personal growth?”

As a civilian employee, Olive Mazerolle gave thirty-five years of her life to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. At the end of her career, after experiencing both personal and professional traumas, she found herself diagnosed with moderate-to-severe PTSD. Through years of seeking the psychological help she needed, she finally understood that her traumas had led her to Post Traumatic Growth (PTG).

For Olive, PTG was transformative and brought renewed growth after adversity. She turned towards altruism, opened up to new experiences, became spiritually mature and embraced gratitude for the life she now lives, saying, “Without these challenges, I may not be the person I am proud to be today.”

Healing from immense grief and guilt led her to accept that life’s adversities are indeed life lessons. Her cancer diagnosis led to a healthier lifestyle. Addressing sexual harassment in the workplace brought validation and restored her self-worth. Most importantly, she recognized that anxiety can be controlled by a shift to positive thinking.

This beautifully written, heartfelt memoir of survival, grace and evolution will deepen your appreciation for life.

The Story Behind the Story

 

Excerpt from thebook - (beginning of Chapter One)

          Trauma and grief followed me at every moment of my life until I finallyfound true joy.

        I never thought of these events as abnormal until I started writingabout them and reading them out loud to my writing group. Seeing theexpressions of shock and awe from my five wonderful WOWs (Women of Words) mademe realize that my experiences were not commonplace.

        It’s almost too much! It’s unbelievable that you have lived throughthese experiences and come out at the other end happy and healthy, saidteary-eyed Eveline.

        That was an ah-ha momentfor me! How did I end up livinghappily ever after with everything I had been through? And if  I could be happy, perhaps I could helpsomeone else go through difficult times by writing a book about my journey towellness.  Would such a book be worthwhile to someone else?

Facebook: Dancing with the Clouds 




A question before you go:

Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet. Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?



Olive: I like moving around and having a window nearby when I write. So a lot of the book was written in my home office, but I had to move to the basement for a while where I have a larger table so I could refer to my many many notebooks which I continually referred to. In the end, I was in a comfy chair in our den sitting by large windows looking out onto our backyard.

I have a playlist on Spotify - Dancing with the Clouds - with songs that bring me back to the time and place of many of the events in the book.

Coffee in the morning and lots and lots of tea in the afternoon. And snacks of course. A glass of wine at the end of a productive day and Champagne when it was published.

I love being orderly but, honestly, my desk/table was mostly very messy with all the notebooks and photo albums I kept referring to.




Thank you for being our guest this week, Olive.I am certain there will be many readers who find comfort and direction from your story. We wish you continued success with your writing.



And a Jumbo THANK YOU to all our visitors and readers.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Kathy Shuker of Great Britain.

 

This week we are going to catch upwith Kathy who has been a welcome guest before. 

 

She is kindly sharing the SBTS of hernewest novel.

We are pleased to have her back andif you missed her first visit, take a peek Here.

Read on my friends.

 

 

 

Meet Kathy.

Itrained as a physiotherapist but a back injury soon forced me to change career.After studying design I worked as a freelance artist, supplying galleries andteaching. I began writing several years ago and published my first novel, DeepWater, Thin Ice, in 2014. Writing novels quickly became a passion, satisfyingmy creative itch even more than my painting did. I love to get into the headsof my characters and see where they take me. The journey is always intriguing,sometimes poignant, occasionally even funny. I have since published six morenovels – multi-layered character-driven mysteries with a strong sense of place.The most recent book is the third in a series of stand-alone stories, theDechansay Bright Mysteries, all linked by the central characters and set in theworld of art and art restoration.

When notwriting, I am a keen amateur singer and musician,playing acoustic guitar, fiddle and piano, and I enjoy learning foreignlanguages and read widely. I’m lucky enough to live in a beautiful area nearthe sea in southwest England.

 

Title: The Angel Downstairs

 

Synopsis:

Eric Dechansay is a successful artist with apopular studio in Paris, the life and soul of every party. Then the threateningletters start. Eric’s past - and someone he thought was dead - have come backto haunt him.

Hannah Dechansay knows nothing of her father’spast but a phone call from her half-sister has her leaving Oxford and on aplane to Paris. She won’t be welcome. Eric’s carefully constructed life iscrashing around his ears and Hannah’s determination to find out why will onlymake things worse. Her father’s clearly frightened and he’s lying. And thenthere’s the piano player. Who is he anyway?

As the stakes rise inexorably higher, who canHannah trust?

 

TheStory Behind the Story: Istarted the Dechansay Bright Mystery series in the first lockdown of the Covidpandemic. They were difficult times for everyone with bad news all around usand nerve-racking uncertainty. I had an idea that two itinerant art restorers,working for a firm which specialized in on-site conservation, offered thepossibility of interesting mysteries to be solved. It gave scope for adifferent setting each time as well as the potential to delve into thesometimes dubious dealings in the dark corners of the art market. Above all Iwanted to make the series entertaining as well as mysterious, an antidote tothe news reports. Since the two restorers, Hannah and Nathan, don’t get on butare often obliged to work together, there was immediately scope forlight-hearted antagonism. I set the first book of the series back in 1990,partly to clear my head of the pandemic and partly to write in a world whichhadn’t yet become dependent on technology.

The first book, ACrack in the Varnish, is set in Provence in an idyllic location but with allsorts of buried secrets. The second, By a Hand Unknown, is set in the east ofEngland in a beautiful watery region called the Norfolk Broads. Since Hannah ishalf French and her semi-estranged artist father lives in Paris, I alwaysplanned to set a story there and The Angel Downstairs is that story. I havebeen lucky to visit Paris many times and it always charms me. I wanted tocommunicate that charm, especially to anyone who has never had the opportunityto go there.

How the storydeveloped from there, I would struggle to explain. Once I finish a story italmost feels as if someone else has written it. The creative process is astrange beast and perhaps it is unwise to try to analyse it too far. But mynovels, for all the mystery and intrigue, are always about the people – howthey react, how they cope, how they get hold of their lives and try to dosomething with them. Some of the nicest compliments I’ve had on my writing havebeen from people who’ve said that the characters felt real, that they, thereader, felt like they were following the characters round, living their livesvicariously. That pleases me. Although each book is a standalone story, sincethe same two main characters appear in each novel, there is an arc in thedevelopment of their relationship and their behaviour as the series progresses.

 

 

Website – Please go HERE.  

   

 

A question before you go, Kathy:

Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet. Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?

 

Quiet if possible. I live in a small village whereusually all I can hear are tractors passing and birdsong. That’s perfect: I candisappear into my own world. I punctuate the day with several mugs of tea andcoffee and I live by notebooks. Every novel had its own large notebook withresearch notes and plans etc, plus there’ll be a small, jot-down-ideas notebookfor carrying around so my work area has these plus maps and a calendar for thesetting and anything else that might either jog my creativity or providevaluable information. It’s not tidy. I do write on a laptop though. It makes itso much easier to delete and rewrite!!

Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to tell youabout my latest work.

You are most welcome, Kathy.
The Angel Downstairs sounds delightful and entertaining.
Thanks to you for being our guest. We wish you continued success with your stories.

 A special thanks to all our visitors and readers.

The Story Behind the Story with author Joe Mahoney of Riverview, NB, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome Joe to the Scribbler.

I had the opportunity to meet Joe at a book signing and discovered he wrote a book sharing his many years with CBC.I’ve also had the pleasure of reading his memoir and I enjoyed it immensely.We are most fortunate to have him share the SBTS with us.Read on my friends.

Bio: 

I was born in New Brunswick, raised in PEI, and educated in Nova Scotia, Ontario, and France. I worked full-time for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation for 35 years where I spent about 19 years in production, working on all the major shows out of Toronto, including a decade making radio plays. In 2007, I left production to join the CBC management team, where I managed broadcast maintenance teams and, eventually, the eastern real estate portfolio. I spent my final year as both Operations Manager (Acting) for Nova Scotia and Regional Property Manager. I retired from the CBC in 2023 and now focus my attention on my family, my writing, and starting a little indie press, Donovan Street Press. I’ve also taken up karate again after a long hiatus and am trying to get back in shape.

My debut novel, A Time and a Place, was published on October 1st 2017 by Five Rivers Press. My memoir, a behind-the-scenes glimpse of working at CBC Radio, Adventures in the Radio Trade, was published on August 1st 2023 by my own indie press, mentioned above.

I’m a member of SF Canada, Canada’s National Association of Speculative Fiction Professionals, and SFWA, the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association.

Title: Adventuresin the Radio Trade

 

Synopsis: Adventures in the Radio Trade documents a life in radio, largely at Canada's public broadcaster. It's for people who love CBC Radio, those interested in the history of Canadian Broadcasting, and for those who want to hear about close encounters with numerous luminaries such as Margaret Atwood, J. Michael Straczynski, Stuart McLean, Joni Mitchell, Peter Gzowski and more. And it's for people who want to know how to make radio.

Crafted with gentle humour and thoughtfulness, this is more than just a glimpse into the internal workings of CBC Radio. It's also a prose ode to the people and shows that make CBC Radio great.

 

TheStory Behind the Story: I’ve always beenin the habit of writing down anything interesting that happens to me, and lotsof interesting stuff has happened to me working at CBC Radio. At first it wasall just private journaling, but then I started a blog, and a lot of thematerial wound up there. After many years of this, a friend of mine suggested Iwrite a book about my experiences. I realized I had a good portion of the bookalready written, and that much of it just might be of interest to fans of CBCRadio. A glimpse behind the curtain, how the sausage gets made, that sort ofthing. Although a memoir, it’s much less about me than about CBC Radio duringthat time period, between 1987 and 2007. By that time I’d had experience self-publishing, and didn’t really wantto give the rights to anyone else. Nor did I think a major publisher would beinterested in a memoir by me, though to be fair I didn’t really try. So Iturned it into a book myself, with the help of an expert editor, Arleane Ralph,and an expert book designer, Avery Olive of Bibliofic Designs.

 

Website – Please go HERE.

 

A question for you, Joe:

Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet. Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?

Joe: Having written from about the age of ten, I’m happy to write anywhere. It’s the only way to actually get any writing done. I don’t need to be in anything resembling the perfect spot. That said, if I COULD have the perfect spot, it would be anywhere I can have a little music on in the background, a hot coffee at my side with a fresh cinnamon bun just waiting to be eaten, a friendly pooch at my feet, and an open laptop. Neat, but not fanatically so.



An Excerpt from Adventures in the Radio Trade:

 

 I’ve met many well-known people during my timewith CBC Radio. Sometimes I didn’t know they were “somebodies.”

“Did you know that was Joyce CarolOates sitting beside you in the Media Library?”producer Ann Jansen asked me one day.

I’d had no idea. And that was finewith me. Most of the time meeting famous people I pretended that I didn’t knowwho they were anyway. It was just easier that way. It levelled the playingfield. Even if I did happen to know who they were, I didn’t necessarily knowmuch about them. We had jazz artist Diana Krall on the show Q one day. I hadn’t set up any microphonesbecause she wasn’t supposed to perform. As we sat in the studio control roomjust before the interview, one of the show’s producers asked if she wanted toperform during the interview.

“Sure,” she said.

“Can you set her up?” the producerasked me.

I turned to Diana.“What instrument do you play?”

Everyone looked at me like I’dcrawled out of a hole in the ground.

“Piano,” Diana said. “I play piano.”

I knew the name Diana Krall but I wasn’t knowledgeable about her career ormusic. For all I knew she could have played saxophone (and for all I know shedoes).

I already had mics on the piano,actually, so it was just a matter of adjusting them. The interview wasdelightful. Jian asked Diana what type of music she enjoyed in herdowntime: “If you were to sit down, what’s your music?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

Diana played a few nondescript notes on the piano.Her twin sons had been born the year before. “Millie the Elephant packed hertrunk and sang goodbye to the circus,” she sang, and laughed. “That’s aboutwhere I’m at right now.”

What does meeting famous peopleget you? The ability to name drop (like I’m doing right now). Does anybody likea name dropper? I don’t mind writing about the occasional celebrity encounter,but I’ve rarely felt comfortable talking about them.

The thing is, whatever thesepeople have accomplished, at the end of the day they’re human, just like therest of us. And unless you work with them for a while (and maybe not eventhen), a brief encounter is not going to make you the best of pals. 

Still, all that said, I cannotdeny that meeting and occasionally working with celebrities can be interestingand is often entertaining. Meeting artists takes on a special significance whenyou’re a fan of their work. Eric Idle may put his trousers on one leg at a time, butlet’s face it: he’s Eric Idle of Monty Python.Like Diana Krall and so many others, he also appeared on theshow Q,where he called us all “freeloading bastards” during the show’s credits andunderstood perfectly well just how much we’d all get a kick out of that. 

Thank you, Allan!

You are most welcome, Joe. Thank you for being our guest this week. We look forward to more of your stories and wish you continued success.

And a special thanks to all our visitors and readers. Feel free to leave a comment, we’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Short Stories with Eden Monroe and Angella Cormier. Both of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

This week we are going to discuss theSBTS for the popular Anthology – Spring Paths - with two terrific storytellers

Our guests are the final twocontributors and they are sharing their inspiration.

If you missed the previous SBTS forSpring and Summer Paths, then please go HERE & HERE & HERE & HERE.

 

Eden Monroe writesabout real life, real issues and struggles, and triumphing against all odds. Aproud east coast Canadian, she enjoys a variety of outdoor activities, and agood book.

 

Titleof Short Story: Nante

 

Synopsis: Saffieis a gifted high school student with an axe to grind about her absent father.So she takes matters into her own hands and finds that murder is not onlysatisfying payback for her broken heart, but the perfect antidote to high IQboredom. And then she meets her match, but all spider webs are dangerous whenfools rush in.

 

 

Inspirations: In Spring Paths I briefly step out of my lane as aromantic suspense and mystery author. It’s incredibly freeing to createsomething deliciously outrageous, then tear it up and write something even moreunconscionable. That’s how Foul Play was born, a read-aloud class project thatbecame a short story. No one, living or dead that I’m familiar with, inspiredFoul Play in any way. My sole ambition was to conjure up an interestingpsychopath.

Eden has been a guest previously and you can read it HERE.

Website

 

AngellaCormier grew up in St-Antoine, in southeast New Brunswick. It was in this small town’s library where her love of reading and writing were born. Her curious nature about everything mysterious and paranormal helped carved the inspiration for her current passion of writing horror and mystery stories. She is also a published poet, balancing out her writing to express herself in these two very opposing genres. Angella has an extensive background in Interactive Multimedia Technology since 1998. She now owns and operates “Ancor Creative Solutions” as a personal creative assistant, where she proudly helps other writers with their cover design and book formatting, among with many other services.

Title of Short Story: Love and Crafts.

Synopsis: One will brighten your day while the other will keep you in the dark, never to be known. Kindness or Judgment; which would you choose?

 

Inspirations: My main character was inspired by a good friend of mine who is a free-spirited bird watcher and is often seen with her binoculars and notepad, counting the birds she spots. I was motivated to choose the setting of the story by the beautiful town of Shediac, New Brunswick area, specifically the Pointe-du-Chêne wharf and Shediac Island nearby.

The idea started percolating one day while parked out there, watching the coastal birds flying to and from both locations. I wondered what if there are things they see out there that we haven’t yet?

The theme sprouted as I noticed an increase of judgmental and bigoted behaviours, both on and offline. I pondered, what if we truly understood what someone else was going through? What if we saw things from their perspective; how much more would we understand then? Would we be as unkind if we knew all the little details that are unknown to us?

Although it is fiction, I aimed to bring up a very important life lesson, and that is to not judge another, as you do not know what they are going through, nor do you know the full story, even if you think you do.

Angella has been a guest before and you can read it HERE.

Website

 Buy HERE.

Thank you ladies, for being ourguests this week. We wish you continued success with your writing.

 

And a HUGE thank you to all ourvisitors and readers. Go ahead – leave a comment.

The Story Behind the Story with Allan Hudson of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

This week, I’d like to share the SBTSof my newest book.

 

 

 

 

 

I live in Dieppe with my wife Gloria. Ibegan writing in my mid 50s with no intention of stopping. Happily retired, Ispend most mornings working on my stories and publishing the Scribbler. Therest of my days are spent with book related projects, time with family andother important issues, such as napping and taking life easy.

 

 

 

Title: OneBedroom Ark

 

Synopsis: Jeb Coyne, proprietor of Coyne’s Confectionary, will have been widowed for two years tomorrow. Tending to his daily business takes his mind off the looming anniversary for a moment, as do his customers, whether cheerful or grumpy. But he’s never felt so alone.
With the workday finished, Jeb is a few minutes from locking the doors. He goes out to bring in the sign board his father made and is interrupted by a tiny voice asking if he is closing.
Olivia Fletcher stands before him, a teenager with wet strands of hair across her cheek, a baby in her arms.

This chance meeting will change both of their lives forever.

 

 

The Story Behind the Story: I’ve always enjoyed stories of seniorshelping younger people. Many youths are propelled into society with no means ofsupport, no experience of living on their own. For those that make it, perhapssomeone wiser stepped in to help. And so it is with One Bedroom Ark.

Thisstory originated from a short story of the same title published in A Box ofMemories. The store owner is from an early memory of a grey haired gentlemantending the cash at his convenience store, one his father started. I recall thehead of thick hair but not a face. He’s gone many years ago and the store is atrendy café now.

Theother characters showed up when I needed them. I’m particularly fond of Lindy,she’s a sweetheart, flashy and bold. Donnie, one of the delivery men, shows upearly mornings with freckles, good cheer and the weather report. The baroness, well,you’ll meet her below. Digger is a regular who says the coffee is terrible butbuys an extra-large every morning.

Ihad fun writing this story. It makes me feel good, reminds me to be kind. Ihope you enjoy it.

 

Follow this LINK to purchase your copy.

Thank you.

An Excerpt:

Another customer comes inand he recognizes the top of the hat. It's a wide brimmed thing with black andwhite circles around the brim, two of each. The center is a black pillbox. Itlooks like a target to shoot at. Watching it bob back and forth as it climbsthe stairs makes him dizzy, and he looks away. Evgenia Baranova. She won't sayhow old she is, but he guesses over eighty. She continues to walk everywhere.Sometimes takes the bus. It has a stop on the next street over. She was in acranky mood the last time she was here a couple days ago. Best prepare for theworst he thinks and keeps his chin up. Uses his best line.

"Good morning,Baroness."

The prune like face which peersup at him has the usual paint job by whatever cosmetic artillery she uses. Hersunken cheeks are rosier by an undefined red substance which makes Jeb think ofpaintings by knife artists. Ooh! A crack in the finish. She likes it when hecalls her baroness. She claims she is of noble birth, Russian aristocracy andsuch, although he's not sure if it's true or not. She appears a bit dotty attimes but he humours her. She's one of the few who addresses him with his fullname.

"Yes, yes, it is agood morning, Jebidiah. My back is much better today. Thank you for asking.Now, is the paper in yet? Did you save me a copy?"

He bends down to pick onefrom the top of the heap he's yet to put out. Pretending it's exclusive hewhispers as if there's been a run on the newspapers for the last ten minutes he'sbeen open.

"Yes, Baroness. Justfor you. Shall I put it in a bag?"

As she speaks to him, hereyes wander to the cork board behind Jeb and the colorful pictures and notes.

"No, no. I'll carryit. Going to visit my good friend, Davida, at Kingston's Nursing Home and we'llread it together. The bus stops right in front. I…"

She pushes her eyeglassesback up and focuses on Avery's photo. She never fails to notices and admire itbut she doesn't ever comment. She remembers that it's the anniversary of herpassing tomorrow. She speaks before she thinks.

"…I still miss Avery.She was always so kind to me and…"

Jeb turns away. He doesn'twant her to see him. He's scared to blink. He feels such a fool. He pulls aKleenex from a box on the shelf under the cash and dabs his eyes, then blowshis nose.

"Excuse me. Must begetting a cold."

"I'm sorry Jeb.Forgive me."

The tight lips scrunch upin a pout and Jeb sees the regret in her eyes.

"I'm fine. It's fine,Evgenia. Nothing to apologize for. I miss her too. Now, that's seventy-fivecents as usual, my dear."

Thank you for visiting dear readers.

Feel free to leave a comment. We would love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with D.C. Malcolm of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

           We have someone new to the Scribblerthis week. 

Let’s welcome D.C. Malcolm.

She is sharing the good news about herLatest book.  

Read on my friends.

 

 

D.C. Malcolm is a self-published Historical Mystery Author of Guilty Deceptions and Dark Jealousy. She lives in New Brunswick, Canada, with her son. Her interests include Victorian times, True Crime, and Murder Mysteries. Which heavily influence her writing. When she isn’t killing off characters in her novels, D.C. enjoys a quiet life, reading, spending time with family, and watching murder mysteries.

 

 

Title: DarkJealousy

 

Synopsis: A year after the events of Guilty Deceptions, Sheriff Dawsonreturns when Catherine Baker is found brutally murdered next to her mother'swoodshed in Willow Grove. Armed with his deputy's keen eye and his own wit,Sheriff Dawson must solve this gruesome murder. However, when he has it allfigured out, suspects start dropping one by one. Forcing Sheriff Dawson to facethe reality of stereotypes – fight for what is right – and hopefully solvethese crimes before someone else dies.

 

The Story Behind the Story: While I was finishing GuiltyDeceptions, an idea came to me. I didn’t want to say goodbye to the charactersI had created, and I felt there was more to Sheriff Dawson, Becky, Annie, andPatrick. I also didn’t want to let go of some other characters like Sylvester,Billy, and Horace, to name a few.

Afterbrainstorming, I decided that I could continue this story into a series. Thiswas because Guilty Deceptions had transformed from a story focused on Maggieand John to a story about Sheriff Dawson, his mind, and his hardships.

OnceI decided that I was going to continue the series, I realized I needed to finda plot to base my story on. This is because of my unique niche of looselybasing my murder mysteries on real-life crimes from Victorian times.

So,I researched cases that stuck out. Something that I could twist and morph intoa story. After hours of research, I came across a case that happened in 1883,where a man named William had been convicted of murdering his wife, Elizabeth.The murder took place in Willow Grove, a community that I had alreadyintroduced in Guilty Deceptions, and I figured it would be nice to revisit thearea in a second book.

Theproblem was the date, which wasn’t much of a problem. I just changed the datefrom 1883 to 1871 to fit the timeline of Sheriff Dawson. When I sit down towrite, I never know the ending of my stories. Halfway through my first draft, Idecided that I had to touch on topics that were considered taboo in 1871.Sheriff Dawson is always ahead of his time and touches on these taboo subjectswith a modern view.

Ialso did some research via newspapers on Google Books. (I love using thisfeature in my research) and found out that Small Pox was going around SaintJohn in 1871. After my research, I wanted to place a few nods to GuiltyDeceptions. I researched buildings built by the real-life John and visitedthese buildings in the story during the investigation. I described thesebuildings the best I could, and, from my understanding, many still stand inSaint John today. I owe credit to the many people on the Facebook groupHistoric Saint John for helping me with this. I was able to make connections toa fellow local author who was a tremendous help. I also connected with a localhistorian who helped me with street names before the fire and where thesestreets were located.

WhenI had everything I needed, I let the characters tell me what happened, how ithappened, and who was responsible for it happening in the first place. My bookDark Jealousy was fun to write, and I plan to have more books in the SheriffDawson series. I’ve been working on a prequel to the books.

 

Website: GoHERE  

 

A question before you go:

Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet. Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?

DC: My apartment is small, but I created a makeshift office in a corner of my living room. This is where I work on my writing. It’s a small desk with my laptop and a few trinkets, cluttered with writing books, among other things. The wall behind my desk has a calendar, a corkboard for my notes, and is plastered with canvases about writing and books. Cluttered or not, this is my favorite place to write. I’m also not much of a drinker, only drinking on special occasions. However, I love my coffee and can be found with a cup beside me, usually a double-double – homemade. As for music or quiet, I can write with both. I grew up in a family of six. So, I had three younger siblings, all many years younger. The youngest is thirteen years my junior, so I tend to block out the noise, the easiest way I can concentrate.

 

 

An Excerpt:

The snow was stained crimson all around the front ofthe shed. The front wall and door were splattered in blood. Yet, my eyes wereon Catherine Baker; her head partly severed – as if the murderer attempted tocut her head off – but failed miserably at it. A few feet away, a bloody axewas discarded in the snow. Sylvester crept down and carefully examined thebody.

“Onan educated guess,” he said. “This death is but a few hours old, maybe less.”

“Thisis what I feared,” I said. “A fresh murder and we have no idea what the causeor intent here was. Will the killer strike again? That’s yet to be seen.”Edward walked up to us.

“Wehave tracks in the snow,” he said. “One is a woman’s, the others men and I canguess that they are about size ten.” I sighed and shook my head.

“Thereare a lot of men that wear size ten,” I said. “We’ll have to narrow down thelist. Yet, we don’t even have a suspect.” The photographer was snapping photosaround us.

“Whatabout the farmhand?” Patrick asked, and I narrowed my eyes.

“Whatabout him?” I asked, and Patrick sighed.

“Well,he was here during the murder, wasn’t he boss?” Patrick asked. “He either didit or he knows something.” He was right, we had to look into everything and thefarmhand was a good place to start the investigation.

“Okay,”I said. “Here’s what we are going to do,” I licked my lips and pointed to mymen. “Paul, Edward, and Curtis, you search the house for any clues. Peter,Jonathan, and William, you search the grounds with Dr. Knox and Dr. Murphy.Patrick, you're with me.”

“Whereare we going, boss?” Patrick asked.

“Weneed to question the farmhand,” I said, making my way back out front andlooking at Angela.

“MissAngela,” I said. “What can you tell us about your farmhand?”

“Daniel?”she asked. “Him started working for me family about ten years ago. Him shouldbe around here somewhere. You don’t think Daniel did this?”

“It’stoo early to be certain,” I said. “But, I need to investigate everypossibility. He was here, the axe belongs to him, and he never came runningwhen you screamed. He either is involved or-”

“He’s dead too,” Angela said, nodding.




Thank you for sharing your news and for being our guest this week, DC. We wish you continued success with your writing.

And a BIG thank you to all our readers and visitors. You’re the reason we do what we do.

The Story Behind the Story with Louise Boulter of Moncton, NB, Canada.

Let’s welcome Louise back to theScribbler. 

It’s been much too long since we have had a chance to talk about herstories.

She has a new novel on the go and it’sgenerating a lot of excitement.

She’s been a guest before and if you clickHERE, you can read about her first novel.

Read on my friends.

 

I was born in Moncton, N.B. where I presently live with my husband andADHD cat (and on weekends with my son). I started writing early in life. In Grade 6 or 7, I won a City-widecontest.  It was held by the CNIB and mypicture was taken by the local newspaper when I received the monetary prize. Whenattending College, I wrote the end of the year play for its final assembly. Ialways loved writing, but life sometimes got in the  way.  Iworked for the Federal Government for 35 years and raised my family. However, afterretirement, I returned to my first love and took a Creative Writing Course atthe local college. We (students) formed a writing group and so began my writingcareer. Short stories followed. Some were entered in  contests and some published in  magazines. Then I decided to write my firstbook 'Forgotten'. This was a book about one man's journey through the world ofhomelessness. Over half the proceeds went to soup kitchens and shelters. My 2nd book was written from a collectionof short stories written through the years.

 

Title: Discoveryand Recovery - A Collection of Short Stories

 

Synopsis: The book 'Discovery andRecovery' contains 37 short stories. They cover a range of topics, from humor,to wisdom, hope and nostalgia, taking you on a journey of all the emotions aperson experiences in life.

As one reviewer stated:  "Discovery and recovery is a captivating collection of short stories. Each story is a testament to Louise's skillful storytelling. With her insight and empathetic approach Louise provides readers with glimpses into the human experience. A must read for anyone who appreciates well crafted short stories."

 

The Story Behind the Story: As I age, I realize that once I have passedfrom this world to the next, all my short stories would go where all goodcomputers go. Along with it, so would go my short stories. Therefore I decidedto compile some of my favorite short stories and publish them into one book.

Buy Louise's book HERE.

 

A question before you go Louise: 


Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet. Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?

Louise: My ideal spot to write is in the basement, where my office is located. I prefer a quiet place, a place where I can get lost in my writing with no distractions. I keep folders of various ideas and thoughts in scribblers. I can't say my office is either messy or neat. It depends on what I am working on. I always have a glass of water on my desk as I don't drink coffee or tea or anything close to tequila. I have found writing 'dialogue' works best when I take out a scribbler and use the old-fashioned way of writing. It just seems easier to give the characters their own unique voice when writing with pen or pencil. Of course, I also keep a scribbler not only in my office but in our livingroom so I am prepared when ideas jump uninvited in my mind and make sure I have a place to jot down all the brilliant ... smile... idea.

My soul mate’s hand was warm, so I felt safe letting go for a few minutes. I had calls to make, friends to summon to his bedside. While I sit next to him and speak on the phone to his only living relative, a nurse walks into the room.

“He’s gone,” she says almost in a whisper.

I put down the phone and lift his big hand again.

Cold.

I kiss his forehead then immediately call my husband.

David, my husband, had been supportive for the entirety of the relationship I’d just lost. He wasn’t threatened by Joel, a ninety-one-year-old Holocaust survivor, although he became appropriately alert when I’d announced our first rendezvous fourteen years earlier.

Joel had approached me in the lobby of a community center as I put my baby in a car seat.

“What’s his name?” he had asked.

I summed him up as harmless. I figured he approached strange women and babies because he missed his own grandchildren. But a few more questions revealed how wrong this assumption had been. Joel didn’t have children or grandchildren. All but one of his family members had been killed during the Holocaust.

“I was in the camp,” he said. “Auschwitz."

He had learned to sort the blouses of the dead and to witness a hanging without flinching. Yet his eyes sparkled during our first conversation and he delivered lines like a comedian. The contrast hooked me. I asked him out for a coffee date.

“You buying?” he asked.

And so, for $1.25, a beautiful friendship began.

In the early days of our relationship, we sort of flirted. He’d drive by my house to see if my car was in the driveway. I’d make sure my make-up was right before ringing his doorbell. He would regularly tease David about the potential for romance between us.

“If I was forty years younger, you’d be in trouble,” he said over and over.

I even imagined romantic scenes starring Joel and me, circa 1946. In these fantasies, I played the strong young lady loving the young Polish survivor back to life. I would soothe him after he woke screaming as nightmares of vicious dogs and men shooting at members of his family plagued him. He would be so grateful for my patience and tenderness and eventually take me as his bride. And for the rest of our lives, he would never leave heaps of laundry in the corner of the bedroom or forget every logistical detail I ever told him, as my actual husband did.

I had these fantasies because like most humans, I was conditioned to associate strong attraction with romantic love. I was drawn to Joel, therefore I must have a crush on him, right? He was forty-four years my senior, therefore I had a hard time labelling our bond. I played with all kinds of combinations: grandfather and granddaughter; sister and brother; best friends. None of them fit.

The soul mate, we’ve been taught in our mind, is the brass ring of romantic love. Find your other half and you can start searching for wedding caterers. A soul mate knows you and 'gets' you and will never let you down. Therefore, you should marry him. Don’t.

At least not if you believe in soul mate as a mirror image. An old myth says humans started as four-limbed double creatures, but the gods worried they'd take over, so they decided to split us in half. Ever since, we’ve been searching for our other halves so we can feel complete.

How marriage became part of the equation I’ve never understood. It seems as though marrying your twin would be exactly the wrong thing to do.

For four years, I had dated my psychological echo. At first it was wonderful: so familiar, so comfortable. Then it turned disastrous. Because we were so similar, we made the same mistakes. There was no counterbalance - no one to pull either of us back by the belt loops when we got too close to the edge. Thankfully, we didn’t marry.

My husband and I are not soul mates. We are complete individuals, not two halves of each other. He is science and I am art. He is awake and I am dreaming. He saves and I spend. I’m better at parallel parking, but only he can remember where we left the car. Of course, our differences can sometimes be infuriating, but our pairing has worked for twenty-one years. I like to think it’s because David is my intended: the best husband the universe could have picked for me. A unified soul has nothing to do with it. We balance each other, make each other laugh, and agree on the big things. But he doesn’t get me unless I explain myself because he doesn’t see the world through the same lens. Then I found Joel.

He identified our similarities first. He had tumbled into an anxiety-depression hole that led to many uncomfortable chairs by many institutional beds. He’d been admitted for chest pains, but the doctors and I knew cardiac weakness wasn’t causing his distress. PTSD from four years in the Nazi system was making him sick, but he refused to see or speak to the staff psychologist about treatment. It was my job to convince him to surrender to help. I told him my story. I’d been anxious for years until a case of postpartum depression forced me to face and treat my brain’s chemical inadequacies. I felt fine ever since. Accepting help didn’t have to be shameful.

He looked at me and grinned. We were both nervous. We laughed at the same things. We interpreted the world in the same cynical way, spoke in the same blunt manner, even liked the same foods prepared the same quirky ways. Because he’d been raised in the days of privacy and dignity, our conversations didn’t involve dribbling our vulnerabilities. But we still knew what the other would say or how the other was feeling most of the time. We didn’t have to work at trust and love, or worry either would fade. Neither of us could be described as easy-going, but even after he hung up on me during an argument or I scolded him for being so exceedingly stubborn, we didn’t have to apologize or explain ourselves. It was easy. It was not marriage.

We were, I believe, the purest of soul mates. There was no romance. Just the deep comfort of being seen and known and accepted completely. For a brief period in both of our lives, we got to feel whole.

Then his hand went cold.

What’s it like to lose a soul mate? The saddest part is suspecting such a relationship will never come again. I plan on having my husband around for many more years, and I will surely develop new life-changing friendships. But I don’t think we get more than one soul mate per life cycle. Who else on this earth will ever know me so well?

I used to panic, as Joel got older, about how I’d live in the world without him. But it’s turned out to be surprisingly painless. I take comfort in remembering how lucky I had been to have found my other half. But I also don’t feel like he’s completely absent.

I talk to a lot of dead people in my head, my mother, sisters, brothers, dear friends gone too soon, but never to Joel. This makes sense to me. Following my soul mate theory, to reach him, I only need to talk to myself.

Thanks forsharing the good news about your novel, Louise, and for being our guest thisweek. We wish you continued success with your writing.

 

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