What's in your story jar?

Where do stories come from? I had a somewhat philosophical discussion about this recently with my close friend and writing/teaching mentor. He shared this wonderful quote from Gaston Bachelard who wrote in Air and Dreams: An Essay on the Imagination of Movement, “Every object that is contemplated, every exalted name that is whispered is the starting point for a dream or a poem; it is a creative linguistic movement.” 

My friend added, "In other words, if you are looking for a 'good topic' to write about, you've already made your first mistake."

Sometimes I think about untold stories as though they float through space and time and writing as basically a matter of capturing them in the jar. Once there, you can keep them just for your own pleasure, or open the jar and share them with a few or many readers. My friend said he imagined a butterfly inside the jar as the teller of the stories.

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The Funeral Skirt

I smoothed the fabric over my hips and noted how luxurious the silk lining felt against my legs. It was a lovely skirt with strong, straight seems. It fit me perfectly, falling just to the top of my knees, with a narrow patent leather black belt that cinched my waist.

"Buy that skirt. You'll get a lot of use out of it," said my friend Denise.

I couldn't imagine how. I had recently left a staff position with a big publishing company to work as a freelance journalist. I was at the stage of researching and pitching story ideas from my home office while wearing yoga pants. I hadn't had a face-to-face meeting in months and didn't have any on the horizon. How would a charcoal grey, high-waisted pencil skirt prove useful?

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It's time to Write Now!

Several years ago, a best-selling and multi-published author who I greatly admire kindly read my Lunar Lifter manuscript and gave some indispensible advice. Her suggestions took it from good to sellable, and without her help I'm not sure it would have been published. I was so grateful for her encouragement, I asked how I could repay her generosity. "Pay it forward," she told me. "Mentor a less-experienced writer."

This summer, through the Write Now! program, I found my opportunity to do just that. Kind of, sort of. Let me explain.

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Lunar Lifter's Official Launch Party

It was a big day! My first published novel, Lunar Lifter, "officially" launched with an event at my local library this afternoon. I am relieved to report it went very well. I made it through the reading without too many bumps, enjoyed watching children (and a few playful adults!) pose inside the Lunar Lifter photo booths, and signed a lot of books.

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Outbreak: a short story

This is a work of historical fiction. The main character, Dr. John Slayter, was Health Officer for the Port of Halifax in 1866 when called upon to treat cholera-infected patients on a ship in the Halifax Harbour. The details concerning dates, his family life, interactions (with Charles Tupper, among others), treatment protocols, etc. are drawn from historical records. The characters of George, and Maggie and Seamus Murphy are imagined.

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Dip, splash. Dip, splash.

Waves gently lapped against the boat.  The motion made me sleepy. Sitting in the bow, I followed the oars’ creaking trail through the water and up into the brisk morning air. Water droplets hopped over the black harbour and spread circular ripples in their wake. Pulling my focus closer I gazed up one oar over the shackle to George's bulging bicep and across his broad back.

I nodded off for a split second. When I snapped my head back up and opened my eyes, George turned toward me.

"This seems about as good a spot as any. What do you think, Doc Slayter?"

George had rowed far past Thrum Cap, the southernmost tip of McNab's Island, but I could still make out the distant speck of a girl watching us from the rocky shore.

"Little further George, please."

I sat opposite the crude pine coffin roped across the stern, protruding over the water. I wished it were a hallucination but I knew otherwise.

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