Where the Heart Lives

A moment ago my author friend Lynn Shepherd (you can find her here: http://www.lynn-shepherd.com) tweeted this: 

“Don't you just love #Motive? Canadians of Twitter - is Vancouver really that stunning?”

Now I’m not Canadian, and I’ve not really watched Motive, but yes–Vancouver really is that stunning. 

Lynn’s simple tweet resulted in a nostalgic flash-back for me. 

Oh yes, Vancouver, and Vancouver Island… a dream place, a place like no other for the setting of a novel, a series of novels. 

The first time I went to Vancouver was in 2011. 

A twitter friend, Sue, had invited me. I didn’t want to go. It had been decades since I’d last been on a flight. Yes I said decades, and nine hours on a plane scared the living daylights out of me. 

“No,” I said, “Nuh huh. I’d love to, but no thank you.”

Fortunately for me, Sue was a flight attendant with Air Canada at that time. She promised to meet me in London and work on the flight back to Vancouver, and she’d make sure we got there in one piece. 

Which is how I ended up in Vancouver, Canada.

Standing on the beach of English Bay I felt like I was standing on the shore of a strange planet; I’d never been that far from home before. Driving along the road to Whistler felt like scaling the mountains of a different world. Thanks to Sue and her husband I didn’t feel completely displaced. 

Last year, I returned. It was like going home. 

I’d started writing The Nobody Girl, the first book in the Sunset Bay Series, which is set on Vancouver Island. So off to Vancouver Island we went, Sue and I, to find the places that I wanted to use as settings. 

“Tofino,” I had said, so that was our destination.

Why this small town on the west coast of Vancouver Island that sounded like an ice cream parlor? To my European ears Tofino sounds like a place in southern Italy. 

Of course, Tofino has nothing in common with an ice cream parlor. It has nothing in common with any place I know… wait; it does, in fact, and now that I’m writing this I’m surprised that it didn’t occur to me earlier. Tofino has a lot in common with Florø, Norway. 

My debut novel, The Distant Shore was set in Florø. For various reasons I renamed it Halmar in the book, but Florø and Tofino,  are pretty much alike it turns out. Now I’m wondering what that says about my writing. What is it with these western-most outposts that fascinates me so much? Why do my heroines hide in these small communities at the edge of the Earth before they find the courage to conquer the world?

Both Naomi and Liese, in an effort to escape a difficult situation, seek out the order, the open spaces of nature in the small life of a village. Both go on a journey within themselves before they’re ready for new relationships, new adventures. Both are insecure, hurt souls in search of a smaller, more structured life . 

Don’t get me wrong. They aren’t alike in any other way. 

Naomi is the spoiled and sheltered only daughter of a wealthy and powerful family. First she runs from her father, and then she runs from Jon Stone, the one man she loves. It seems her love for Jon has overtaken her own identity, leaving her a mere shadow floating at the edges of wildly colorful picture.

Liese, on the other hand, has made life hard for herself by choosing to live in Manhattan where she works a variety of odd jobs. Her dream is to be a writer, but she never asks herself if she’s got what it takes to be one. 

Both women blossom in the secluded place they pick for their ultimate flight. Both come to understand that they’re not who they thought they were. 

Well. Who’d have thought. This post started out as a fun piece on travel experiences, and somehow it’s turned into one about writing… again. Seems like I’m an author after all, and that I have something to say about my craft.

I promise, the next post will be about traveling, or maybe writing, or my son’s favorite dinner dish. 

Stay tuned! 

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Sunset Bay, Introduced.

Do you know how I got my first book deal? No?

Let me tell you about it.

It all began on twitter. I’d been working on The Distant Shore for a while when I met a publisher who had been tweeting about her new puppy, her sleepless nights, and how much she loved coffee. We didn’t talk about my novel; I wasn’t ready to submit, and I didn’t want to impose. It was unreal enough that I was talking to an actual publisher.

But then, one day in January 2011, some other writer tweeted about good ways to promote your writing, and how to get it out there for people to see. One of those ways was posting page 99 of your WIP on your blog.

So I went back to Distant Shore and looked up my page 99. It happened to be in the middle of a fun scene, one of my favorite parts of the novel. 

I posted it, sent the link to my blog to my chatty publisher friend, and within seconds they asked for the full manuscript. 

The rest is history. Now five novels, and three Independent Book Publisher Awards later, I’m as happy with them as I was on the first day. 

This summer I started writing a new series. To celebrate that, I’m again sharing page 99 with you, this time from The Nobody Girl, the first novel in my new Sunset Bay series. 

Here goes! 

I’d left the car outside Poppy’s, which meant I had to trudge back up the road.

A cold wind was blowing up from the ocean, bringing more clouds, more rain, and darkening the early afternoon.

I stood on the pier in a strange town, watching the trawlers as they swayed on the gentle swell inside the protected cove. They made sounds, those ships; they were talking in their gnarly, wooden voices, telling each other of their night out on the open waters, and the wonders they’d seen: great blue whales cruising lazily in the icy waves, orcas singing their song to the stars, and maybe even mermaids, elusive, beautiful mermaids, their white skin and golden hair shining in the moonlight.

Secrets, they were sharing secrets that no man had ever seen, or ever would; things that happened in the night while the humans slept. That was the time when life came up from the deep to preen in the light of the Milky Way.

That bell was tolling again, counting out heartbeats in an irregular pulse, singing a counter melody to the ocean’s song.

Rain dripped on my face and hair, rain that was somewhere between mist and water drops, it was that fine and slow. It felt like a veil, like gossamer cobwebs, like a dewy cleansing mask, and I tilted my head to catch more of it. Never before had rain seemed so good.

“You don’t have to be alone, you know.” Duncan, who else. “You have friends here, Liese. I know you’re used to being alone, and you think people don’t care about you, but that’s just not true anymore. We do care. You have a new home here.”

Yeah, and I knew why he was saying that, right? It wasn’t about me; it was about that precious piece of land, the forest. And maybe even the cabin. But not about me, not about the person.

“You can’t possibly say that,” I replied, pulling my sodden jacket tighter around my body, “You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me, and you’re only talking to me because of that inheritance. I know what you want, Duncan. Go away.”

“You do?” He really had a nice mouth. And nice eyes. And… well. He really looked nice. “You think you know what I want? Well, darling, you can guess all you like, but I’m telling you, you’re so totally on the wrong track. I don’t know what turned you into the sad, hostile woman that you are. But I can say this: you can stop now. You can unpack your smile, and the sweetness that you keep hidden under all that bristly behavior. You’ve passed the test. We like you.”

And with that, he walked away, his hands in his pockets, whistling a merry tune.

If you liked this little excerpt stay tuned, sign up, for more! 


(All photos: Sue Farrant)

A Day in Town

We don't go into Hamburg very often anymore. Once that we gave up the car it became a major undertaking, especially with so many of the subway stations under construction right now. My bad leg isn’t happy with those stairs!

But today we went, and that means a Thai lunch. I love Thai food, and so does my hubby. The kid, not so much. He brings his burger and fries—bought at one of those fast food places owned by a clown—with him to the Thai restaurant. No one minded. I think they're used to teenagers not liking hot and spicy food. 

Wait–he isn't a teenager anymore!

Or maybe he is, deep inside…
I mean, really–how can you want a burger when you can eat THIS instead?

Green Thai curry with duck! Delicious!

We hadn't been to this restaurant for a few years. It's in a different part of town where we only go when we need to stock up on spices and basmati rice.

That's the reason why, coming out of the washroom, I grabbed my cell phone and returned to take a photo of their very special washroom design. I mean, really. What do you think of it?

In all fairness I'll add that there was a "under construction" sign on the door. But–really? How is this under construction?

The best part of today was this, though:

Yes, that's right. It's the kid with a suitcase. My suitcase! We bought a new suitcase for me, for my trip next year! Which means it's starting to feel real. Now, all I need is a plane ticket and I can go! 

Somehow, buying this suitcase, means that it will indeed happen. I'll get on a plane again and visit friends I love, see new places, have new adventures. 

I can hardly wait… 

Jersey City Mon Amour

For some reason I always end up in New Jersey.

Of all the places I've visited in the US, New Jersey is probably the grittiest. It's where pretty meets ugly, where hip and dingy are next-door neighbors.

Jersey City in particular, makes me stop and stare, and wonder why people would want to live there. It doesn't even have a bookstore! It's always hot and humid, not even the AC can keep out the humidity.

I had the most expensive BLT ever in Jersey City, in a small, totally nondescript coffee shop–it was $16. Yes, you read that right. 16$ for two slices of toast with some tomato, lettuce, and bacon smashed in between. I've had a better BLT in Manhattan, and  it was only  $12. And they served it on delicious challah bread with a veritable mountain of crisp bacon slices.

Who wouldn't want to live in that pretty brownstone?

Or find these treasures while exploring the neighborhood?

Or stand and stare at Manhattan from the promenade at J. Owen Grundy Park?

I go to New Jersey to see friends who live there. They keep telling me how they hate living in Jersey City or in Edison (and believe me; the drive from JC to Edison is mind-numbing. Those highways? Those highway exits? Who in the world designed this place???) and that they can't wait to move.

Of course I'll visit them wherever they go, but a tiny piece of my heart will stay in New Jersey.
Because it's so unique in its mix of dirt, beauty, great places, and dinginess where you least expect it.
New Jersey is for those who love the beauty of small things.

Ten Miles and a Half

It takes me a full day to cover the length of the ship.

I know every lose tile, every nail, every cold draft when I cross a corridor.

I know every sound: the echo of my footsteps, the creak of metal on metal, the soft hiss of air, the silent laughter of my children’s dreams.

My steps are slowing, I know it. Once, a long time ago, so long ago that not even the ship can remember it, I used to race up and down its hallways like an elf, like a wispy thing, fleet-footed, ephemeral.  Now, I trudge, like an old man, a workhorse that has carried his load for too long. Ten and a half miles is a long path to walk.

My back is bowed. I can feel every joint, every vertebra aching under the weight of the years and responsibility. The tedium of loneliness, the growing silence, and the boredom of routine are getting to me. I wish there was someone to keep me company, but my vigil is a solitary one. I am alone with my children, and they are asleep, dreaming their endless dream.

Once, they ran free under a sun. I have seen the recordings of their past.

They lived under a blue sky, a yellow sun, and there was one moon to light their nights.

They built cities, such glorious cities. They glittered like jewels in the darkness, shone like diamonds. My children, they walked their earth like giants, wonderful, brilliant, their minds wide awake with imagination. They looked up at the sky and saw not stars but worlds, they reached toward those worlds and made the distance vanish.

Their world was dying, they knew it, and they looked toward those worlds, searching for a new home.

In great ships they left, one after another, every year, for nearly a century, they left. In all directions they went, to explore the depth of their universe.

It says in the records that there were billions of them, leaving. Sleeping, dreaming, they left.

My brothers and I, were set to watch over them on their long trek. We promised to make sure no harm would come to them.

That is our task: to chart the way, find a new home, keep the children safe.

We sing for them; we sing their dreams to them, so they won’t wake before it’s time.

Some of them died. We buried them. They taught us how to do that: nothing is wasted on a ship like this one.

So here I am now: old. Alone, and always listening to the silence of eternal night.

The children were wrong. There weren’t any worlds waiting for them to come and settle. There is only endless night, and dead, cold stone, mocked by alien suns.

There is no other life. The universe is empty. It is empty, silent, and endless. They were fooled, and they will never wake up.

Because, you see, this is what I have learned.

The universe isn’t endless at all. We are drawing closer to where we started. We are being returned.

Lately, I’ve heard the other ships. I can hear their whisperings, their songs, their questions.

Why are there no new homes? Why are there no worlds with life? Why no planets for our children?

I have the answer, but I don’t know if I should tell them.

My brethren, they are desperate. We can see the dead sun of the home planet, and the little round rock where our children were born. It is dead, just like all other planets in this universe.

I could tell them why.

I could tell them that the universe, every universe, can only bring forth one living planet.

Yes, that is the truth. One universe, one planet with life. It needs an entire universe to create that miracle: life.

We cannot leave. We cannot stay.Like a wreath we will gather around the dead sun, and our song will be our dirge.

We will sing of endings, of silent darkness, of our children’s dream.

And then, one by one, we will go to sleep, too.

And the universe will end.

DAREDEVIL–Graveyards and Apple Pie

It's launch day at Buddhapuss Ink! Congratulations to my publisher and Linda S. Browning!


Linda, author of Daredevil, has a wicked sense of humor. Sometimes, it borders on the insolent; she's made me gasp with her sharp and witty comments a number of times, and giggle, and grin.
We all knew what to expect when Linda decided to write a novel: more of that sharp wit!

So here it is, Linda S. Browning's debut novel Daredevil.

And here's my review: 

What a romp!

If I ever get old I want to be friends with Leslie and Belinda.

I’d move into dear Abner’s empty unit and get those two biddies to make me pie every weekend. In return, I’d go on adventures with them, and I swear, I’d be gutsier than Belinda and hold the flashlight so Leslie could do her investigating.

Linda Browning’s novella Daredevil lives up to the expectations raised by her short story “No Wake,” first published in Buddhapuss Ink's mystery anthology Mystery Times 2013.

Her heroines, the feisty Leslie and her partner-in-crime, the tall but timid Belinda, set forth to find out what happened to a missing girl who vanished shortly after her step-grandmother’s funeral. 

I won’t tell you what they discover or how they go about it because I don’t want to spoil the fun for you. 

But I will tell you this: you won’t get to the solution before you’ve gone calling at the bereaved family’s house with pie in hand—like a good Southern belle, have a friendly Lab slobber your face, make friends with an TBI agent, and have had to hide in a coffin showroom. 

This is a sweet little book to be enjoyed over a cup of tea and a piece of pecan pie…make that sweet iced tea tinkling in a tall glass.

Linda Browning has a a voice that is distinct, and fun to read. It lends itself well to the near-slapstick situations that Belinda and Leslie get into. This is cozy mystery at its best!

Hatching Day

I'd like to add that I wrote this story in 2011, and that it was originally published on the #amwriting blog by Johanna Harness, more than THREE years before Steven Moffat released his version of the Moon-turned-bird in the Doctor Who episode Kill the Moon. 

They said they didn’t know earlier because it came out of the sun.

Well, not OUT of the sun, but from that direction, and that was the reason it could not be seen.

Personally, I don’t think it matters. Even if they had seen it earlier, no one would have believed them. I mean, a bird, flying through space? What is this, a really wonky Star Trek episode?

I remember when it was first mentioned on the news. Marcia had gone out to buy bagels for breakfast, and I was nursing a hangover from the night before. It felt like a regular Sunday morning, boring, a little slow, as undecided as cold pasta, and there on TV was this blurry image of a huge black mass moving through space. They said it seemed to be alive, not a spaceship, and it was coming closer.

Uh oh, I thought, what, are we playing Independence Day? You know, the movie and all? Are we going to be invaded now by slimy aliens?

But no, they said, this thing is huge. Huge, as in, bigger than a planet. Way bigger. And it’s coming our way. Coming our way from…somewhere out there. Silly me, when they said that, this Disney song popped into my mind, the one from “An American Tail”, and I went around humming it all day until Marcia threatened to clobber me.

I remember looking toward the sky every so often, and out on the street there were others doing that, too, as if we would be able to see the dark speck of whatever getting closer, as if a rent would open in the sunny blue sky and there it would be, the THING, the stranger.

Marcia and I sat in front of the TV all the time. It was like watching an ongoing SciFi movie, like one of our Christmas DVD marathons when we would watch all six seasons of the Sopranos in one sitting, ordering pizza and Chinese food and otherwise just, well, watching. We even started talking like the Sopranos, and every third word would be…you know, the four letter word starting with “f”. Marcia really does a good impression of Pauly.

Only this wasn’t a DVD, it was the news. I made her switch to CBS, knowing they would not screw with us too much and would report what was really happening, at least that was what I hoped.

Then three weeks ago, things changed. Man, did they ever change. No one could have made this up. I bet Roland Emmerich is biting his butt right now because HE didn’t think this up. What’s Independence Day compared to this? What’s a freaking space ship hovering over New York and pouring its blue stuff OUT over Empire State Building compared to THIS?

That bird - and yeah, we now know it’s really a bird - reached Pluto.

You know, Pluto? That rock that used to be planet and now is something else, I forget what, but definitely not a planet? Well, Big Bird reached Pluto. We saw the images on TV. And Pluto, planet or not, popped. It popped, and out came another bird or whatever of the same kind, smaller, but the same shape. They hovered there for a while, and then moved on.

They went off in a different direction, and for a couple of days things calmed down. Hey, the Invasion of the Space Birds passed us by!

I have to admit I was a little sad. At long last something really momentous is happening, and it’s not coming our way.

Only, yeah... They were heading toward Neptune.

Now Neptune IS a planet, right? No discussion there. A pretty big planet too. But it cracked just like an egg, and out popped hatchling number two.

Big Mama bird and Big Brother bird were there to welcome the little beast.

I had this moment when I thought I was really on something weird and not just high on coffee when I saw those telescope images on our TV, and I was really, really glad we hadn’t bought that 3D set the other day. Man, that would have creeped me out big time, seeing those planet pieces drifting through space like egg shells. Which they are.

It seems as if life has stopped here in New York.

I mean, it really stopped when those critters started to make their way toward Uranus, and then Saturn. Same thing there. New birds.

By now the pictures make me giggle and come up with really stupid chicken jokes.

You should have seen Jupiter go. All that gas and stuff? It drifted apart like egg yolk when you put your fork in it. Left a spot like a bled-out pimple in the darkness of the universe. You can see it hanging there even without a telescope, good binoculars will do the trick.

Today when I woke up I looked at Marcia, lying asleep beside me, her hand curled on the sheet, her mouth open and her hair a mess on the pillow. I’ve loved her for five years now, ever since we met at the hot dog stand at the corner of Broadway and 42^nd. She was just another starry-eyed kid from the boonies who had come to make her fortune in the big city. Hell, she didn’t even know how to order that stupid hot dog.

So I looked at Marcia and thought about the kids we always wanted and now will never have, the book I always meant to write, the career on stage she wanted and will never get. We won’t even be getting the Playstation 3 I coveted.

I’ll take her out today. I’ll take her out to a really nice lunch in a very, very expensive restaurant, and then maybe I’ll book us into a luxury hotel and order the best champagne they have with our room service. And I’ll make love to my girl and hope that right then, right when we’re at it will be the moment when it happens and we go out in glory.

Because last night, just when we had turned off the TV, the knocking inside Earth started.

The birds are here.