Loyalist Memories 3

A follower asked what did we do a Loyalist for five days – as if there so little to writing one only needed a day or less to get the fundamentals. The structure was the same each year – morning lecture about an aspect of plotting, world building – & discussion of those aspects. Newbies were most curious about getting published & how sell a million copies of their book.

The more experienced where most interested in polishing their writing & the workshop critiques in the afternoon were where the real learning happened. It was after the first session of this that if someone as going to drop out they would drop. Some signed without fully realizing the amount of time reading & commenting on one another’s work would take. I know the first year I expected to have time to write new chapters for my current project – ha! I barely had time to blog – lol.

I was one of the few in the class that actually stayed on campus – the others lived in the area, had friends who live din the area, or preferred the full comforts of a nearby motel. I roughed in one of residence units. I brought breakfasts, snacks, & suppers for the stay. Without a car eating off campus wasn’t going to happen & what fast food there was closed at 4. I wasn’t rushing to hit Tim’s before they closed just to get a bagel.

Over the years I attended I brought chapters from my various nanowrimo novels Lazarus Kiss, Coal Dusters & Picture Perfect. Feed back was productive & when I got to doing edits of those novels I incorporated many of the suggestions. Asking for feedback on sections that appeared at say, the 100 page mark, in a novel did present the challenge of context – some fellow work-shoppers realized what wasn’t explained was probably already explained – other floundered not being able to make that leap. I did include a very brief recap one year.

The biggest thing I learned was that, to me, the writing is more important that publishing – one attender was dismayed they had to sacrifice their dream project after good a start because they couldn’t find a market for it – clearly the dream was the market not the project. Others discovered that once published they spent so much time on promo that they had no time write anything new. 

I hope the follower who asked what we did isn’t disappointed to find out there were no blood offerings to the moon.

The Reparation Room

<>

he acted as if I owed him something

for the way he was treated as a child

by someone I didn’t know

in a city I’ve never been in

because I was old white guy

I was the one to blame

I was the one who had to dig down

to make it up to him 

money wasn’t going to cut it

he wanted to see me hurt

as much as he had been hurt

there was no way to defuse this anger

to step back from the situation

no way was I capable of making him feel whole

<>

was the trade off

the memory of his pain

in return for the memory 

of the pain he might inflict upon me

how many times 

would he have to seek this opportunity

how many times would he have to strike out

before he realized causing pain

never removes the pain one feels

making me hurt as much as he hurts

won’t change his hurt

might numb him to it for a moment

then he’ll have to live with what he’s done

what he feels compelled to keep on doing

making me hurt as much as he hurts

won’t change his hurt

might numb him to it for a moment

then he’ll have to live with what he’s done

what he feels compelled to keep on doing

hitting out spitting out taking it out 

till it would finally consume him

<>

I don’t know how to lead him out of this cage

can’t tell him he’s a slave 

to a problem I didn’t cause

I refuse to be held responsible for it 

yet cannot deny his right 

to seek some sort of reparation

for his past

I’m not the one to apologize

not the one to pull out my wallet to pay him off

I have to witness his struggle

acknowledge it

know that I can’t undo

what has been done

try not to add to it in any way

but it seems no matter what I do

I add to it

just being present brings it all back to him

not being present 

seems to him like I’m hiding out of guilt

<>

neither of us can leave the room

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Loyalist Memories Part 2

strolling the grounds 2010

I recently posted a collection of photos from various years of Rosemary Aubert’s writing worksop at the Loyalist College’s Summer Arts. I think I attended 5 years of them until she retired & Loyalist opted not to continue with writing workshops of any sort. Such is life. In fact each year the college was less inviting to the workshop. Starting with the reduction of lunch dining options until lunch was reduced to a Tim’s in the basement.

the air cadets were very obedient – I loved being saluted

Besides the other summer arts workshops for the first two years we shared the campus with air cadets who were billeted there while they went to Trenton airbase. It was fun to watch them lining up in uniform to catch their bus there. Also they added to the after class scenery shooting hoops, lining up for the pay phones. I guess to cut costs the cadets were eventually billeted in Trenton.

dining hall mural – eventually painted over 😦

Rosemary’s class had a core following of crime writers (who went on to form The Mesdames of Mayhem). Some were published already. There were always some newbies. Over the summers I developed friendships with a couple of the Mayhem. Each year there was a different approach to the writing process. Some years the participants were invited to do presentations. I did one on ‘how to give a reading’ as many writers have no idea of how to present their work to a live audience.

In the workshop critiques I learned how to listen to what was said about my work & not to defend my submissions. I was the only out queer male there so I did bring my unique voice to matters of gender & stereotyping. Some were good at copy editing – I would always get one of my submission back with every punctation or typo correction in red ink.

When Rosemary decided to retire from teaching Loyalist opted not to continue with the writers’ workshop module of their summer arts. They did offer one the following year but didn’t get enough registrants so run it. So that was that. Maybe we writers weren’t in the right age demographic for them to pursue 🙂

hands around the Tim’s table our last year there 2016 – some of the hands belong to people in the photo from 2010

https://topoet.ca/2021/07/05/loyalist-memories-part-1

https://wordpress.com/post/topoet.ca/3018

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Dining Room

A souvenir of the writers’ workshop/retreat at Loyalist College in Belleville. There was also a painters workshop at the same time. One morning we visited the painter, saw their work, then read some our aloud to them. I swapped one of my Renaissance anthologies for this painting. Int he area many houses have a large bed of orange flowers – at one time to signify it was the home of Orangemen. Yes gardens were once tools of political & religious importance.

One of my role models 🙂 Tweety could get away with tormenting Sylvester with the dog ready to rescue him. The brass cymbals were a gift many years ago. I ring them on the full moon. In the window  you might notice a stained glass Cape Breton Island sun catcher.

The patron saint of writers – St Michael – the only saint with a sword. I bought this Broughton’s – a religious items store not he Danforth, just east of Woodbine. They have since gone out of business. I bout this ceramic figurine at their going out of business sale. It hovers on the plate rail over me by the computer. The bearded guy under his foot is part sea serpent. The Welsh plate beside it is a nod to my Celtic roots. It might have been gift or I may have found it at a 2nd hand store.

Photos of photos 🙂 The first by my niece before she she became branded as Betty Rocksteady. I love the triple exposure effect & its surreal Man Ray vibe. Check her out on Amazon.

 

The other is by my friend Kyle Andrews – driftwood in sunset on the coast of Nova Scotia around Canso Causeway. 

 

 

 

My lunchbox collection. These are from various years of FanExpo & were included as part of the deluxe package. Supposedly limited editions – but what does that mean? Were unsold ones destroyed?  repurposed? repainted as Terminator XIX lunch boxes? The photo, one of my favourites, is of no one I know. I found it on one of my walks, leaning on a garbage bin. I couldn’t resist it.

Photosynthesis

something happens when 

my skin 

is in the same room 

as yours

 

I don’t have to know you are there

I can feel something 

though my clothes 

through every layer 

coat sweater jeans undies

a emanation comes from you

your eyes   your smile

that changes my chemical structure 

it grows glows down to my toes

 

in fact

you don’t even have to be there

someone can mention your name

& I feel like a leaf turning 

to your sun

your picture 

your voice on the telephone

 

my hypersensitive flesh reacts

the closer you are

the less subtle the reaction

the more alone we are together

the less subtle the manifestation 

radians through the air around us

as we snuggle to watch TV 

step into a shower

approach the bed

emanation that knit

pull us closer closer

enmeshed in each other

breathe the same air

walk in the same sunshine

wash with the same soap

 

complete without each other

yet always eager for the knit

creating opportunities 

to mention the name

laugh about something or the other 

we could have done

caught up in the shower

lost between the bed and the TV

 

there are times 

when opportunity

allows awareness of another

I feel it first in my skin

I look around the room  the street 

to see where its coming from

can it be returned

eyes become heat seeking sensors

I’m a turning leaf

looking for some sun

more light 

more opportunity to share that flow

with someone else

even if it is merely to acknowledge 

not act

don’t have to act every time  

anytime

the grace of light fills us 

each to overflowing

 

no need to fear 

there won’t be enough

all I have to do is breathe deep 

open myself to the gift

of your sun

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6

June

(canceled by covid19 😦 )June 25-26-27 – Capturing Fire 2020 – Wooly Mammoth Theatre -Washington D.C.
 capfireslam.org 

July

(Maybe) All’s Well That Ends Well – Stratford Festival

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#Loyalist Farewell

Another dip in the novelist ocean comes to an end. It starts as how can we fill these days & ends as we need another week more. The look at our personal lives (The Novelist’s Selfie) for plot & character elements was exhilarating – paired off conversations to discuss some of those growing up times brought many of us closer in a personal way. One of the things recovery & countless meetings has taught me is that holding back is pointless. I hope my frankness allowed others to be a bit more frank themselves.

loyr01

the ramp to my suite

On the last morning things were condensed so we could be finished by 1 pm at the latest. I was grateful for this so I could be on the road by 1:30 – with features at Friday & Saturday night shows I needed time to relax & finish my set building. I did get the Glad Day set in shape. I also hope to support Hot Damn! at Pride Sunday afternoon – that depends on how willing I am to be ignored by 500,000 men at one time 🙂

loyr02

view from a door

On the final morning we had pieces that dealt with mystery writers living in small towns (nothing bad can happen there); missing or not in the tundra; a darkly handsome circus sharpshooter comes to a small rural town (nothing bad can come of that).

We also discussed ‘old age’ though no one was sure when old started or stopped – 55 in a nursing home is old? 85 & running long distance? Hmm. Just like our discussion about Mz vs Miss it brought out lots of laughter & serious consideration.

loyr03

what lurks above

We were all sad to pack up & leave as this is Rosemary Aubert’s last year teaching this course. Although there was some talk of it continuing facilitated by someone else, there was also a sense that Loyalist itself wasn’t that invested in seeing it continue. If it does continue I’ll support it just to see what new directions it will take.

samples

a short poem written at my prose workshop 🙂

past as present

if it wasn’t me

it would have been someone else

you don’t allow much alternative

you don’t want much alternative

you get such comfort

from history repeating itself

so why

act surprised when it does

soon02

June 21-26 – attended – Rosemary Aubert’s Workshop: The Novelist’s Selfie – Loyalist – Belleville https://www.facebook.com/events/965611026782246/

( it’s over 😦  )

loyrocket

register now while there is room at the table

page 23 for details next page down for registration info

https://www.loyalistbanner.com/ceweb/doc/LoyalistSummerArts2015.pdf

June 26, Friday, 10:00 pm – feature – Pride 2015 Erotic Cabaret – Glad Day Bookstore, 598a Yonge St., Toronto

glad

https://www.facebook.com/events/630930370341697/

June 27, Saturday – 9:00-  Feature along with Alissa Vox Raw, Neil Traynor:  Hot Summer Nights at Hirut, Hirut Restaurant, 2050 Danforth Ave., Toronto

hirut

https://www.facebook.com/events/550898671715666/

September 3-6 – attending – Fan Expo

Expo15

( I’ve registered already 🙂 )

http://fanexpocanada.com

October 18, Sunday – feature: Cabaret Noir: Inner Child Sacrifice

noiroc

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/topoet

cropped-nobullseye.jpg

on the horizon

Picture Perfect Loyalist Days

First day of the workshop went smoothy. A group of 11 plus Rosemary is just the right size to get somethings done. A usual intros take longer than planned even though most of know each others from past workshops – some have been to everyone, some to a couple, plus some new faces. I’m always amazed the number of published authors who participate.

loy101

my look day one

Day Two was productive – compelling conversations around p.c. language, creating characters & almost nothing about punctuation 🙂 I did a presentation on using real adolescent memories to create fictional adult characters. Using my current Nano, Picture Perfect, as example I told how I used real memories to propel & create the situation & backstory of my ‘hero.’ Of course the process made the direction of my novel clearer for me at the same time.

loy102

the classroom

In the afternoon I was on the hot seat as we workshopped the section of Perfect I had submitted. As it was what I written on first day of Nano it was flooded with too much info – but as I world build everything that comes to mind gets put in – creating his hone life, his business life at this stage I didn’t know what was important. But basic premise of abducted children & how it was presented grabbed everyone in the class. So I’m even more eager to get back to it to see how part 2 turns out.

loy103

they’re here

more campus pics http://topoet.tumblr.com/post/122199500583/loyalist-reflections-belleville-ontario-some

perfect nano sample

for my work shop piece I brought an edited, for length, section the opening of Picture Perfect – here’s is part 1 of the unedited –

“You’re not listening to me.” Sanjay took the remote from Dan and muted the TV.

“I was.” Dan grabbed the remote. “You said my sister had a good point.”

“But you are going to ignore her?” Sanjay tried to get the remote back before Dan could turn the sound back on.

“Some thing don’t change.” Dan  blocked Sanjay’s hand looked him in the eyes and kissed him. “If I had listened to her, we would not be together. You know that that.”

“So you keep telling me.” Sanjay pushed Dan away from him, got up from the couch and stood in front of the TV.

“Sanj, If you want to distract me you’ll have to drop your drawers.”

“We’re talking a lot of money, Dan. A lot of money.”

“I’m not paying for you to drop them. Now, step away from the TV. I was watching something.”

“You’re always watching something when I want to talk to you. You’ve recorded this anyway, so you can go back to it.”

“You asked me to clear things off the recorder, remember. Now that I’m trying to, you want to talk me.” Dan hit pause. “You’re the reason I don’t think we need a cat.”

“What?”

“Cats ignore you till you are trying to do something and they are all over you.”

“You wish.”

“This is nearly over anyway. Ten minutes.” he unpaused. “Step aside?”

He pressed the back button to rewatch what he’d missed talking to Sanjay.

“What’s it about anyway?” Sanjay sat beside him.

“Missing kids on the east coast.”

“I should have known.”

“Yeah, everything is homework for … hey! That’s me!” Dan hit the pause button.

It was a photo of two boys on the front steps of a house. Arms over each other shoulders, grinning at the camera.

“You sure aren’t missing.” Sanjay said.

“Yeah yeah I know. It’s the other boy Timmy Dunlop. I guess.”

“Guess? I thought you were watching this.”

“You mean, trying to watch. My Dad took this picture. I remember it. It’s been years since I’ve seen it though.”

“Yeah, right. How many photographs have you seen?”

“Enough ,but some you remember. I sort of had a crush on Timmy. We played doctor a couple of times. When we moved I kept hoping to hear from him but nothing.”

“I guess you know why now.” Sanjay stretched. “I’m heading for bed. I leave you to your homework.”

Any reality show dealing with crime was considered Dan’s homework. He saw things in photographs that most didn’t see. His eyes had been trained to discover and recognized what might appear ordinary to the untrained eye.

He went back to the beginning of the program ‘Canada Cold’ that looked at cold cases across Canada. He’d worked such cases with the RCMP and that had tweaked his interested in them. This episode was about a the disappearance of several children in the Maritimes in the mid-80’s. Dan had no recollection of it at all. His family had moved when he was eleven, the same summer of these disappearances.

As he watched he jotted down the names and locations of the children. None struck a chord with him expect Timmy’s. The place name were familiar, Stellerton, Digby, Wolfville in Nova Scotia; Small Town & Port Something in New Brunswick. His Dad had been an itinerant photographer, “Photos By James”, who travelled from school to school, taking class pictures and individual portraits. For summer’s he would take the family with him, spending a day or two, or up to a week in various small towns.

Dan pulled himself out his reflective daze. Replayed the ending of the show again and wrote down the number one was to call if they had any information. He’d call once he had found those photos. Stellerton had been one of the longer stays and one of the last as he recalled.

They’d been their long enough for him to renew his friendship with some of the boys he’d palled around with the previous summer. They left pretty quickly. He remembered being pretty pissed because the Happy Hippo Carnival had just set up and he wanted to so badly to go it.

Moving to Toronto wasn’t as important to him then as seeing the side shows. Even his sister as somewhat disappointed but that was because she was seeing some guy their mother didn’t approve of. He figured that was why they were really moving and for years blamed her for ruining his childhood.

“You coming up or am I coming by myself?”

In the morning Dan ate without noticing what he was eating. His folks must have known about Timmy disappearing. Why hadn’t they told him. He’ d written Timmy letters from Toronto or did those ever get mailed?

“He must have been something special?” Sanjay nudged Dan’s shoulder as he offered to refill his coffee cup.

“Who?” Dan waved the coffee away. “I’ve had enough.”

“The boy in the picture. You are thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“Some but more about why I didn’t know what happened till now. I was so heart sick about him but I let my folks think I was just homesick.”

“How old were you?”

“Only eleven.”

“Still carrying that flame?”
“No! I haven’t really thought about him or those days till last night. I’m surprised I recognized his face.”

“It was you that recognized first.”

“Yeah well there were so few pictures of me, I mean just of me, with Linda lurking in the background. She invented photo bombing because they was no way dad could take a picture if she was around without her getting in on it. Nearly all by baby picture show either her or my mother holding me.”

“So that’s when the rivalry started.”

“Oh yeah, I wasn’t out of the womb before she was making sure she got as much attention s she could. I better get going. Time to open shop. I’m seeing Warszawa this afternoon. I’ll ask him what he thinks I should do.”

“The RCMP do come in handy sometimes.”

“You working today?”

Sanjay was a pastry chef at two different restaurants and Dan was never sure which one he was working at on which day. Somedays neither was Sanjay.

“If I was I’d been gone by now, right?”

“No. You work evenings more and more.”

“Miss me?”
“You know I do?” He pulled Sanjay tight for a long kiss.

“Today’s the day the animal people are coming. Raccoon in the eaves.”

“Right. What’s that going to cost us I wonder.”

“At least a week of night shifts for me.”

“And two high-end digitals for me.”

“I thought your sister had that commission market cornered.”

“So she does but you know what I mean.”

loyset

Loyalist reflection 2014

#Loyalist Farewell & “God smiles on grooms”

Another fine workshop with Rosemary Aubert at Loyalist. Time flies too fast when I’m so focused and productive. Even though the class was smaller than usual, some drop outs at the last minute due to illness, we never seemed to have enough time to get around to everything – in fact we barely scratched the eBook surface (next year).

loyset sunset reflections

After the first day there isn’t really much time, or energy, for my own writing beyond morning pages & getting the blog up. Not complaining though. The workshop options of the day were excellent & even they weren’t discussing my piece, nearly everything said applied to every piece submitted.

loychaps why, yes, I sold lots of chapbooks

My Thursday presentation in revising the Plot went very well. I used both Lazarus Kiss & Coal Dusters as examples. In Kiss I realized that I needed to make the magic system clearer which called for cuts & additions. Dusters got tinkered with to suit the history & also the cultural context. People lived with dirt much more thoughtlessly than we do.

loybench lonely birdhouse

The residence apartments were perfect. Simple, almost austere with excellent campus wide wifi access. This year I was in the McFarlane building for first time. Over the years I’ve been in nearly every building. I was lucky to get one of the accessibility suites, which have their entrance which avoids the stairs – sweet for my suitcase. Close to the main buildings so I took more of a loop around the the Tim Ho’s on the furthest end to get some exercise.

loybags bags packed for sad departure

Ate off campus a couple nights. Montana’s is one of those faux rustic spots – saws on the walk. 50’s car suspended from the ceiling. large meals, well prepared; nice ribs & salads. The class meal was at Boston Pizza – food was fine but one long table made conversation with anyone more than two away from you impossible. Even that was shouted over the noise of other diners around us.

The drive there & back was smooth sailing, no major traffic ties ups, not even much of a slow down – going against the flow does speed things up. But I’m always glad to get home to my own bed, even if I have endless loads of laundry to do before hitting it. I’ll be back next year.

soon02

August 28-31 – attending – FanExpo Canada http://www.fanexpocanada.com

expo14

October 19 – feature – Cabaret Noir – Welcome to Lake Pinebow

pineoct

nasample

Here’s another sliver of Coal Dusters – this wasn’t looked in the workshop but I was so pulled back into it myself I can’t to start the big revisions.

 

“Lillian it won’t matter what trousers I’m wearing down into the mine. The overalls will cover all I’m wearing.” Steven tried to joke.

“They will be taking your picture before you get into the mining gear. You have to keep in mind that people’s eyes will now be on you.”

“I want them to see that I am one of them not some … shop display manikin of …”

“You want to look like what they want to look like themselves someday.” She interrupted him. “These clothes are simple enough at the same time. Now that things are getting back to normal, they will be ready to look to improve themselves.”

“I do wish you would be coming with me.”

“A woman in the mines!” Lillian laughed. “Worse than a woman on board a ship. No!”

“At least come with me. Be there when I go down with them. I’m sure the other wives will be there to celebrate their men returning to work.”

“Looking like this!” Lillian pointed out her housecoat and slippers. “By the time I’m prepared to go anywhere, they’d have hauled up the first ton of coal.”

A car horn tooted outside the house.

“There’s Gus now to take you along. Be sure to send him back with the motor directly, so me and Clara can go to Sydney.”

“Sydney?”

“That’s right. To the store there. They have some new wedding dresses for …”

“Wedding dresses.” Steven broke into a wider smile. “You mean …”

“That’s right you can tell everyone the date is two weeks from today.”

The car horn tooted again.

Lillian went to the porch with him. As he got into the car she leaned in to remind Gus to bring the motor back.

She took Steven’s breakfast plate to use herself and was eating toast when Clara come down to breakfast.

“You’ve seen Steven off?”

“Yes. He’s looking forward to the re-opening of the mines more than the miner’s are.”

“No doubt. He only has to go down once. They have to go down everyday.”

Lillian dabbed a piece of her toast in the egg yolk on the plate.

“I see you’ve eaten as well.”

“Only some toast.” she glanced down. “Oh goodness I’ve used Steven’s plate! Uncle Pat lived so simply he only had one plate, one cup for his breakfast. I’d wait till he was finished before having my own. It did mean less washing up. Strange how a habit starts and sticks with you.”

The road to Sydney was fairly smooth though Lillian did have to hold to her hat a few times. Even though Sydney wasn’t as large as Boston after spending so much time in New Castleton it seemed huge. There were more cars than she’s seen.

McDowell’s was a three-floor department store on Charlotte Street. Even though it was several years old it still had the feeling of newness to it. First floor was housewares. Lillian admired the gleaming stove and refrigerators.

“Eyeing possible wedding presents?” Clara asked.

“I was thinking this was the type of gift my family would never give. Too practical. They’d be more inclined to send something like this.” Lillian walked over to the fine china department. “A large fancy floral set of chinaware that could only be used once or twice a year, if that often.”

At the back of the first floor was a Toys and Children’s Furnishings department.

Lillian looking longingly at the line of dolls standing on a shelf on one wall. I wondered what had become of hers. She’d left so much behind when she came to Cape Breton. Being in McDowell’s reminded her painfully of the many things she’d lost.

They took the lift up to the second floor. It was Men’s and Women’s Wear. When she stepped off the lift the first thing she was was a mannequin in a short one-piece dress. The skirt was pleated and the top had a loose beaded fringe around the neck.

“Oh.” Lillian sighed. “That is so pretty.”

“Perhaps.” Clara touched the hem. “Too short to be practical.”

“But it’s not meant to be practical Clara. It is meant to be pretty.”

Clara lead her to the back of the store to the bridal area.

“Miss McDowell.” A small woman with a strange accent scurried out from a side room. “What a great pleasure it is to see you.
“Thank you Karina.”

“Ah, and this must be Miss McTavish. Let me look at you.” she stepped back to gaze at Lillian. “Such a waist. In old country girls like you would be fattened up before being wed. Here, ach, they want them skinny as boys.”

“So you have something to show us.” Clara asked.

“Yah. Yah. You wait here. I get.” She went into the side room and came back out with two boxes. “Now the lace isn’t as good as we’d make back in Koniakow but I haven’t forgotten how.

“This first one is very traditional.” Karina took out a full bodied, white dress with a neck high top, long lacy white sleeves and full wide bottom. “Some crinolines will make you look like a queen. The veiling is quite simple though.”

She held it up against Lillian. Lillian pressed the shoulders to her and stepped back. It was so much like ball gowns of her mother’s she had envied. The bodice had seed pearls in an arc across the breast bone. She kicked out the bottom so it bounced lightly in the sun. She did a twirl so that it wrapped around her legs before falling away as she stood in front of the mirror.

“Lovely.” Clara said wiping a tear away from her eye. “The sort of dress I would have loved to have been married in.”

“Oh yes. The young lady looks radiant even holding such a dress. It’s been so long since anyone has wanted such a gown. Things being as they have been.” Karina shook her head. “But perhaps that will change now.”

“It is more than words can say.” Lillian stared at herself in the mirror. Could this be the same girl who was cowering in fear as he uncle struck out at her?

“This other is much … plainer. Miss McTavish insisted we order it as it is more … modern.”

“You make modern sound like a disappointment.” Lillian replied, reluctantly handing the gown back to Karina.

The other dress was a simple sheath with a similar high neck but shorter sleeves. The white satin had a green and gold sheen to it as it caught the light. It had a small hat of the same fabric with a simple veil attached to it.

“It is lovely.” Lillian knew this was the one for her. She held it up to herself and stood in front of the mirror. The color complimented the red of her hair while the length would allowed some of her calves to show. “I’ll try this on, if you don’t mind.”

She saw Clara’s look of disappointment.

“How long would alterations take, of either?” she asked.

“This one a few days. The good one a week or more.”

Lillian stood in front of the mirror in the sheath dress.

“This one won’t need alterations at all.” She said with a smile. “I do think it sends the right message as well. The other one is too …”

“Opulent.” Clara said.

“Yes.”

Lillian came out of the dressing room and handed the dress back to Karina. “But perhaps a more elaborate veil would be in order.”

“Yes.” Karina’s face lit up. “I can have something. How soon.”

“Two … ?” Lillian said.

She was interrupted by the alarm bells.

“What can that mean?” she asked.

“Something at the mine.” Karina said. “Steel plant uses its whistle.”

“But how can we hear it here.”

“They relay a distress signal.” Clara explained.

“Can you tell where it’s from?” Her heart was racing. She knew were it was from without being told.

“Not always.” Clara hesitated.

“It’s from New Castleton, isn’t it?” She grabbed her purse and headed to the stairs. “There’s been an an accident.” she raced down the stairs, Clara following close after.

The drive back to New Castleton was tortuous for Lillian.

“Please, Lillian it is nothing. It has to be nothing.” Clara tired to calm her.

“No. Tt isn’t nothing.” Lillian exploded. “I can feel it. Don’t ask me how, but I can just feel it.”

The car pulled up outside the Colliery gate and she pushed in past the guard who tried to stop her.

“Where is he?” she shouted at the guard. “Where is Mr McDowell?”

The General Manager came over to her and Clara.

“We don’t know Miss. But rest assured we’re doing everything we can to find him and the others.”

“I don’t care about the others.” Lillian saw all her new hopes and dreams turning to coal dust before her eyes. “This can’t be happening. It can’t.”

“There. There.” Clara tried to calm her. “You must be strong.”

“I’m tried of being strong.” Lillian sank to a bench outside the infirmary.

“We’re doing everything we can. The first five levels have been cleared and all the men are safe.” The manager explained.

“What about the others?” she said.

“The cage has been jammed in the shaft. We can’t go lower till we are sure it’s safe to go down.”

“Cage?” Lillian didn’t understand.

“A sort of elevator that brings the men and col up and down.” Clara said.

“Then why don’t they just pull it UP.” Lillian said.

“The cable broke.” The manager said. “It had been tampered with.”

“What! Who would do such a thing.”

“Radicals, miss.” The manger dropped his voice. “There’s labour elements amongst the men who’d stop at nothing to …”

“To what! Kill each other in pursuit of some ideal even they don’t understand!” she yelled.

“We are working at replacing the cable now. We don’t want to send men down in case the cage can’t hold their weight.”

“Then I’ll go down.” she pushed him aside. “I’m not that heavy.”

“Now Miss McTavish.” The manager restrained her.

“We have to let them look after this.” Clara said. “Everything will be okay.”

“There’s someone coming up.” a miner came over to tell the manager.

“I have to go ladies. Trust me we are doing everything we can.”

Lillian watched him run over the the mine entrance.

“It’s Birk Mc!” someone shouted.

“Level seven.” someone else shouted. “He was down at level seven.”

A stretcher with Birk on it was brought past her. Clara held her back from jumping up to ask him about Steven.

“I have to find out.”

“Let them tend to him first.”

“Climbed up all by his self.” one of the miners came over to them “Shoulda seen his hands. Bloody pulps they were.”

“Did he say anything?” Lillian asked as calmly as she could.

“There’s some alive but he can’t say as who ‘cept those around him on his level.”

“See Lillian,” Clara said. “There’s hope. Let’s go to the …”

“I’m not going anywhere. If St,even’s hurt these men will pay the price. After all he’s done on their behalf.”

“Lillian!” Clara said. “We have no idea if anyone did anything. A cable that hasn’t been used in months could break easily.”

“So now you’re a mining engineer!” Lillian raged then caught her breath. “I’m sorry Clara. I know you’re trying to make me see sense.”

“Don’t forget Steven is my brother. You’ve only know him the past few months. I’ve known him all my life. All his life.”

“Of course Clara. I got so caught up in my own fears that forgot you may have your own. But there must be something we can do?”

“Perhaps we can be of assistance in the infirmary.”

“No! No! I don’t think I could bear to go in there.”

More miners were being brought up from the lower levels.

“We’ve managed to stabilize the cage.” The general manager came to explain to them. “It can’t be pulled up or down the way it is caught in the shaft but we have secured cables to it so that if it should come loose it won’t fall any further. That boy did a monumental deed clambering up the shaft the way he did. In the dark with nothing but a belt to hold him from plunging down.”

“Was it him that did the monumental deed of sabotage?” Lillian asked. “Saving his own neck at the loss of others.”

“Miss! There’s no call to make an accusation of that sort about anyone.” The general manager stepped away from her.

“They were to be married.” Clara said quietly. “You must know that. …”

“Christ, it clean went out of m’head. Mr. McDowell announced before he went down. I know he’ll be alright Miss. God smiles on grooms.”

Loy03the writer’s w/edge at Loyalist

‘the brawl of the kiss’

Noir’s spring show was a veritable shower of talent that was barely contained by the Central stage – in fact at points it wasn’t. Feature Regina Dentata, did three teasing burlesque routines at 3 different points during the evening – making sure the audience temperature stayed high. The first two were in her modern dance style – sinuous and expansive – pulling us in with opened-eyed teasing, exiting through the audience on the first. The second had black ribbons magically appear to add a hint of bondage. Her finale was a traditional reveal – cape, stunning gold gown, a laced up corset that had to be unlaced to be removed. The traditional reveal could have gone a little longer for my liking.

bag punching bag out cold

Next was Jezebel Beelzebub Bells, a persona piece by Adam Abbas. Bells is the archetypical beat poet with sunglasses, beret & mock black turtle next, all that was missing was someone on bongos. Adam captures the pretentiousness & arrogance of a self-satisfied poet who knows how to dis better than he can write. Though Adam is too good a poet to write verse as bad as he thinks Bells would write. It was a fun Andy Kauffmanesque performance piece.

looted Unlooted mitten

Last up was Nelson Sobral aka Melting Pot. I’ve seen & reviewed him many time before. A member of too many bands to list, he always gives an emotionally appealing performance. In fact he didn’t wait – singing & playing off stage during the breaks. A true spot-light slut he a sweet stage presence. His crisp quitar playing is deceptively simple and his vocals are strong, direct while never over-singing to sell a song. Loved his cover of Little Feat’s Roll’em Easy.

barrel snow crystal ball

There was a stellar set of open stagers through out the show. Great sound assistance from the Central staff. Next month’s Noir features Nik Beat, Giraffe & Vicki Laufer. Photos of the show: fb.me/38Tg3Q1eu

coming

June 23-27 – attending – Manuscript to Book – Loyalist Summer Arts – Belleville, Ont https://www.facebook.com/events/589522924455695/

room bed of dreams at Loyalist

August 28-31 – attending – FanExpo Canada http://www.fanexpocanada.com

pineoct

samples

from the Make Spoken Word Go Viral prompt –  ‘a favourite quote.’

‘the brawl of the kiss’

Dylan Thomas

I can’t say what I mean

because if I say what I mean

 you might not understand it

because said and understood

are two different things

I might say

I want to see you

you might hear

I want to own you

or I think of you sometimes

means

why don’t you think me all the time

our language is at odds with our intents

I want to talk you

into telling me what I want to hear

in a way that is totally clear

unalterable and fulfilling

so when we are together

I can’t say what I mean

because all I want

is the brawl of the kiss

to end this fight of the mind

which it always does

I let my fears surrender

to the delight of the body

out bodies

as they struggle to reach through

the fight of the mind

to embrace each other

we wrestle each other

in the cauldron of his bed

where we understand exactly

what each other means needs wants

out of this brawl of the kiss

river02 Belleville reflections

Mayhem at Loyalist

Loyalist hardcore work
Loyalist hardcore work

Starting to feel ‘recovered’ from the Writers’ workshop at Loyalist – recovered from early morning wake-ups, Tim Ho’s twice a day for 5 days in a row – is there much caloric & nutritional difference between a sun-dried tomato bagel & a maple-pecan danish? The flavor difference is minimal.

What Tim’s lacked in variety our workshop certainly made up for – we looked at pieces that went from falling through the ice to basking on rooftops in India, from women banished to Cape Breton purgatory to ‘scatter-brained’ ladies murdering their 2nd (that we know of) husbands.

Participants included some Mesdames of Mayhem – Madeline, Joan, Rosemary – each of who lead polished, perceptive discussions on the state of the publishing industry. Rosemary Aubert’s decision to farm out some of the course material to us students paid off well. Richard one day & Nancy another, give great presentations as well. Their’s were so great I invited myself into their writers’ group. Time for me to wade into those waters.

barefoot climber?
barefoot climber?

Campus life was comfortable. For less than $35 a night the rooms were luxury suites. This year I actually got some use out of the microwave. Also enjoyed suppers in our pad with Richard (he shared the pod with me) – and Nancy & Liza – these three are members of the writers group I’ve joined. Though after my first story they may regret it 🙂

As I’ve done in past years I bring suppers for three nights. Our last night there we dine out as a group. I had loaded up a special Loyalist playlist – lots of Chopin, Gabor Szabo – with a dash of retro pop from Sugar Loaf, Rare Earth, The Grassroots & Sal Mineo (yes he did have a recording career).

By Friday all of us were tired – using our brains this intensively can be exhausting but everyone was eager for another week of it as well – but this is all we get. Happily Rosemary A. is already planning next year’s workshop. If all goes well I’ll have Smashword-ed City of Valleys and can really jump in on marketing discussions.

City Of Valleys
low clouds

I Am A (promotional) Tool

the power of attaction
the power of attaction

My ‘how to’ presentation Wednesday went over very well. Odd how many prose writers didn’t see giving a reading as a promotional tool – they figure just show up & get it over with. We all want our words to speak for themselves – but that’s not the always the case. When we can speak for our words well the more likely it is people will want to hear more.

my power spot
my power spot

Had my material workshopped Thursday – it was well responded to & all are eager to see it finished, which is gratifying. Some of the ‘information’ issues are dealt with in later sections of the novel.

view from my room
view from my room

Here’s the section Rosemary will see for our one-on-one Friday.

The sun was rising over the steaming mounds of slag coal. The mound never got any smaller no matter how much was carted away. Coal was already being loaded into a rail car to be transported to the dock.

They went into the change room and lowered their work clothes from the overhead hangers.

“Birk!” Red Mac, the shift foreman, called to him.

“Yeah.” Birk grabbed for his brass counter.

“Birk,” the foreman nodded for him to come over to the small office. “This is Clancy Sinclair. He’ll be your rake man.”

“Manny was picking up okay.” Birk squinted at Clancy.

Clancy looked to be a head taller than him, a lot wider in the shoulders with blond almost brown hair.

“Not my say so,” Red Mac shrugged. “Orders from above. Manny’s moving on to the scuttle yard.”

“Fuk,” Birk spat. He had hoped to get that position. Scuttle yard was where the coal was loaded into the rail cars. It was as hard at being under in the mines but it was above ground. All the miners longed to work above ground.
“I know you wanted it but yer too good. Yer a lucky chap Clancy. Birk McDonnell is one the best we got.”

“Yeah sure. Sticking me with this skinny rat. He must just disappear down there.”

“Whose yer father?” Birk asked.

“Scott Sinclair.”

“The Bras D’Or Sinclair’s?” Birk said.

“Nah, Stellerton.”

“Main lander?” Birk said.

“What of it?” Clancy replied.

Birk grabbed Clancy’s left hand, Clancy pulled it away.

“What you up to?”

“Just checking to is how tough your hands is. Skin’s too soft this job.”

“Least we’ll know when my hair ‘s clean. You black as coal already.” he sniffed the air. “You sure you washed ‘for you came here?”

“Mac you stick me with puddin’ boy here and I won’t make enough to pay for a pint let alone our tic at the pluck me.”

“Soft! Least I’m full size.” Clancy stood as tall as he could. “Not some half-sized hairy mine monkey.”

“Who you callin’ a monkey, you soft arse.” Birk launched himself at Clancy and landed two sold punches in quick succession. One to the side of his head and the other to his stomach.

Clancy staggered back and was ready to punch back when Red Mac pushed stepped between them.

“Nuf of this. You want beat the dust out of each other do it out of my yard.”

“Then stick this soft arse with someone else ‘cause only one of us is coming back up and you know it’s me.”

“Both of you will come back. Listen and listen good Birk McDonnell. You have sisters who need what you put on the table. Next time to want to take a swing at someone keep that in mind, ‘cause the next time you take a swing like that you’re out of here. You understand that.”

Birk snatched his lunch pail and jammed it under his arm.

“And you Clancy. You’re new here. You gotta learn to mind your tongue. This isn’ a place to run off at the mouth with guys you don’t know. Some here wouldn’t be as gentle wid ya as Birk here was.”

“No one calls me soft.”

“Really.” Red Mac pulled himself up to his full height – a head taller than Clancy, two heads taller than Birk. “Only a soft arse would let himself get riled up so easy. And that goes for the two of you. Birk you take him down to the face with you. I’ll be down soon enough to make sure you’re acting like men and not school kids. Understand.”

“Yes sir.” Birk glared at Clancy. “Follow me.”

“I’m not taking orders from him. You’re not paying enough for that.”

“You want to work or not. I git plenty looking for work here me son. Plenty. You can go back to …”

“Christ! I’ll give it a try.” Clancy cut Red Mac off.

“Come along then,” Birk grunted and added under his breath, “soft arse.”

“What you say?” Clancy snapped back.

“I said come along we got a long way to go. Level Ten.”

They got into the cage with a dozen other miners. Adjusted their head lamps as it rattled down the shaft. The shift car pushed the men back and forth. Each time Clancy was forced up against Birk roughly shoved him away.

The smell of earth got stronger as the cage descended. Earth and coal. The dampness increased. AS the cage passed some levels Birk could hear water dripping, or blasts as new seams were opened. The levels tentacle out from the elevator shaft. Some for a few hundred years, others went for miles. Some, like the one on Level 10 went under the ocean. He was still sometimes afraid his pick would punch right through to the was sea bed above.

Total blackness quickly enveloped the men but not all of them turned on their lamps. It was better to let the eyes adapt to the dark as quickly as possible. Birk could find his way to the face he was working on without light.

“Stick close now or yer arse is going get hard faster’n than you want it.” Birk said when they got off the cage. He took a deep breath. “Better take a breath while you can. That’s the last of the fresh air you’ll get till we’re ready to head up.”
“Get moving.” Clancy give Birk a slight shove.

Knowing his way Birk moved quickly over the uneven surface to the crease where he was working. He could hear Clancy stumbling behind him. that’d teach the big mouth who was the big man.

“Watch yer head here.” He muttered as they came to the final turn. He ducked down and then up avoiding the staving joist that was holding the ceiling.

“Oof.”

“Y’d think y’d never been in the dark before.” Birk chuckled as he heard Clancy bump the rafter.

“Never so deep.” Clancy was trying to catch his breath.

“Better get used to it quick like, as yer going t’be spending most yer awake time in the dark, just like your sleep time. Day light’ll not be your pal again.” He stored his lunch can behind the upright paling that helped to support the weight of the ceiling.

“Thanks.”

Birk stopped and Clancy stumbled into him.

“Watch it.” Birk pushed him back. “Tight nuf in here ya know. Here’s yer rake. You know how to handle one.”
“Christ yeh. I rake, pile and when pile is big nuf we shovel in into the cart, when the cart is full we get it to the line to dump it into the shuttle.”

“Trick is to keep up wid me boy.”

Birk tied his face rag around his mouth and nose, tuned his headlamp on and starting hammering with his pick axe at his crease. As the shards and chunks of coal loosened he pushed them behind him for Clancy to rake away.

After a few minutes his shoulder muscles loosened and his mind stopped thinking about anything except what he was doing, how fast he was doing it. Steadily he deepened the vein as he followed it along. He could feel the change in vibration in his pick as hit different types of rock, sulfur, granite, different strata of the vein, even different harness of the coal itself. He had no sense of time but of quantity. Once he felt he had dislodged enough coal to fill the hopper he wriggled out to help Clancy push the cart to the main line. Before they dumped into the shuttle he relived himself on the coal.

Clancy was about to do the same. Birk took Clancy’s free hand and peered at in the light of his headlamp. The skin on the hand was rubbed raw, bleeding along the thumb.

“Just as I thought soft. Piss on it.”
“What?” Clancy tired to pull away.

“Yeh it’ll help toughen the skin faster. Took me a week before m’hands could take it.” He watched as Clancy rubbed his hands in his own urine.

“Christ feels okay.”

“Don’ think I forget what ye called me up there but don’t want you to slow me down any either. You un’stand.”

“Yeh.”

“So think ya can keep up wid me by?” Birk muttered.

“Nothing to it.” Clancy wheezed.

All they could really see of each other in the dim light of their head lamps was their eyes. Their face coverings were coated with black dust.

“I’ve been keepin’ a bit slow. Two more of these and we take a wee break for eatin.” He began to shove the cart back to where they were working.

“Oof.” Clancy bump hard into the low rafter.

“Listen an learn. Not goin to warn you every time m’boy.”

“I’m not yer b’y.” Clancy snarled. “Keep goin’ ya damned monkey.”

orange you glad
orange you glad