Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

Christmas Collection (short story) by Leanne Dyck

photo by ldyck

Happy Jolabokaflod!


This collection of six Christmas-themed stories offers something for everyone. So I ask you, how do you like your Christmas?


Do you like a traditional Christmas?

The Calling

a downpour becomes magical for one teenage girl when... 

Do you like an uplifting Christmas?

Blankie

a senior citizen celebrates the season in a retirement home.

Do you like a nostalgic Christmas?

Christmas with Family

Many people have stories about being stranded in the snow while travelling. This is mine...

Do you like to be a little mischievous at Christmas?

A Christmas Present

Think back. What was one of your most favourite childhood presents--of all time; ever. What happened to that present? Do you still have it? This is the story of one of mine.


Do you like to look at Christmas through the eyes of a child?

Christmas Secrets

About an adventure that...um, well, I really wasn't supposed to go on. Maybe I wasn't alone. Did you also go on one of these adventures?


Do you like a dark Christmas?

Blue Christmas

Christmas from Mrs. Claus's point of view--it's not pretty.


Do you like an introspective Christmas?

Yuletide

For me, Christmas is a time of introspection. Every year, Christmas arrives with a message. As I contemplated the festive season this year, I was taken to three places...


If Christmas is painful...

And...

During this time of joy, of merriment... When we gather with friends and family, it's important to remember those who are socially isolated.


There must be some reason I'm estranged from everyone--why I'm left alone. I must be as horrible as everyone says I am.

My one love Morley is dead and buried. I grieve his absence. I miss him dearly. But to say his name would reveal my longing for him. It would make those around me uncomfortable. And so I must grieve him in silence.

My nephew ridicules me to my face and laughs about me with his friends behind my back when he thinks I can't hear him. And it hurts. I can't--. I won't reveal how much it hurts.

Living in pain, I build a wall between myself and the world. I become a grumpy old man. It's my armour.

Bah humbug, I say to keep all who would hurt me away.


Why is Christmas a Painful Time for so Many? by Susan Rako MD



photo by ldyck

About this story...

Sunday, December 18, 2022

Blankie by Leanne Dyck (short story)

Blankie is a holiday-themed story about a senior citizen celebrating the season in a retirement home.

Illustrator unknown

The retirement home residents were gathering in the large room with the decorated Christmas tree in the corner. Some of them were in wheelchairs like he was. Others were aided by walkers or canes. Still others shuffled unaided to a padded chair, grabbed an armrest, and slowly lowered themselves. The younger, more spry caregivers circulated song sheets. And there was singing or humming or croaking. They even sang his favourite carol, "Oh, come all thee faithful, joyful and..." He still had a good voice, a strong voice, a melodious voice--a deep baritone that he imagined shook the room. Cherry red punch in clear plastic cups and shortbread cookies cut into snowflakes were served. The partiers were encouraged to indulge. He took two cookies.

The pretty blonde caregiver... What was her name? Was it... It... Holly? Maybe... He decided that Holly would do. Holly, with a Santa hat on her head, pulled presents out from under the tree. Depositing a wrapped box on his lap, Holly told him, "From your family." and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

His family--sons, daughters, grandchildren, and... He had a vague memory of a great-grandchild or many two--were flung like snowballs across the country. Sometimes he wondered if they thought of him. But they did, they had. The proof was on his lap.

His arthritic hands tore off the wrapping paper. Someone had used too much tape. The cardboard box unwrapped, he prepared for more tearing but someone had the good sense to put the tape away. He flipped back the flaps on the box and peeked inside. What was that shade? Periwinkle blue. Was it a cardigan? What a thoughtful, welcomed gift. He always felt a draft.

Holly was back beside him. She helped him pull the sweater--. No, it was a blanket. She helped him slowly pull the blanket out of the box.

A blanket. As a newborn, he'd been wrapped in a receiving blanket. There were pictures in his photo album. His earliest memory was of a blanket. He'd called it Blankie. Thumb in mouth, he toddled off to bed, dragging Blankie behind him. Late at night, if the monsters came, he pulled Blankie over his head, and feeling safe, he drifted off to sleep. During the day, he threw Blankie over two chairs. He spent hours in his secret hideaway. He was seldom without Blankie. He carried her everywhere.

Until... He remembered the day his mother informed him, "A big boy like you can't carry a blanket to kindergarten." But she added with a wink. "You can carry a piece." The silver chrome scissors flashed in the sunlight as Blankie was reduced to a small square of flannel, bordered on two sides by silk. He carried the transformed Blankie in a pant pocket. And so when the other boys were too loud... And so when the teacher was mean... He shoved his hand into his pocket and rubbed the flannel, the silk between his fingers. With Blankie in his pocket, he stood straighter and held his head higher.

He kept the blanket square in his pocket for years--through elementary, junior high, and even high school. Entering the workforce, he put, by this point, more gray than light blue square in his wallet. He only pulled it out when he was alone. It was on the table beside him giving him the confidence he needed to phone her. It was in his wallet reminding him to be a gentleman when he took her on their first date. The day he married her, he took the square out of his wallet and threw it away. Men don't need blankies, he told himself. Each of his children was wrapped in a receiving blanket. He had pictures in his album. And he told them stories about his adventures with Blankie--and they always begged for more. 

The periwinkle blanket free of the box, Holly helped him drape it over his lap. "Happy Holidays," she said. 

"Happy Holidays," he replied. He ran the flannel, the silk between his fingers and he felt happy, he felt remembered, he felt loved.



Christmas Eve on this blog...


Saturday, December 24
The Calling (short story)
a downpour becomes magical for one teenage girl when... 


Listening to...




A rare treat...

Thanks to the Springwater Lodge on Mayne Island my husband and I got to try a new-to-us

Friday, December 24, 2021

On That Plane (short story) by Leanne Dyck

This short story was inspired by Alan Maitland's reading of The Shepherd by Frederick Forsyth.

photo by ldyck

 My parents' radio is on a shelf in the kitchen surrounded by Christmas ornaments, cookbooks, and potted plants. I flip the switch to the on position with full knowledge of the radio station it is tuned to--and I don't dare change the channel.

"Your Canadian Broadcasting Corporation presents, for your listening pleasure," the announcer pauses for emphasis, "Frederick Forsyth's The Shepherd as read by Alan Maitland."

The next voice is Mr. Maitland's, "While waiting for the control tower to clear..."

I wait for this story each year. It captivates me. I'm in the cockpit. I am that pilot, trying to get home for Christmas. All is well until I hear, "The problem started quietly."

A rush of worry travels from my stomach to my heart. No compass. No radio. The cockpit is transformed from a safe cocoon into a coffin. I'm lost in that endless night sky, facing death's unmistakable call. The plane is going to crash and I'm going to drown in the sea, below. 

Please protect me...

Prayer--that's all I have left. Is it enough? It has to be. But what if it isn't?

Anger replaces prayer

Why did I...? Why didn't they...? I don't deserve...?

Acceptance...

I've lived a good life... In this cockpit, in the plane, this is my favourite place... At least I didn't...

Sadness...

I don't want to die... I have so much left... 

Regret...

Why didn't I...? I should have...? It's too... My life is over...

"It was another aircraft," Mr. Maitland reads. 

And I'm no longer alone. A mysterious stranger answers my prayer and leads me safely home. 

Words... Imagination... For me, it makes a precious gift. One I will treasure all my life.


Thank you As It Happens for sharing this recording for over forty years.

Frederick Forsyth's The Shepherd as read by Alan Maitland on CBC Radio

And  new-to-me story for Christmas...

The Story of Iceland's 13 Yule Lads

And new for everyone for Christmas...

Tiny Reindeer Story Time with Chris Naylor-Ballesteros


Merry Christmas!



On this blog in December...


Sunday, December 26
Bonus Content
The Other Side
Leanne Dyck
As The Other Side was hands down the most popular "anything" I shared this year, I thought you might be interested in reading this scene.

Wednesday, December 29
Podcast: Author Reading
Listener's choice. What would you like me to record?

Wednesday, December 25, 2019

Christmas with Family (short story) by Leanne Dyck

Many people have stories about being stranded in the snow while traveling. This is mine...




photo by ldyck

Christmas with Family

November wasn't even over and already the rush had begun in my neighbourhood mall. I navigated around shoppers as holiday tunes played. Deck the halls with lots of presents. Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. Now's the time to be shopping. Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Christmas memories spent with my family filled my mind. Aunts, uncles, cousins—we’d all gathered around a Christmas tree year after year for decades. But this year my husband, Byron, and I had moved from Manitoba to British Columbia.

I found Byron in the food court—sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine. “I want us to fly home to Manitoba for Christmas,” I told him.

Freezing cold. Snow. No, thanks,” he told me.

But we have to be with family for Christmas,” I explained but he refused to budge. I worried about the problem all the way back to our apartment.

Then I remembered that I had a cousin on one of the tiny islands not that far from the mainland. I phoned Susan.

Being a good cousin, she invited Byron and me to spend the holidays with her on Salt Spring Island. Problem solved.

But, weeks later, both Byron and I heard the weatherman’s prediction that snow would make travelling during Christmas hazardous.

“I think we should postpone our trip to Salt Spring,” Bryon told me. “Our sports car isn’t equipped for driving up snow-covered hills. We can always visit Susan later when the weather’s better.”

But he was completely missing the point. “We need to be with family for Christmas,” I reminded him.

And he promised me that we would try.

The day of our ferry trip, I woke before Byron, crept over to the window and pushed back the curtains. A light dusting of snow covered the ground. Large, fluffy snowflakes continued to fall. 

Byron rolled over and faced me. “How's it look?”

I pulled the curtains together. “Fine. Just fine.”

He crawled out of bed and pushed back the curtains. “I think we should phone Susan and cancel.”

“No, we can't. It’ll ease up. I know it will.”

Grumbling, Byron loaded our luggage into our car and drove us to the ferry.

A short line of trucks led to the ticket booth. The BC Ferry worker slid back the window. “Are you sure you—“

“Yes, we're sure,” I told him.

Another BC Ferry worker directed us onto the ferry, but not before saying, “Are you sure you

I cut him off too.

A routine two-hour trip ended up taking eight hours as we were diverted and re-diverted. But eventually, we docked at Salt Spring Island.

“The ferry was only half the battle.” Byron told me. “The other half is that steep hill.”

But not easily defeated, he tried to conquer the hill. He cranked his neck to peer out the side window and turned the steering wheel. We started to slide. He cranked his neck the other way to peer out that window. We began to fishtail, he turned the steering wheel and kept us on the road, barely.

Byron yanked the gear shift into park and glared at me. “You got any more brilliant ideas?” He asked after driving backwards over that three-mile steep, curving hill. “We could be safe and warm in our apartment. But no you had to drag us all the way out here. And now… And now… It’s pitch black. We’re stuck in a blizzard. And we don’t know anyone who can help us. Happy?”

No, I wasn't happy. I'd gotten us into this mess; I had to get us out. I phoned Susan.

“I’d go and get you myself but my Toyota doesn’t like snow. I’m afraid I’d only end up stranded too. Try a tow truck or a taxi?” She gave me the numbers. The tow truck driver’s voice mail message wished me a Merry Christmas. The taxi driver laughed in my ear. 

Desperate, I phoned Susan again.

“Hitchhike,” she said.

“What?”

“Ask for a ride. Someone will help you.”

She wanted me to ask a complete stranger for help. Didn’t she realize how dangerous that was? Byron and I would be abducted or worse.

But it was cold and getting colder. I had to do something.

I looked across the road to the grocery store and saw three large trucks with snow tires.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to ask for a ride.”

“What? You can’t. We don’t know any—“

I closed the door on the rest of his sentence.

Sliding from one patch of ice to the next, I made it to the grocery store. Large sleigh bells jiggled as I opened the door. I noticed a woman with a teenager and figured that she had to be a mother. 

Mustering up all the courage I could find and hoping I was trusting the right person, I asked for help. And she... She drove up the hill like it was flat; plowed through the snow like she was driving a tank. She drove us right to my cousin's door. And she saved my Christmas.

More...

Who are the people in your life who would drive backwards on a 

Sunday, December 22, 2019

A Christmas Present (short story) by Leanne Dyck

Think back. What was one of your most favourite childhood presents--of all time; ever. What happened to that present? Do you still have it? This is the story of one of mine.


December on Mayne Island photo by ldyck


A Christmas Present

She came into my life on Christmas day. How old was I? Maybe nine; maybe younger. I tore off the wrapping paper and she captivated me with her long silky hair and pretty dress. When I pulled the cord she spoke with a pronounced British accent. "What's playing at the cinema?"

She balanced on her tip-toes until I pried her legs apart to make her sit on a plastic horse. After that, there was no more balancing on tip-toes for her. 

In my carefully crafted tales, she was a bed-ridden, though devoted mother to a brood of Dawn dolls. Married to Ken, she lived happily-ever-after.

Barbie was my favourite Christmas present until many years later my boyfriend gave me an engagement ring. 



Christmas day...

Short Story:  Christmas with Family
in which I desire to be with family for Christmas and my husband endeavors to make that happen.



Sharing my author's journey...

This week I continued to work on my directory of contacts. This time turning my attention to universities and colleges.

Sunday, December 8, 2019

Christmas Secrets (short story) by Leanne Dyck

About an adventure that...um, well, I really wasn't supposed to go on. Maybe I wasn't alone. Maybe you went on one of these adventures too?


Magical Christmas Reindeer in the woods photo by ldyck

Christmas Secrets


I knew I would find it if I looked hard enough. Dad was at work. Mom was busy baking shortbread cookies and other Christmas goodies. The coast was clear. As quiet as a mouse, I crept into my parents' bedroom. I searched high--balancing on my tiptoes, climbing on a chair. I searched low--flipping back the bedspread, crawling under the bed. 

And...I...found it.

Unable to suppress my joy, I ran into the kitchen singing, "Mom, do I really have to wait for Christmas to play with that sleepy-time doll?"

 Did you do that too? Or am I the only one?

Next Sunday evening... 




Book Review:  The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George (contemporary romance)
After 20 years of hiding, a middle-aged man learns how to live and love again.

Sharing my author's journey...

This week I worked on my 'Planning my success' binder.

Sunday, December 24, 2017

Report from the Yule Log

Where was my head this last week? What message do I want to carry into the light of a new year?

"Yule Log" ldyck

I used to think that I was a
English-Canadian
Icelandic-Canadian
British Columbian
Islander

But now I know beyond any label I claim I am a world citizen. It is my only home.
I stand hand-in-hand with my sisters,
with my brothers
Respecting our differences
Celebrating our similarities
The world, our only home, is a very fragile place

'gently hold the world in the palm of your hand' ldyck

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
-John Lennon (Imagine)



"Abby playing in the snow" ldyck
We got it a few days ago and it's almost gone


Next post:
Published on Sunday, December 31 (New Year's Eve)
at approximately 5 PM PST
A Year Spent With You--Reviewing 2017

Sunday, November 26, 2017

Guest Post: Maxine Sylvester, children's picture book author



"A NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN" and the name is "Ronaldo”

Ronaldo is a young flying reindeer cadet who someday dreams of becoming one of Santa's reindeer, just like his hero, Vixen. With the love and support of his friends and family and the great advice of his grandpa, he can face his greatest challenge yet, the Endurance Challenge. Ronaldo doesn't have a "traditional" reindeer name (like Dasher) so he faces some bullying from his peers. In the end, this little underdog gets to be a big-time hero. And despite all his slap-stick humour style clumsiness he gets to enjoy his success with pride.

1) How/why did you start to write?


I wanted a reason to illustrate; so I created a character; a young reindeer called Ronaldo and decided to write a short story about him going to flying school. Only thing was, once I started writing, I couldn’t stop! It turns out I had quite an imagination (courtesy of a lifetime of watching Disney movies). I now love writing as much as illustrating and enjoy flitting between the two. I feel my strengths are illustration and imagination, not grammar, so I use a professional editor on all my books. A good one is worth their weight in carrots.

2) How did you become an author?

In a very long-winded way! I loved art when I was younger but got sidetracked by travel. In my teens, I abandoned a career in art to work in Greece as a travel representative. I then sailed the ocean waves working in the gift shop and casino onboard cruise ships. I loved the exotic destinations but found my work uninspiring. I met my partner Mark onboard and after 10 years on ships, we decided to try our luck on land and accepted positions at a casino in Jericho, Palestine. It was a fascinating project but after two years the casino had to close due to political unrest.

Mark accepted a job in Moscow so we left the desert heat and relocated to minus 20 degree winters. By this time I had become very disillusioned with work. I never enjoyed any job I did and felt like I had missed my calling in life. I must have been a nightmare to work with as I never stopped moaning!

In Moscow, I took time out and went back to my roots – art. I enrolled in The College of Cartoon Art and was mentored by British cartoonist/caricaturist, Steve Chadburn. I then did an additional course in children’s book illustration. My passion for art was still there just like when I was a child and I was drawing round the clock and loving every minute.

Mark eventually decided to quit casinos and bought into a scuba diving business in Bali. This is where we are now and it’s where I wrote my first book.

3) What was your first published piece? Where was it published? How long ago?
I self-published the first book in the Ronaldo series, The Reindeer Flying Academy, three years ago on Amazon. I followed up with The Phantom Carrot Snatcher one year later. The third book in the series, Rudi’s Birthday Extravaganza, was published last month.

Reviews have been amazing. I am so grateful to everyone that reviewed my books; the comments have been so positive. A few reviewers for The Reindeer Flying Academy mentioned they would have preferred colour illustrations, so I took the advice onboard (important to listen to your readers!) and am now adding the final touches to the colour version. I am looking at publishing a colour edition of The Reindeer Flying Academy in November, ready for Christmas. I think children are going to love the colour illustrations. I had such fun bringing the characters to life. Thank you, reviewers, for your suggestions!

You can check out the first chapter of The Reindeer Flying Academy (colour edition) on the Ronaldo website.


4) Reflect on your writing process
I usually have an idea in my head and write notes each day as if I don’t write them down I forget. I tend to think of funny incidents that have happened to me or my friends over the years and weave them into the story.  I then sit at my computer and write. I do a very rough draft. I then find that once I get into writing more ideas keep flooding into my head. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night because my head is buzzing with ideas. I then fine tune the manuscript until I am happy with it. The last book, Rudi’s Birthday Extravaganza, took about one month. I then forward the book to my editor and wait for her comments. All three books have taken three edits.

I remember my first book, my editor pointed out that there were no strong female characters in the story, something publishers are very hot on at the moment. I am not a very girly female; I love football and rock music, so I naturally put male characters into the story. After careful thought, I changed Wing Commander Blitsen to a female and it totally changed the dynamic of the book. Now I can’t imagine her any other way.

5) What did you do before embarking on your writing career? Was it an asset to your writing?

My last job was as a Pilates instructor and it’s one of the best things I ever did. I’ve had back problems over the years and Pilates strengthens the muscles that support the spine. It’s brilliant! The body isn’t designed to spend long periods sitting at a computer, so I practice Pilates three times a week. I wouldn’t be able to write and illustrate without it. So, in answer to your question, Pilates is an asset to my writing.

I also did a lot of jobs over the years which I didn’t enjoy, working if shops, casinos, offices, etc. I don’t think I would appreciate what I do now as much as I do if I hadn’t have done those jobs. I really love being creative and am so grateful to have found a career that brings me such joy.

6) What inspires you?

Inspiring people! I love biographies about people I admire. I recently read a book about Walt Disney. He had so many setbacks but just kept going. I also love that he wasn’t perfect and made mistakes. He was a creative genius and had an incredible belief in himself. Disneyland is my favourite place on earth and it came from his vision.

I also love Dolly Parton’s attitude towards life. She’s renowned for being a very smart businesswoman, but her humour always shines through and she never forgets where she came from.

If ever I feel down, I read Dr Wayne Dyer. He had a difficult childhood but never doubted his books would be published by the right people and at the perfect time. I find his words caring and inspirational. I think he’s an essential read for any self-published author.

7) Please share one of your successful author platform building techniques

I am very fortunate with social networking as my partner, Mark knows way more about it than me! He has helped me so much over the last three years. As a self-published author, it is essential to get reviews. Mark found Twitter a very useful platform for finding people kind enough to review my books. He looks for ‘book bloggers’ and ‘book reviewers’, reads their reviews, checks if they have reviewed children’s books before or if they have children themselves, and then decides whether to request a review or not. That is the short version he said.



Maxine Sylvester was born in London, England. She grew up with a passion for Winnie the Pooh and Paddington Bear. She also loved anything Disney and enjoyed drawing the characters.
Maxine's love of 'fun' art grew and she had the privilege of being mentored by cartoonist and caricaturist, Steve Chadburn. She completed further studies in children's book illustration with talented artist and illustrator, Jan Nesbitt.
Rudi’s Birthday Extravaganza, the third in the Ronaldo series, was released 29th Sept 2017. She is now working on a colour version of The Reindeer Flying Academy in time for Christmas


Links,

Twitter:      @flyingronaldo





Sunday, December 18, 2016

Christmas with Family (3 of 3) by Leanne Dyck

Based in the UK, Jolabokaflod Book Campaign seeks to support an Icelandic tradition--giving books on Christmas eve.


If you want to support this tradition, why not give the anthology In the Moment:  Real Life Stories of Hope & Inspiration. It's a collection of 27 stories by authors from Canada, the United States, Spain, China, Oman, and Australia. I'm proud that Christmas with Family was included in this fine book. Proceeds donated to Children's Wish. To order In the Moment, please email Gary Doi (garydoi@telus.net).

('it snowed again' LDyck Dec 13, 2016)

Summarizing the story so far:  Lead by my desire to celebrate Christmas with family, my husband has ignored the weatherman and BC Ferries' warnings and we are now on Salt Spring Island but... 

(LDyck)

Christmas with Family (3 of 3)


“You see we made it,” I said, trying to be cheerful.

Byron fixed me with steel eyes. “The ferry was only half the battle. The other half is that steep hill.” He pointed with his chin.
“But…but you said we would try.”

“Yes, Leanne. I did.” By the way he said my name I knew he'd lost his Christmas cheer.

“You’re a good driver. I have faith in you.”

Byron did try. He cranked his neck to peer out the side window and turned the steering wheel. We started to slide. He cranked his neck the other way to peer out that window. We began to fishtail, he turned the steering wheel and kept us on the road, barely. Then he started the whole neck thing again. He looked like he was watching a tennis match. Over and over again, he tried, but the farthest he got was halfway up the hill.

I closed my eyes and visualized my three brothers pushing us up that hill. “This time you'll make it,” I heard them promise. But they weren't there; Bryon and I were alone. I forced back tears.

Byron yanked the gear shift into park and glared at me. “You got any more brilliant ideas?” He asked after driving backwards over that three-mile steep, curving hill. “We could be safe and warm in our apartment. But no you had to drag us all the way out here. And now… And now… It’s pitch black. We’re stuck in a blizzard. And we don’t know anyone who can help us. Happy?”

No, I wasn't happy. I'd gotten us into this mess; I had to get us out. I typed Susan's number into my cellphone.

“I’d go and get you myself but my Toyota doesn’t like snow. I’m afraid I’d only end up stranded too. Try a tow truck or a taxi?” She gave me the numbers. The tow truck driver’s voice mail message wished me a Merry Christmas. The taxi driver laughed in my ear. Byron was beginning to swear which I had to admit was justified.
Desperate, I phoned Susan again.

“Hitchhike,” she said.

“What?”

“Ask for a ride. Someone will help you.”

By the tone of her voice, I knew she was serious. She wanted me to ask a complete stranger for help. Clearly, she hadn’t watched those horror movies. I had; I knew what would happen if I followed her advice—Byron and I would end up dead or worse.

What’s that noise? I looked over at Byron. Were his teeth chattering?

I have to do something. Now. But what? We’re a steep hill away from Susan, a hotel, a restaurant—almost everything. I looked across the street. Everything but that grocery store.

Three large trucks with snow tires were parked in front of the store.
“I’ll be right back.” I unclipped my seat belt.

“Wait. Where are you going?”

“To the grocery store.” I opened the door. “I’m going to ask for a ride.”

“What? You can’t. We don’t know any—

I closed the door on the rest of his sentence.

Large sleigh bells jingled as I opened and closed the door. The sound made me think of Christmas angels. I said a silent prayer, “Please, this has to work.”

I surveyed the store—not for groceries—for an angel. A few aisles away a woman was talking with a teenager who I thought must be her daughter. “Please, can you help? My cousin is expecting me for Christmas but my car won’t climb the hill.”

“Of course,” she said, “I'd be happy to.”

Just like that, our problem was solved. She made room in her truck for our luggage, my husband and me. She drove us right to my cousin’s door. There we had a very merry Christmas.

Next post:  Goodbye 2016
Published on Christmas Day (or a few days before) at approximately 5 PM PST this post is about you and me.
You:  what posts did you like the best?
Me:  what did I do ('writerly-wise') in 2016?
Comments, reflections, and... on the year that was.


Picture Books in Canada

(LDyck)
Kids Can Press
'the largest Canadian-owned children's publisher'
Picture books 

Submission guidelines

(LDyck)

Sharing my author journey...