Sharing Your Writing (short story) by Leanne Dyck

When I started to write I wanted to share my stories with everyone but...

photo by ldyck

Jim West cut the last row of grass, climbed off his ride-on lawnmower, found the rake, gathered a pile of grass clippings, and took it to the compost box. When he turned around, his wife was standing in front of him with a piece of paper in her hands.

"Want to hear what I just wrote?"

Some may have been naive enough to believe that they had a choice, but not Jim.

She read: I found Sally sitting on her kitchen floor. Her knees were drawn to her chest as she slowly rocked back and forth. Prone on the floor in front of her... A body I recognized as her husband—a large knife embedded in his back. She struggled for words, and between sobs I heard, "What...do...I...do...now?"

Some husbands may have been worried about the message behind the story, but not Jim. He knew his wife became inspired by a book, TV show, movie, or what she'd overheard at the supermarket. By bending, breaking, or blending, she created something new. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that.

She stood there, waiting. He knew she wanted a comment, and he searched for something to say. He settled on, "Interesting."

Appeased, she returned to her computer, and Jim returned to his yard work.

Save Jim from this awkward situation, share your writing... 

-on a blog

-in a writer's group

-with a beta (first) reader

-at a writers' workshop

-in a creative writing course

More...

Are You Looking for a Critique Group or Partner? 
by Janice Hardy

Next Sunday evening...

Book Review: An Ocean of Minutes by Thea Lim
This time-traveling romance was shortlisted for the 2018 Scotiabank Giller prize

Help Me Promote Reading Books by Leanne Dyck

"I can't remember the last novel I read," he told me. "I can read but I don't."

Questions:  What do all these books have in common?

(Please scroll down to the very bottom of this post

--under the heading Sharing my Author Journey--for the answer.)

We have a problem that I'm hoping you can help me work towards solving...

'The percentage of American adults who read literature--any novels, short stories, poetry or plays--fell to at least a three-decade low last year, according to a new report from the National Endowment for the Arts.' -The long, steady decline of literary reading

'The Pew Research Centre reported...that nearly a quarter of American adults had not read a single book in the past year.' -The Decline of the American Book Lover

'Work by the Pew Research Centre and other outfits have confirmed the testimony of teachers and parents and the evidence of one's eyes. Few late teen-agers are reading many books.'  -The New Yorker 

 '80% of American families buy percisely zero books per year, a proportion which no doubt is echoed elsewhere in the western world.'   Too Many Writers, Not Enough Readers

If you enjoy reading... If you love books... You and me--writer and writer, writer and reader, reader and reader--we are on the same team:  team reading.

Our team has a goal, a mission, a mandate--to spread the love of reading to everyone, everywhere.

Why is this issue so important to me?

Because I have known life without books. I was a reluctant reader; I have dyslexia. But thanks to dedicated teachers and caring parents, I won that fight and learned to read. And believe me, life with books is much, much richer.

Books...

Books open your eyes to new ideas.

Books answer questions.

Book make you think.

Books build bridges.

Books prove that you're not alone.

Books allow you to walk in someone else's shoes.

I could go on and on, but you get it. I know you do. We're on the same team.

How can we promote reading?

-give books as gifts

-read aloud to those who can't read or even to those who can

-discuss what you've read

-let them see you reading

-make books and magazines available to be read at your place of work or in your home

-talk about your favourite authors

-make your local bookstore your meet-up place

-don't judge. It doesn't matter if they are reading old classics, bestsellers, graphic novels or comics. All that matters is that they are reading.

-recommend a good book

-write reviews of your favourite books

-become a literacy advocate 

-attend and, or participate in reading events

all photos on this site were taken by Leanne Dyck--unless otherwise stated.

Picture Books in Canada

'Tradewind Books has been publishing prize-winning picture books, novels and poetry for children of all ages for over 15 years... Tradewind Books is a small publishing house with offices in Vancouver, British Columbia.'

-About Tradewind Books 

Submission Guidelines

Sharing my author journey...

This week I received another rejection letter. Correct, it wasn't just 

Book review: Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes was first published as a short story in1959 and in 1966 as a novel--reprinted in the mid-80s, early 90s, and early 2000s. That's one popular story.

One can only speculate as to why it is so popular. Is it the strong character voice? Is it the unique plot? Is it the quality of the writing?

'[O]n a hot night when everyone is out walking, or sitting in the theater, there is a rustling, and for a moment I brush against someone and sense the connection between the branch and trunk and the deep root. At such moments my flesh is thin and tight, and the unbearable hunger to be part of it drives me out to search in the dark corners and blind alleys of the night.' (p. 197)

Or...

Perhaps Flowers for Algernon addresses a subject that goes largely unnoticed, from a perceptive that remains novel.

The book is comprised of a series of progress reports written by the protagonist Charlie Gordon. I meet Charlie in junior high (middle school). The first thing I noticed about the progress reports were the spelling mistakes. I noticed them because they were similar to the ones I made.

Charlie writes... 'How strange it is that people of honest feelings and sensibility, who would not take advantage of a man born without arms or legs or eyes -- how such people think nothing of abusing a man born with low intelligence.' (p. 199)

I feared I was stupid because I had trouble with things the other kids found easy -- like spelling. Often this meant that I was fuel for the class clown.

Charlie writes... 'People think it's funny when a dumb person can't do things the same way they can.' (p. 43)

I longed to take a pill or undergo an operation that would have made me "Normal".  

After the operation is proven to be a success, Charlie writes... 'Am I a genius? I don't think so. Not yet anyway. As Burt would put it... I'm exceptional -- a democratic term used to avoid the damning labels of gifted and deprived (which used to mean bright and retarded) and as soon as exceptional begins to mean anything to anyone they'll change it. The idea seems to be:  use an expression only as long as it doesn't mean anything to anybody. Exceptional refers to both ends of the spectrum, so all my life I've been exceptional.' (p. 153)

This book is truly unique in that it not only comments on how society sees the intellectually challenged but also the gifted. Society sees the challenged as less then human. The gifted are emotionless robots. Isn't it  sad that society's attitude has remained largely consistent on this matter since the late 50s?

Charlie learns that being a genius isn't all he had hoped it would be. Even with his advanced intellect, he's not as smart as he would have hoped. And neither is anyone else. They are all frauds in his eyes.

So what is the answer? Maybe it is to be happy with what you have. Maybe it is to do the best you can with what you have been given. Maybe it is to realize that under the right set of circumstances we are far more alike then we are different. Maybe we need to realize that we all have two sides to our intellect: an overtrusting moron and a brilliant egoist.

Next post:  Post published on Sunday, July 24th around 5 PM
We'll play this game again.
Book blurb:  A Harvard university professor loses her battle with Alzheimer's, but learns that she's more than just a brain.

(photo by Leanne Dyck)

Picture Books in Canada

Marilyn Baillie Picture Book Award

'The Marilyn Baillie Picture Book Award, established in 2006, honours excellence in the illustrated picture book format.'

For more information, please click this link. 

(photo by Leanne Dyck)

Sharing my author journey...

This week was full of surprises.

Irene's Reading (short story) (humour) by Leanne Dyck

How NOT to act during writing group. 

photo by Leanne Dyck

At 11 AM on the last Monday of the month want-to-be authors met at the local community centre to lend each other support in the development of their craft. That is to say, most gathered to lend support. At least one participant had another reason for her faithful attendance.

Irene stormed through the door to claim the chair at the head of the table. Her glasses had thick black arms that coiled over her large elf-shaped ears. Short, cropped, wiry, salt-and-pepper hair framed those ears that stood at sharp angles away from her head. Two fuzzy, grey caterpillars had crawled across her forehead but stopped in the middle to do battle and, mid-melee, had permanently frozen there to form eyebrows.

“Would you like tea? It's finished brewing,” someone offered.

“Thank you. Yes, I'll have a cup.” Irene waited to be served. She smiled at the volunteer when a cup and saucer appeared on the table in front of her. “Cream and sugar?” Irene took a sip but, before swallowing, rolled the liquid around in her mouth. Slosh. Slosh. Slosh. She spit it back into the cup.

“Sorry, I forgot. I'll... Well, I'll try again.” The serf fled and quickly returned.

Others left the table to help themselves to tea but returned when Irene said. “It's time.”

Irene rose and unbuckled the straps of her briefcase. Like a knight from Camelot preparing to display the Holy Grail, she slowly revealed a folder. She withdrew several sheets of paper and, after distributing them, explained, “This is my submission. It's entitled The Word Artists. It's a... Ah, well, to say more would spoil it. I'll just read it. Shall I?” Prepare to be entertained and amazed, Irene thought as she added, “Are you ready to listen?”

Those sitting around the table assured her they were. They were a mixed group—mostly female, mostly over fifty years of age.

Pleased at their eagerness, Irene moved to the edge of her chair. “The Word Artist.” She savoured the words. “Sometimes while in quiescence, other times while engaged in some menial task, my mind.” Irene paused to slurp her tea. “My omniscient mind absorbs, manipulates, conceives.”

She set the paper on the table, placed her hands palms down on either side, and lowered her voice. “Inspiration.” Irene bounced in her seat at the rhythm of her words. “Cerebellum fires/Angels whisper/Creation begins.”

“Is this prose?” someone asked.

“I think it's a poem.”

“Oh, but it didn't start out that way.”

“Yes, but this part here does seem to—.”

Irene's heavy sigh was deafening.

But, she thought, I must be patient with them. They have a lot to learn, and who better to teach them? “This composition"—Irene ran a hand lovingly across the paper. “soars above restrictions of genre. This. Is. An Experience.” Irene frowned at her audience. “Now, please don't interrupt again.”

``Yes, of course. We're very sorry,” someone offered, smoothing feathers.

Irene coughed into her hand, rustled the paper, and continued. “I sit at my ship of journey, computer screen window, pen my magic wand.

“Pen on Paper/The keys click/Words, words, words flow/Worlds are created/ Characters breathe on paper/Plot unfolds/Readers captured/Brilliance achieved/Genius manifests.”

Irene placed her creation on the table, laced her long fingers together, smiled to herself, and waited for compliments.

Revised on May 13, 2020

Next two Mondays:  two part review of Tess of the D'urbeville by Thomas Hardy

photo by Leanne Dyck

Attend...

My friend and fellow author, Amber Harvey, is releasing a new book...

Magda's Mysterious Stranger

book launch
Miners Bay Books
Sunday, August 16
noon to 2 PM


Sharing my author journey...

You should always submit your best work but...

Are book clubs too confining? by Leanne Dyck

My husband working on his Mother's Day present

Mine is the path of the full bookshelf, not the way of the book club.

If you are a member of a book club, you must commit to a book, like you do a wedding ring. And the book may not even be chosen by you. It may be an arranged marriage. You must find meaning, even if the page is drool or foggy. You must be entertained, even if the tale doesn't capture you. You must, for the purpose of a book club is to discuss a book. How can you do that if you haven't read the book cover to cover? How can you do that if you haven't discovered the truth that waits between the pages?

But if your bookshelf is full of must-reads the choice is yours. The power is yours.

"Entertain me," you say to the author. And you read the first few pages of one book and then the other. You continue to audition one author after another until you find one that speaks to you, that entertains you, that has written his story for you. 

Mine is the path of the full bookshelf.

Or

I've started attending a book club. Do you need to read that again? Here:  I've joined a book club. 

We read the same book. One book to entertain, edify, enlighten all readers. One book to bind them all.

The Holy Man 

Buddhism and insomnia led novelist Susan Trott to invent an alternative to counting sheep. She counted a line of people waiting to see a holy man. This mental game, unresolved each night as sleep arrived, inspired The Holy Man.
Each chapter of this charming book tells the tale of a pilgrim and his problem. There is a man who is incurably jealous of his wife, the grandmother who never receives thank-you notes from her grandchildren, the war veteran who can't forgive himself for the lives he took. As their stories unfold, we come to realize that we're all in here, somewhere, with our wounded egos, insecurities, bad tempers, impatience, and ambitiousness.
These simple and beautiful tales help us unravel the knots of everyday anxieties with profound ease, humor, wisdom, and elegance. Through them, we understand that a guru's cures never really cure us; they simply show us the good things we are but cannot see. "If you look on everyone as a holy person," the Holy Man advises, "you will be happy."

I didn't choose this book. 

Chapter by chapter, we dissect it. We cut deep. Wisdom like blood flows. Our fingers are stained with it. Wisdom -- about the individual, about humanity. 

Within the pages of this book, I see myself. Within the pages of this book, I find those who people my world. And the discussion that the book generates points the way to growth, to healing. 

Would I have found this book on my own?

Possibly.

Would I have delved this deeply, engaged in this dialogue, gained this rich insight?

No.

Mine is the way of the book club.

You need to be on Mayne Island this weekend.
Why?
Well...

May 17th

2 to 3:30 PM

ten author meet and greet

Miner's Bay bookstore

Mayne Island, BC

Next Monday: I review a chapter of The Holy Man

Sharing my author journey...

Because She Believed In Me (short story) (1 of 2) by Leanne Dyck

This creative non-fiction short story was published in the Island Writer Magazine:  the literary journal of Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands in winter, 2009. Then in Kaleidoscope:  exploring the experience of disability though literature and the fine arts in winter, 2011 (re-named If Not For Her). I've also read it on local radio in 2010.

Because She Believed In Me

Here I sit in my grade two classroom, a fragile eight-year-old girl cowering in her desk, willing flesh, bone and tissue to dissolve into the steel of the seat. Please, don't call one me. Please, don't call on me. I'm shivering.
"Leanne, read the next passage," the teacher says, throwing me to the jackals.
My hands begin to shake. My forehead tightens.
"Oh, no, not her. We'll be here all day," sneers a fellow student.
I peer at the page, attempting to find sense in the swirl of words that confront me. The letters leap, spin and twist--refusing to be captured. I focus all my effort on one word, the first word. I wrestle with it, attempting to contain it.
The first letter is an "S", I tell myself. It makes the sound of a snake.
I smile contentedly. I have begun.
Next letter. I look at it.
That's a "P", I think.
I look again and in front of my eyes, the letter has undergone a magical transformation. It has become a "T".
Panic grips me.
This is taking way too long.
I feel eyes drilling holes in my flesh. A clock ticks loudly. The sweet aroma of the teacher's perfume engulfs my nostrils. Outside a bird calls. My senses are assaulted. I can't shut anything out. I can't focus.
I just want this to end. Please, please, I don't want to be here any more, I pray.
"S-sp-o-ot-t." I say feebly. Doubt in each syllable.
The class giggles. The jackals smell their prey. My face burns. My heart thunders between my ears.
"Sound it out, Leanne." Frustration, annoyance fills her voice. She is a young teacher, fresh out of university. The responsibility for the classroom weighs heavily on her shoulders.
I'm not a bad girl, I long to tell her. I want to be good. I want to do well. I want to make you happy. I'm trying. Really, honestly I am but...but...
I look down at the page. I can find no words, only tiny black marks on the white page. I find no meaning there. I am caught in a blizzard--I am blind to words.
"Stop," I blurt out, guessing.
I am cornered. The class howls with piercing celebratory laughter.
My inner voice screams. "You're dumb! You can't learn! You can't do anything! Everyone laughs at you! You are STU-PID!!
I try to ignore their laughter. I try to silence my self-debasing.
I am mustering up all my resources to continue my battle when the teacher cuts my progress short.
"Carla, please continue."
The class heaves a collective sigh of relief.
Pretty Carla sits straight and tall on her chair, her head held high. The book rests in her palms like a hymnal. She reads the words; they flow together like a song--the teacher smiles.
I am a big, awkward moose. Carla is a meadowlark. She sings sweetly and others listen. They don't laugh at her. She soars with words, I stumble and fall. She belongs. I don't. She is normal. I am a freak.

Magazine Launch (short story) 7/7 by Leanne Dyck

In 2009, my husband and I left Mayne Island to attend a magazine launch in Victoria so that I, as one of the contributing authors, could read Because She Believed In Me. 

Installment 6

Magazine Launch

“And, now, I’m pleased to welcome to the stage, Leanne Dyck. Leanne will read from her creative non-fiction story Because She Believed In Me. Leanne Dyck.”

            Applause. Byron squeezed my hand. I pushed my way out of the audience and onto the stage. My face cracked into a nervous smile. There are too many people here—and I don’t know any one. But… I located Byron  in the audience. He looks so nervous. I can do this. I can do this. I fumbled with the zipper, opened my purse and withdrew my index cards. “To set the scene:  I am about seven years old and we are in my grade two classroom.

            “ ‘Leanne, read the next passage,’ the teacher says, throwing me to the jackals.

            “My hands begin to shake. My forehead tightens.

            “ ‘Oh, no, not her. We’ll be here all day,’ sneers a fellow student.

            “I peer at the page, attempting to find sense in the swirl of words that confront me. The letters leap, spin and twist—refusing to be captured. I focus all my effort on one word, the first word. I wrestle with it, attempting to contain it.

            “The first letter is an ‘s’, I tell myself. It makes the sound of a snake.

            “I smile contently. I have begun.

            “Next letter, I look at it.

            “That’s a ‘p’, I think.

            “I look again and in front of my eyes, the letter has undergone a magical transformation. It has become a ‘t’.

            “Panic grips me.

            “This is taking way too long.

            “I feel eyes drilling holes in my flesh. A clock ticks loudly. The sweet aroma of the teacher’s perfume engulfs my nostrils. Outside a bird calls. My senses are assaulted. I can’t shut anything out. I can’t focus.

            “I just want this to end. Please, please I don’t want to be here any more, I pray.’ I pause. “Flash forward…wow…a lot of years and I’ve grown from an elementary school student struggling with dyslexia to a mystery author gifted with dyslexia. What happened to cause this change? Would you like to solve that mystery? Well, what you do is this…get your hands on the Island Writer magazine…flip to my story Because She Believed In Me—all will be revealed. Thank you for listening. Happy Holidays.”

            Applause. Sweet applause. I left the stage and joined the audience. They showered me with praise. “You should be an actress,” they told me. “You did a very good job.”

            Two women approached me.

“I’m Samantha Robins,” one of the woman said. “And this is” I recognize the name. She’s…she’s…a prolific author. I resisted the impulse to hug her.

“I really enjoyed your story."

I blushed.

"In fact," she continued. "I’d like to encourage you to write more about your experiences as a dyslexic.” The Author told me.

Her words stayed with me.

            In the car, I told Byron, “I want to do more readings.”

            He kissed me. “You’re amazing,” he said.

            Know what? I think he’s right.

           

           

Book review: 419 by Will Ferguson

Buy this book

Once we feel cozy and warm in North America. Once we've identified the good and the bad. We travel with Mr. Ferguson to Nigeria--and everything is set on its ear.

' "[W]hen it comes to obtaining wealth through false pretense, the white man is still the expert. I'm afraid the black man is an amateur when it comes to 419ing others. One might say, my entire country was obtained under false pretenses." ' (p. 304)

What attracted me to this book?

Well, as I've shared with you before, I'm a fan of Will Ferguson. And 419 won the Scotiabank Giller in 2012. Put them both together and you'll know why I read this book.

What did I find?

What a master storyteller can do...

-talk directly to the reader...

'Despair comes slowly, crawling its way up inside you until it threatens to overwhelm everything; it buckles the knees, makes you falter, makes you break stride.' (p. 88)

This type of writing is like being able to peek under the curtain and watch the Wizard of Oz at work.

-the two word transition...

'Outside:  chinook winds dividing the sky, the clear blue pushing dark clouds forward in a single wine arc. 
Inside:  Laura's father sitting on one of the mall's benches, staring at the ground, frowning thoughtfully.'

"You can't do that." Would be my immediate response, if I were to think of trying this. Yet, he has the confidence to try. And it works very well. I wonder how many writing rules we invent simply because we are afraid to try.

-like a skilled weaver, releases one strand (character) and picks up a different one. Both are woven flawlessly into the story.

-uses beautiful imaginary...

'She fell into sleep, like a body down a well.' (p. 95)

'It was a wisp of a dream, like trying to catch wind in your hand.' (p. 100)

-poses a question that resonates...

'The final block is fear...What if you denied fear its foothold? What if you refused to be afraid?' (p. 149)

-shares his trademark humour...

' "The only reason I never won...is because you never lose." ' (p. 225)

Magazine Launch (short story) 3/7 by Leanne Dyck

I've been offering you my serialized story Magazine Launch

Here's installment two...

And here's installment three...

Magazine Launch 3/7

Byron sat in a reading chair flipping the pages of his paperback. He must have gotten to a really good part. I set my suitcase on the bed, dug out my clothes and laid out my outfit—dress, blazer, earrings. I’m going to look so professional. I ran my hand over the sleeve of my blazer. Just like an author. I’d even remembered a small purse to stow my author reading. And the herbal remedy for my anxiety… And the herbal remedy… I searched my purse. I don’t have… I don’t have… Breathe. I emptied the entire contents of the suitcase. It’s not here. My heart jumped from my chest to my head and tired to pound its way out. My entire body became one, big sweat stain. I can’t… I can’t…

            “What’s the matter?” Byron’s words attempted to detach me from the wall.

            “I don’t have my rescue remedy and I can’t… not without…”

            “Oh, we’ve come all this way. We're here and...”

            I knew what he was going to say. 'you're going to read.' He’s so heartless. 

            “And besides, you’ll be fine.”

            “Fine? Do you really think so?” Will I be? Yes. No. Maybe. How can I be? I’ve read to audience  before. But… but… My mind was so full that I barely heard his question.

            “Of course. How long is your reading?”

            “Five minutes.” Five minutes! I can’t read for five minutes. I’ll trip over my words. I’ll say the wrong word. Then they’ll know. They’ll know. “They’ll all know that I’m dyslexic.”

            “What’s you’re reading about?”

            “Being dyslexic.”

            “And you’re worried that they’ll learn you’re dyslexic.”

            “Yes.” Brief pause. “That doesn’t make sense. Does it?”

            “No.” He held me. “The audience will have read your story. Everyone will know how hard reading is for you. They’ll all be pulling for you.”

            “Do you really think so?”

            “Yes, of course. And besides, if you make a mistake no one will even notice.”

            If I make a mistake? There’s no if; there’s only when. When I make a mistake everyone will laugh. They’ll all laugh and they’ll know that I’ll never be one of them. I’ll never be a writer. They didn’t choose my story because it’s good. They choose it because they feel sorry for me. Well, I don’t need their pity. I’m just as good as everyone else. And I have to prove it. I have to be prefect. I can’t make any mistakes. None. Negative thoughts haunted me as the hours slipped away. I tried to eat but I just wasn’t hungry. I tried to practice my reading but it just sounded so dumb. So, instead, I raced around like a crazy person—had a shower, dressed, brushed my hair, put on make-up. Ignoring the tornado, Byron’s nose remained in his book.

            “Are you ready?” I asked.

            “What? Already? It’s only 7 o’clock,” he told me. “We still have an hour.”

            “Yes, but what if we get lost? And… And…” I can’t be late.

            “We won’t get lost.”

            “How can you be so sure? We’ve never gone there before. We don’t know Victoria. We could get lost. Just because it’s not your thing you think it’s not important but it is important to me.”

            “Fine. Fine.”

            It didn’t take him long to get ready and we were out the door. Victoria was no match for Byron. He easily navigated the streets and soon we’d arrived at the Orange Hall on 1620 Fernwood.

Installment 4

Last weekend I went to the Mayne Island car show and saw...

How-to read to children by Leanne Willetts

For the Love of Books was published in 1992 in the Manitoba Child Care Workers' trade magazine. 

For the Love of Books

by Leanne Willetts (now Dyck) Child Care Worker III

When we think of reading to infants and young children many questions arise. Here I will answer three of the most commonly asked questions.

What, if anything, does the infant gain from this type of experience?

The positive effects of the reading experience are four-fold. To begin with reading is of immense benefit to early language acquisition. The infant is repeatedly exposed to a few words in an interesting and stimulating format providing him/her with a golden opportunity to expand upon a limited vocabulary at a manageable pace. Second, reading is an effective way to strengthen the bond of adult to baby. During those few precious moments, the child has your total attention, nothing exists in the universe except the two of you. Third, the sound of your voice is a wonderful preparation for nap or bed time. Fourth, the fine illustrations found in picture books provide excellent visual stimuli. Illustrators draw from the limited experience of the young child's world. They draw common items such as balls, cats, dogs, faces, which the child no doubt has had experience with. Infants are by nature egocentric and these illustrations have great appeal to them.

I'm no Robert Munsch, how can I even attempt to read to a baby?

Even Robert Munsch had to and still has to, practice. Most babies are a very receptive audience. They are perfectly content to lay there and listen to you. By using Robert Munsch and other storyteller's techniques you can enhance the reading experience. Some of these techniques are:

-Point out similarities between the world of the book and his/her world. Say something like, "Mary has a green ball just like the one in the picture."
-Ask questions and allow time for him/her to respond, whether there is a verbal, non-verbal, or no response. Allowing time for the infant to respond even before such communication is likely will prepare the child to pick up on the cue. Such preparation will make it more likely that an older child will take a more active role in the reading experience. 
-Talk about and draw interest in the illustrations. If the illustration is of an animal point to the animal and comment on its name and the sound it makes.
-Use gestures. When you read the word B-I-G use your body to dramatize the word.
-Vary voice tone: from low to high; loud to soft; slow to fast.
-Use eye contact.
-Use your imagination; vary the text, expand the story, use your creativity--remember nothing is written in stone.
-Use your genuine interest in the reading experience. If you show enthusiasm for what you are reading the baby will pick up on that.

The more you practice the better you will become. However, before everything else, please remember the needs of the young audience should be paramount. The book is there for the enjoyment of the baby. If you sense an infant's attention lagging, stop, and read again later. Make the reading experience as positive as possible.

How soon can I start reading to a baby?

As soon as you begin talking to a baby, you can begin to read to him/her. Research has found that an early positive exposure to the reading experience will help the child slip naturally into the habit of reading.

Guest Post Author Johnny Ray

How/why did you start to write? 

I love to write, and do so about 12 hours a day

How did you become an author?

 I kept writing until someone thought it was good.

What was your first published piece? 

Her Honor’s Bodyguard

Where was it published? 

On Amazon, under my publishing company SIR JOHN PUBLISHING 

How long ago? 

A year ago

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

I was in International real estate for 35 years. And I draw from it very much.

What inspires you? 

Fans, I love to hear from them.

Please share one of your successful author platform building technique

I am very big on twitter with over 85,000 followers.

My number one advice to new authors/authors-to-be is to...

Read, write, polish, repeat, repeat, and repeat. The old saying is that writers write and don't just talk about it.

My life's philosophy is...

The only way to be the best is to be better than number two. This is different from being as good as.

One thing I really enjoy is...

Making friends around the world. I have several twitter accounts with over 85,000 followers.

One thing I really hate is...

Not having enough time to read all of the great books being written today.

My favourite thing to do (outside of reading/writing) is...

Spending time with my wife and traveling the world

Parting words

Please stay in touch with me on facebook http://on.fb.me/dlgWwW  , on goodreads http://bit.ly/vPvNQa  on my blog http://bit.ly/1adGAp  and on kindle http://amzn.to/H7VlFp

          STALKING LOVE is a 94,000 word romantic thriller set in St. Petersburg, Florida during the current real estate crisis. With a serial killer targeting people involved in the real estate business, and a potential love of a lifetime in the works, it takes all of the strength and courage of a woman thought to have it all, but lacking everything that really matters to grow and develop into who she is destined to become.

As Rachel Contino, a proficient, thirty-eight year old realtor, attempts to avoid the real estate meltdown caused by her main client, developer Jonathan Harrell who had died in an apparent suicide, new evidence surfaces that it wasn’t a suicide but murder. This is soon followed up by the murder of Jonathan’s partner. These murders inside a condo complex hosting her largest number of listings makes her sales all but disappear, forcing her into deeper financial problems. In addition to her financial situation, she is scared that the murderer may be targeting her next.

Meanwhile, Rachel, who has no time for a life outside of her profession, meets Carlos Martinis, a twenty-three year old mortgage broker, and yields to the teasing of her friends in attempting to make this stud her boy toy. She quickly discovers, however, that he’s much more of a man than a boy as he quickly converts her to his party girl instead.

As her world falls apart, she has to depend on a guy she wanted to make into a toy. Relying on love rather than her money is a hard lesson to learn, but one that she has to before it’s too late and Carlos leaves her and the murderer makes his final move. Converting their passionate sex life to a true love will require admitting secrets that both Carlos and Rachel have to eventually reveal. But will these secrets bring them together or drive them apart forever?

More information about Stalking Love

Author links

Writers' Retreat memories by Leanne Dyck

In November (22 to 25), 2012, I attended the Federation of BC Writers writers' retreat. 

Located high on a mountain on Denman Island, this retreat included a blue pencil critique as well as an opportunity to share our writing. It was well worth attending.

Part of the fun was the journey... 

 

Our first stop...

Lunch with friends (Gail Woodward, Amber Harvey, Doreen Dyck (our driver and my mother-in-law), me and Robin Spano (who meet us at the restaurant)

Rivendell Retreat Centre on Bowen Island

 

Walking the labyrinth (Thanks to Crystal Favel for this photo and the one below)

 

Back row:  Amber Harvey, Kelly Dycavinu, Patricia Dobie, Rosemary Rigsby, Crystal Favel
Front row:  Pandora Ballard, me (Leanne Dyck), Ben Nuttall-Smith, Gail Woodward

 

Where the magic happened

Each night we were invited to read our work. I read a flash fiction piece the first night; a short story and poem on the second night. I was delighted to have such a supportive and attentive audience.
(Thanks to Pandora Ballard for this photo and the one below)

 

I appreciate Ben Nuttall-Smith taking the time and trouble to fine tune my writing. His pencil moved skillfully through my manuscript adding clarity and removing "fatty" extra words. I know I will continue to benefit from his guidance.

 

Retreat organizer Pandora Ballard and Federation of BC Writers vice-president Ben Nuttall-Smith worked tirelessly on behalf of the group. The retreat was a great success and I look forward to next year.

My room contained a comfortable bed and a large desk. What more could my muse and I ask for?

After four days I missed my husband but really didn't want to leave.

Amber Harvey writes about this retreat on her blog