April Fool-ishness: a collection (humour) by Leanne Dyck

a collection of short stories and poems to make you laugh, giggle, chuckle, or grin. Silliness to lighten your day.

photo by ldyck

Authors in a Pub: was inspired by a Monty Python sketch

Island Artist: A humourous look at island life

In Icelandic: inspired by something my Icelandic-Canadian grandma saw on a bus

Still Life with Cats

The Lure of Yarn

Catch It

The Island Storyteller on Stage: celebrates my love of reading my writing to an audience

Irene's Reading: How NOT to act during writing group.

What's Wrong with Michelle?

Offered without apology to the pun lovers among us...

What's in a Name?

Sue was sick and tired of 

being used and abused.

She was going to sue.

Ever since Ted was a

little boy

he'd always slept

with a teddy.

Frank had just one 

character flaw.

He was much too

frank.

Will was very determined.

He was motivated by 

sheer will-power.

Pam didn't use butter

when she baked.

She used Pam.

Russel went for a walk in the woods,

But he stopped walking immediately

When he heard a rustle.

Graham was offered saltine crackers

But he chose Graham wafers.

Bob didn't know how to swim

So he bobbed in the water.

What have I missed? Please, play with me...

Oh, yeah, and...

The List

I found the list

and checked it twice.

He'd judged me naughty

and not very nice.

So I burnt the list.

One last thought...

Holding his wife's hand in the delivery room, George Harrison sings, "Here comes our son, little darling. Here comes our son. And I say, he's okay. Son. Son. Here he comes."

Photo by Byron

Without a reader,

A writer's words mean

Nothing

photo by ldyck

April on this blog...

This month I indulge my--and hopefully your--love of fiction.

April 6

A Cat Called Sam (children's story)

One magical night, driven by a desire to be precisely like his human, Sam the cat becomes Sam the boy.

April 13

Sheep Choir (short story)

As a fledgling knitwear designer, I was blessed to have the support of kind people. This is a tribute to one of them.

April 20

Seashells (short story)

...about an "unexpected" gift

April 27

Finding Her (short story)

When you're lost, sometimes all you need is someone to follow.

My author journey...

Every sentence ends with a period.

Hamster (short memoir) by Leanne Dyck

I've always loved animals and they've all...most...many...some have loved me. This is a story about the other ones.

photo by ldyck

Hamster

Was it our second date? Or our third? We were heading for the movie theatre in the mall, but we were early. So we roamed from shop to shop. I spotted a pet shop and made a B-line straight for it. "I love animals." A glass box stood by the door. I looked inside at the chubby, fur-ball hamsters. "Oh, they're so cute."

"Be careful." Byron warrened.

"Don't worry. Animals love me."

"Don't touch them," Byron said firmly.

So I waited until his back was turned to shower love on the adorable creatures.

One of them stood up on his hind legs. Clearly, he was enjoying my attention. I gently stroked him and he... And he bit me. He. Bit. Me. "Ouch." I quickly pulled my hand away. My finger stung so I shook it--like that would help.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," I told Byron. "I'm fine." I lead him away from the shop. My finger began to throb. Blobs of crimson blood trickled down my palm. I didn't have a band-aide or even a tissue so I thrust my hand into the pocket of my white blazer.

Byron stared at me. "What's that?" He looked down at my pocket.

"What?" I'm not sure why I thought acting dumb would help.

"All that red--. Is that blood? Did one of those hamsters bite you?"

"No. No! Okay, yes."

"Well, now I must take you to a walk-in clinic."

"What? Why?"

"Because you could have rabies."

"Ra-bies?" I gulped.

"Yes, rabies. I told you not to touch them. When was the last time you had a tenuous shot?"

A needle. I can't... "I don't know." I feel lightheaded. Is that how you feel when you have rabies?

"And we're going to miss the movie. Why couldn't you just leave them alone?"

My vision was fuzzy and it was a little hard to walk. "I'm fine. I'm fine. We don't have to--."

"Yes, we do. Look at your pocket. You're still bleeding."

Byron silently led me back to his car. 

I eased into the bucket seat, but I didn't feel comfortable. "I won't really have to have a--."

"Yes, you will. And the needle is as long as my arm and as thick as my finger. Maybe next time you'll listen to me."

It didn't take him long to find a walk-in clinic. I followed him into the building. He spoke to the receptionist while I found a seat. I tried not to think about a sword-like needle embedded in my arm.

"Leanne Willetts," The receptionist called. "Doctor McDonald will see you now."

"Leanne. Leanne Willetts."

Finally, I woke from my nightmare to face a cold hard reality. As bravely as I could, I walked into Doctor McDonald's office. 

The white-haired Scottish gentleman greeted me with a wide smile. I think he noticed that I wasn't doing well because his expression quickly changed to one of concern. "Here, lass. Sit here." He offered me a padded chair. "What happened, lass?" His soothing voice helped to calm my nerves--a little.

I bite my lip and help out of my finger. "A hamster bit me and my boyfriend told me I need a tenuous shot."

"A hamster, you say?"

"Yes, he was so cute. I saw him at the pet shop."

"Pet shop, ah? Well, I don't think a needle will be necessary, dear." That sentence quickly transformed him from a simple doctor into my hero. He wrapped my finger and gently ushered me out the door.

Byron and I returned to the mall and didn't miss the movie; in fact, we arrived early. 

"Oh, look, the pet shop."

"What? Haven't you--."

written on Wednesday, January 29, 2025.

Photo by Byron

Without a reader,

a writer's words mean

Nothing

On this blog in March...

Sunday, March 30

April Fool(ishness) collection

a collection of silly writing to make you chuckle.

Sharing my author journey...

Sam (short memoir) by Leanne Dyck

Do you remember your first pet? Was it a bunny, a goldfish, a hamster, a cat, or maybe a dog? This is a tribute to my first pet.

Sam and Me

Sam

When I was approximately two years old, my parents gave me an adorable German Shepherd puppy. I named her Samantha—Sam for short—after the lead character in one of my favourite TV shows, Bewitched.

Like Terriers, German Shepherds require a gentle but firm hand. When I was two, all I could offer my puppy was love. That was perfectly fine with Sam. She was born to be an alpha, and we quickly formed a strong bond. We were inseparable until bedtime. Sam had no desire to go inside, which was fine with me—I thought I could fit into her doghouse. My parents worked overtime to convince me this wasn't a feasible plan.

At an early age, Sam took a solemn oath to defend me against all dangers. 

What dangers did I face at two? Well...

It may be hard to believe, but I wasn't always a well-behaved angel. For example, I hated having my hair washed. My mom was willing to try anything to make this task easier. She decided to wash my hair outside. I refused to cooperate and sought a hasty retreat. Mom grabbed me. Sam grabbed Mom. She wrapped her jaw around Mom's wrist. She didn't bare down. No skin was punctured. No bloodshed. Still, the jaw around her wrist was enough for Mom. From then on all hair washing was done inside.

Sam's dedication to my safety continued. She bit the paperboy because he dared hand me the newspaper. She bit--. Well, she bit too many people. It was clear to my parents that something had to be done. 

Dad explained that someone was stealing a farmer's diesel, and said, "I told him about Sam, and he wants her."

But--! But--! Wow, but! "Sam is my dog!"

"Leanne, it's either this or we'll have to put Sam down. She's bit too many people."

Life on a farm or death? What a choice. I chose the farm. Saying goodbye to Sam was like having my heart torn out of my chest. 

When Sam was settled on the farm, the farmer invited us to visit. I was worried. Would Sam remember me? As we reached the farm, I saw a happy dog running free. When she recognized our tan Pontiac, she raced over to greet us. I climbed out of the car, and Sam nearly knocked me over with excitement. We were all so happy to see each other again. She ran back and forth between the farmer and me, unsure of where her heart truly belonged.

"Have you had any more trouble with your diesel?" My dad asked the farmer.

The farmer laughed. "Are you kidding me? They won't dare. Not with Sam on the job." He gave her an affectionate pat.

Too soon, our visit was over, and we climbed into the car—"we" included Sam. She may have believed the farmer was genuinely a nice guy, but deep down, she knew it was time to head home. After some convincing, Sam finally agreed to stay with the farmer, and we decided we wouldn’t revisit her. Our presence was too confusing. 

Sam had a lasting effect on my life. She transformed me into a special kind of person--a dog person. 

written on Wednesday, January 29, 2025.

Photo by Byron

Without a reader,

a writer's words mean

Nothing

Dogs that I was blessed to share my life with...

 Kelly--a mostly golden lab--and me

Trixie--a mostly Beagle

Nugent--a blue heeler, terrier cross

Bim--a malti-poo (Maltese/Minature Poodle cross)

Foster puppies--Shakespeare and Snorri--a mix of small dog breeds

Abby

The animal rescue told us she was a chihuahua mix.

Abby tells us she's a terrier. 

Who's right?

One thing is certain she's a wonderful dog and we love her.

  My dogs didn’t care if I stumbled over my words. They didn’t whisper to other dogs about how strange I was, nor did they laugh at me behind my back. All they offered was love—unconditional love. Through their eyes, I saw myself differently, and my self-esteem received a much-needed boost.

On this blog in March...

Sunday, March 23

Hamster (short memoir)

I've always loved animals and they've all...most...many...some have loved me. This is a story about the other ones.

Sunday, March 30

April Fool(ishness) collection

a collection of silly writing to make you chuckle.

What am I listening to?

Canada Reads 2025

Sharing my author journey...

Well, how did my week go?

Walks with my Friend (children's story) by Leanne Dyck

Walks with my Friend follows two dogs, fearful Abby and confident Reba, as they take their daily walks. Abby explains how Reba helped her become more confident. Walks with My Friend was inspired by the friendship between my dog and a dog from the neighbourhood.

photo by ldyck

 Walks with my Friend

I like going for walks with my friend Reba. I wait patiently while Reba’s leash is clipped on, give her a quick kiss and then off we go.

Walking beside my friend makes me feel big, makes me feel important, makes me feel loved.

Woof. Woof. Woof.

Who’s— Who’s that?

A brown dog charges at us. “Hey, who’s the new kid? What’s her name?”

He’s so big. I put my tail between my legs. Will he bite me? I hide in the tall grass.

Reba’s head is high. “Hi, Buster.” Reba’s tail is fanned out. “This is my friend Abby and we’re going for a walk.” She stands between Buster and me.

I climb out of the grass, fan out my tail and walk beside my friend.

Bang. Crash. Bang. Bang.

What’s—. What’s that?

A large truck barrels down the road right—right at me. I freeze. I can’t move a paw. I can barely breathe.

Reba nudges me to the side of the road. She stands there with her tail fanned out and her head held high. She stands beside me until the truck drives by.

Every day I tell my human, “Now. Now. We need to go now. We need to take Reba for a walk.”

Now when we meet Buster I keep my tail fanned out. I meet his eyes and say, “Hi, Buster. How are you today?”

And when we meet a crash-bang truck I’ve learned to hop to the side of the road and give it room to drive away.

But—. But… One day, Reba tells me. “I have some bad news. I’m moving away.”

We howl together for a while because we’re sad. Then Reba gives me a kiss and says, “I’m so proud of you. You’re a good dog. You’re a brave dog. You’re a good friend.”

“I am?”

Reba looks me in the eyes. “You’re a good dog. You’re a brave dog. You’re a good friend.”

Her words go into my ears and reach my heart. “I am a good dog. I am a brave dog. I am a good friend.”

Now I go for walks without Reba but I’ll never forget the lessons she taught me. I keep my tail fanned out. I keep my head held high. I am a good dog. I am a brave dog. I am a good friend to Buster.

Photo by Byron

Without a reader,

a writer's words mean

Nothing

On this blog in March...

Sunday, March 16

Sam (short memoir)

Do you remember your first pet? Was it a bunny, a goldfish, a hamster, a cat, or maybe a dog? This is a tribute to my first pet.

Sunday, March 23

Hamster (short memoir)

I've always loved animals and they've all...most...many...some have loved me. This is a story about the other ones.

Sunday, March 30

April Fool(ishness) collection

a collection of silly writing to make you chuckle.

Sharing my author journey...

My Writing Beliefs by Leanne Dyck

In response to Mary Ann de Stefano's question--What beliefs do you hold about writing?--I write...

photo by ldyck

-Keep writing fun

-Always be ending

-Know what's next

-Do something every day to support your business

-Treat writing as a business

-Use your assets

-Try something new--experiment with your writing

-Give yourself permission to write garbage

-Keep everything you write (or as much as you can)

-You can't edit a blank page

-Be kind--just not to your characters

-Do something to support the publishing industry

-View other authors as colleagues

-Write to your target reader

-We need many authors, and many books because not all books will speak to all readers

-Marketing is enjoyable and essential. A reader is looking for your writing so you are helping them by telling them about it.

-Develop a thick skin when it comes to your work.

-Working with an editor is like going to a spa. Some of what happens will hurt but the results will be worth the pain.

-Listen to your allies with an open mind.

-Reading your writing is only one way others can support you as an author. Appreciate their help in whatever form it takes.

-An author's journey is a marathon, not a sprint.

-Learn to be okay with being alone.

-Respect yourself.

-Write what you love to read.

-Be concerned about, be aware of, and nurture your mental health.

-Be grateful.

-Always be learning.

-Value your mistakes--it's how you learn.

-Chase your characters up a tree to the edge of a branch, allow them to see help cresting the hill and then throw rocks at them.

-Don't compare your career to another author's. Every journey is different.

-Live with a sense that everything will be okay: keep a positive mindset.

-Your talent is a gift--nurture it.

-Practice, practice, practice before you give an author reading.

-An author reading isn't about you--it is a gift for your audience.

-Read authors who write better than you do--it's one of the best ways to learn.

-When a reader reads your writing you are entering a contract with them. You promise to entertain. The reader promises to keep reading.

-Earn your success

-No one owes you anything.

-Find a way to motivate yourself to write regularly--keep a blog or...

-Start each day by writing morning pages. 

-Read books and magazines about the craft of writing.

-Start each day by constructing a list of tasks you wish to get done.

-Fall in love with the struggle.

-Treat obstacles as opportunities.

-If you need help, ask.

-A reader is paying you an enormous compliment by reading your work--be thankful.

-Not everyone will appreciate everything you write. Not everyone will want to read every part of your work. Accept that.

-Be thankful for those in your life who aren't interested in your writing. You are more than just a writer.

-Your writing may take you to dark places. It's up to you if you go there. 

-Inspiration can come from anywhere. Live your life to find the magic.

-Budget your time and be mindful of where you spend it.

-Read today's best-sellers and award winners so your writing will remain current.

-Don't focus on writing what's trending, it won't be relevant by the time you're finished.

-Write the story that is yours to write.

-Like Steven King said: Write the first draft with the door closed and the next drafts with the door open.

-Find what motivates you and use it.

-Dream

-Celebrate small things.

-Edit while you write as well as after.

-Be prepared to give your stories as much time as they need to be written.

-No writing is a waste.

-Whatever you focus on grows.

-Only concern yourself with what you can control. (Instead of worrying about when or if you will be published, keep writing)

-You are the only one who can end your author journey.

-No one will work as hard as you on your career--nor should they.

-Believe in the power of your words.

-Your method of writing is as valid as any other method.

-Go wide--don't put all your hopes on one story, publishing house, editor or...

-If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all—especially online and about your colleagues’ work.

-Listen to your writing colleagues. They will entertain, inform, inspire, and motivate you.

-When seeking writing advice, consider the source.

And...

This is an evolving list.

Photo by Byron

Without a reader,

a writer's words mean

Nothing

Last week, I had an off-island appointment, allowing me to visit one of my favorite bookstores. Would you like to come too?

photo by ldyck

photo by ldyck

Metis Like Me

by Tasha Hilderman and Risa Hugo

Published by Tundra Books

photo by ldyck

photo by ldyck

I Love Being Your Uncle

Markai Espe and Mari Macias

Library and Archives Canada

On this blog in March...

Grandma's Knitting Needles Sing (children's story) by Leanne Dyck

Grandma's Knitting Needles Sing celebrates the bond between grandparents and grandchildren, introduces the art of knitting, and explains how wool is produced.

photo by ldyck

Lise McLeod, a fibre enthusiast, promotes wool production on Mayne Island. She invites all crafters to participate in Mayne Island's fall fair this August.

Grandma's Knitting Needles Sing

Pearl watched Grandma's knitting needles dance with the yarn, weaving lines that bent and crossed over each other. The clicking sounded like music. “Old McDonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O. And on his farm, he had a cow,” Pearl sang.

Grandma sang, “Moo. Moo. Moo.”

Pearl sang about pigs, chickens, horses, dogs, and cats and then she said, “Tell me a story, Grandma.”

So Grandma began, “Once upon a time a farmer had a farm.”

“E-I-E-I-O,” Pearl sang.

Grandma's needles went click, click, click. “But this farmer's name wasn't Old McDonald. Her name was Young Ms. Willetts. And on her farm, she had a flock of sheep.”

“Baa. Baa. Baa,” Pearl sang.

Grandma's needles went click, click, click.

“What did the sheep eat, Grandma?”

“Green grass.”

“And the green grass grew all around, all around. And the green grass grew all around,” Pearl sang.

Grandma's needles went click, click, click. “The green grass grew and the sheep ate the grass.”

Pearl closed her eyes and saw sheep that looked like fluffy, white clouds.

“But then the north wind blew,” Grandma said.

Pearl stretched her arms above her head and swayed back and forth. “Oh-h-h.”

“Yes, just like that,” Grandma said, “And all the leaves on the trees turned from green to red and yellow and gold.”

“Then all the leaves came tumbling down, tumbling down, tumbling down. All the leaves came tumbling down. High-ho-the-diary-oh,” Pearl sang.

Grandma's needles went click, click, click. “The trees stood bare and snow came to cover the ground.”

“What did the sheep eat then, poor things?” Pearl looked worried.

“Young Ms. Willetts fed them lots and lots of grain.”

“Were the sheep cold?”

“Oh, no. They had warm winter coats.”

Pearl closed her eyes and saw the sheep. Some of them wore purple parkas; others wore blue snowsuits. One even had a pink toque and four striped mittens. All of the sheep looked toasty warm.

“Winter didn't last long. Soon the birds started to sing and the sun smiled on the farm.”

“And the sheep got warmer and warmer,” Pearl said.

“Until they got too warm. Then Young Ms. Willetts phoned her friend the sheep sheerer. He came with big razors.”

“Like Daddy uses to shave?”

“Like your Daddy uses to shave. And the sheep sheerer shaved off all the sheep's winter coats. And after their coats were picked clean of grass, twigs and dirt, they were washed and made into...”

“Into? Into what?”

The knitting needles stopped clicking. “Into wool,” Grandma whispered.

“Into wool,” Pearl sang.

Grandma put her knitting on the coffee table. “I bought the wool.” She dug through her knitting basket, pushing aside needles, yarn, and other odds and ends. “I knit the wool.” Grandma smiled and hid something in her hand. “And I made something special...” Grandma slipped something into Pearl's hand. “For you.”

The something wasn't pink, blue or purple. It had two black eyes, one black nose and two floppy brown ears.

Pearl hugged Grandma, put the something on her finger and sang, “Baa. Baa. Baa.”

Photo by Byron

Without a reader,

a writer's words mean

Nothing

On this blog in March...

Two Paths (short story) by Leanne Dyck

Inspiration for this story came from two sources--a quote by Ella Winter "Don't you know you can't go home again?" and Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken

photo by ldyck

Two Paths

When we started our journey, we were more or less together. You--a little ways ahead. Me--a little ways behind. But together. Seeing the same trees. Smelling the same flowers. Feeling the same breeze.

The path forked. You continued on the same path. but I thought--. I thought maybe I could try this new path. This path took me over hills and past mountains. I saw the ocean and explored sandy beaches. It was very different in this new place, yet it felt like home. I felt more myself there than anywhere I'd ever lived. I grew. I changed. But I didn't forget the old path. Though I saw arbutus trees; I remembered birch and maple. Though I tasted blackberries; I remembered the smell of lilac bushes. I can always go back is what I thought.

One day I retraced the steps I'd taken so long ago. With each step I took I told myself that it would be nice to see maple trees, smell lilacs and see you again. I thought you, everything would have waited for me unchanged like in a time capsule.

But... A thick weaving of weeds obscured the path. I tripped over the vines. The thorns scrapped my hands and I bleed. Though I tried very hard I couldn't get through. I'd waited too long to go home. And this realization hurt.

Now when I think of you I know I'm flipping back pages. I know I'm remembering what was then but isn't now. 

But what I've come to realize is that these changes don't diminish the happy times we once shared. Once upon a time... is a magical place.

photo by ldyck

Photo by Byron

Without a reader,

a writer's words mean

Nothing

February on this blog

Sunday, February 23

Grandma's Knitting Needles Sing (children's story)

This children's story celebrates the bond between grandparents and grandchildren, introduces the art of knitting, and explains how wool is produced.

Please excuse me for getting political...

Love Stories: a collection by Leanne Dyck

"All you need is love," sings The Beatles. I'm celebrating love in all its wondrous forms in this collection. And I ask you, who do you love?

photo by ldyck

Her First Crush

Lasting Love

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet

Answering Machine

Alone with Him

A Stone Heart

Devotion

Dream

Walk with Me

Mirror Talk

Regardless of what you wear

or the colour and length of your hair

I love you

Regardless of any apparent

or perceived flaws in your appearance

I love you

Regardless of any apparent

or perceived flaws in your personality

or in your physical or mental ability

I love you

Regardless of where you live

or how much money you have

I love you

Regardless of the mistakes you've made

or will make 

I love you

Regardless what others may say to you or about you

Regardless how they may treat you

I love you

Regardless of anything in the present, past or future

--anything, any time, any where

I love you

Always remember and never forget

you can depend on my steadfast and unconditional

Love

photo by Byron

Without a reader,

a writer's words mean

Nothing

February on this blog

Sunday, February 16

Two Paths (short story)

Inspiration for this story came from two sources--a quote by Ella Winter "Don't you know you can't go home again?" and Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken

Sunday, February 23

Grandma's Knitting Needles Sing (children's story)

This children's story celebrates the bond between grandparents and grandchildren, introduces the art of knitting, and explains how wool is produced.

Guest Post: Author Christina Myers

Of all the books I reviewed in 2024, The List of Last Chances earned the most page views. Inspired by this popularity, I asked author Christina Myers to be a guest on this blog and she kindly agreed. I enjoyed learning more about her writing life and know you will too.

Photo by Wendy Lees

How/why did you start to write?

 I started to write when I was a kid, just little stories here and there. I'm positive that arose out of being a really avid reader. I inhaled Nancy Drew books, Anne of Green Gables, and then before I was probably old enough to, I started reading Stephen King and my mom's romance novels. I think when you experience that magic of being transported by someone else's writing, you love the idea of being able to do the same thing yourself, of giving that gift of disappearing into a book. In high school and university, writing was pretty much limited to essays and reports and this will sound weird but I actually really loved doing those - it felt like stretching these great muscles to be creative in that way, and I felt like I was good at it. I didn't get really serious about my writing until my 30s though. 

How did you become an author?

 I had left my full-time job when my kids were little and I was doing a bit of freelance work but it felt flat and uncreative. Eventually I decided to make a real effort at it, and I knew I needed structure. After some research I decided to apply to the Writer's Studio at SFU. That year really changed my path - I met so many people and built a community of fellow writers, which helped so much with creativity and learning and just feeling like I had a "place" and people to look to for help and support. I started submitting non-fiction and fiction to various journals and competitions and had some early successes and that gave me the boost to just keep chipping away. A few years later, I published my first novel. 

Reflect on your writing process:

 I wish I had a single process, but it varies hugely depending on the time of year and the actual project. I seem to work differently in fall versus spring, for example, and with fiction versus non-fiction. But in general, even when I'm working with a daily routine, I find my work tends to come in big leaps - one day will be a huge amount or a big lightbulb goes off and then the next few weeks will be small incremental additions. 

What did you do before embarking on your writing career? 

Was it an asset to your writing? How? 

My first degree at university was in psychology and I definitely think that has helped my writing! But I never worked in that field; after I finished my degree, I did a second degree in journalism and that was where I landed in my career. It was a way to write and get paid a wage to do it. And I got to learn about a lot of interesting people everyday. I did that for about 13 years before I left. And it has been an asset for sure but not in the way people think - there seems to be an assumption that the fields are so closely related that it's easier to get published in literary work but that's definitely not the case. I didn't know anyone in the publishing industry, didn't have any special connections. But it did help me a ton in other ways - I learned how to work fast and clean and meet a deadline. I learned how to edit my own work and how to work collaboratively. I am often told by the people I work with that they enjoy working with me because I am responsive, efficient ... I'm always thinking about the next person in the production line after me, knowing that an editor or a proofreader or a layout person will have to take my words and get them publication ready. So I want their job to be as easy as possible, and that means I try to cross my T's and dot my I's and deliver clean good copy that doesn't need a lot of work to prep. 

What inspires you? 

oh that's a good question - I think I'd say other writers because I'm always blown away by the ideas that people come up with, the tenacity and determination I see in other writers. It's the most exciting thing when I have a writer friend who gets that phone call from an agent or publisher and I know that behind the scenes there has been rejection, and that they had to keep picking themselves back up and trying again, to make it happen. 

Please share one of your successful author platform-building techniques:

I have a really hard time asking people to "pay attention to me" - it's one of the things about social media in general that I find challenging. But sharing your books, your events, your updates is really critical when you're a writer. It's part of how you promote and publicize your work. On the other hand, I find it really easy and fun to promote other people, to be a cheerleader for other writers and so I do a lot of that, it feels much more authentic to be paying attention to other people and to be sharing their work out to other people. And that is across the board, from emerging writers placing in a contest to a multipublished author announcing a new book. I get excited for people and I like cheering them on. And though it wasn't intentional, I think that kind of outward-looking focus feels genuine to people who are watching, and so they're maybe more inclined to want to follow you as a result? I don't have heaps and heaps of followers but I think the people who do follow me are there partly because of that - because I'm not just there to talk about my own stuff. 

Parting words: 

Keep going. If the urge to write is in you, it won't go away. You have stories to tell! And if you don't feel like a writer, and you're waiting for that magical moment when you will, I can tell you that no outside approval or success will get you there - it's an inside job. So start telling yourself right now, every day: I am a writer, I belong here, I can do this. 

Published in 2024

Halfway Home: Thoughts From Midlife (non-fiction, essays) - From first bra to first hot flashes, the essays in Halfway Home consider and re-consider the lessons we’ve learned through media and culture-–and often from each other—about our bodies, gender roles, aging, parenting, and our own futures in an uncertain world, as we reach and move through midlife. With warmth and wit, tears and laughter, Halfway Home is a reminder that none of us are walking home alone.

Published in 2021

The List of Last Chances (fiction) - Heartfelt and humorous, The List of Last Chances follows a pair of reluctant travel companions across the country into an unexpected friendship, new adventures, and the rare gift of second chances. From PEI to Vancouver, this road trip story takes readers along for a ride that reveals that our best life might be right around the corner - if we have the courage to keep going and see. 

February on this blog

Sunday, February 9

Love Stories: a collection

I'm celebrating love in all its wonderous forms in this collection of prose and poetry--just in time for Valentine's Day.

Sunday, February 16

Two Paths (short story)

Inspiration for this story came from two sources--a quote by Ella Winter "Don't you know you can't go home again?" and Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken

Sunday, February 23

Grandma's Knitting Needles Sing (children's story)

This children's story celebrates the bond between grandparents and grandchildren, introduces the art of knitting, and explains how wool is produced.