Leanne Dyck's blog: Callie

Read Chapter Eight--the final chapter

photo by ldyck

September on this Blog...

You may know that I write to adults and children. You probably know that I write short stories. You may not know that I write memoirs. I will make room on this blog...

Callie Ch 7 by Leanne Dyck (inspired by the writing life) "Open Mic Night"

Chapter Six: Aurora takes the job as a server at The Starving Artist and seals her fate with Callie. Do you think she made the right decision? What would you have done?

photo by ldyck

Callie

Chapter Seven

Friday after Friday, my co-workers kept pressuring me. "Tonight?" and "Come on, get up there."

Clearly sharing my stories was an expectation. If I didn't join in, would I lose my job? Fear that the answer was yes drove me out of the audience to the microphone. The lights were low; the bar was crowded. I read my words with emphasis the way I'd rehearsed.

Alone with Him

Applause accompanied me back to my table, and there he waited—the first guy to hit on me since Rupert. I soaked up the attention and joined him in his cab.

He led me to his bedroom. The bed was made. There was no dirty laundry on the floor. Why do I always attract neat freaks?

"You don't know how talented you are, do you?" He kissed my neck. "Never doubt your author voice. Believe in the power of your words." He undid button after button on my sweater. "Always—"

Boeotia

A golden ray kisses

The cheek of an angel

An angel whispers to a mourning dove

"Awake, my child, and sing."

"Sorry about the noise," I said.

"I don't hear any—"

I put my index finger on my lips, found my purse, and left the bedroom—so Callie and I could be alone.

A mourning dove's song

Awakens a fair maiden

A fair maiden stretches her arms

to the sun,

to inspiration,

"Lead me."

A day begins in Boeotia.

I tiptoed back into the bedroom, thinking that what's-his-name was asleep.

He sat up in bed. "You hear voices?"

"Voice. Only my muse—Callie's. When she speaks, I write."

"You won't write about us, will you?" He looked worried.

"I write whatever my muse tells me to."

He crawled out of bed and handed me my discarded clothes. He gave me some lame excuse for why I had to leave and why we could no longer see each other. Maybe he said he was moving to the South Pole or becoming a priest or... Whatever.

I wondered what truth he was trying to hide from my pen as I dressed quickly and left.

photo by ldyck

With a job that supports her writing and Callie's inspiration, prepare yourself for Aurora's happy ending.

Are you following me?

photo by ldyck

Sharing my Author Journey...

My goal was to finish the first draft before the end of August. Day

Callie Ch 6 by Leanne Dyck (inspired by the writing life) "In a Restaurant"

Chapter Five: Aurora abandons sleep to write. What would you do to develop your passion? What would you sacrifice? What would you endure?

Callie

Chapter Six

Authoring a steady stream of stories was a dream come true. But at such an expense. It had been too long since I'd had a good night's sleep. I had very little energy to do anything but write. If I didn't find a job soon, I'd starve. I was forced to take a cold hard look at things, and when I did, I came to a difficult conclusion. I had to give the necklace back.

But... if only... maybe... I made one last desperate attempt to get Callie to listen to reason. "I’m exhausted," I told her. "I need to sleep.”

She kept me up all night long—telling one story after another. I had to take the necklace back. Thankfully the bookstore’s address was listed at the top of the sales receipt.

Receipt in hand, I walked the streets of my neighbour. I went to the correct address, but the store had vanished. In its place, a colourful abstract mural pulled me off the street and into a restaurant—The Starving Artist. Inside was just as vibrant as the mural, with pottery and sculptures displayed on shelves and paintings on walls.

I stood captivated just inside the door. I stood there long enough for a server to notice me.

“Right this way,” she told me.

“No, I...” I couldn’t afford to eat there. If I didn’t find a job soon, the only place I’d be finding my food would be in the nearest dumpster.

“Oh, you’re here about the job.”

Job? “Yes, the job.”

I caught the words “Fifteen dollars an hour plus—” and quickly replied, “I can start immediately.”

"The restaurant is run by an artist collective." We stopped in front of a painting of a cityscape done in abstract—blocks of white represented skyscrapers, black dots for people, and vehicles with red dot headlights. "This is one of mine."

“I really like it.”

“Thanks. What do you do?”

Had I had more than a blink of sleep, I’m sure I would have been able to come up with something better to say than “I write.”

“Open mic night’s the last Friday of every month,” she told me.

Read Chapter Seven

Are you following me?

an article by Simon Thibault

photo by ldyck

And on Monday, August 15...

Tintamarre

'We clang pots and pans, honk car horns, hoot and holler, to make as much noise

Callie Ch 5 by Leanne Dyck (inspired by the writing life) "With Callie's Help"

Chapter Four: So the necklace is a vessel in which Calliope, a Greek Muse, communicates with writers. Knowing this, would you wear the necklace?

Callie

photo by ldyck

Chapter Five

Gone was the struggle for the right word, the elusive character voice, the frantic need to keep inspired, to keep motivated. Now, like magic, stories just kept coming—rushing out, like water from a tap—night...

A Stone Heart

(click the link to listen and read this story)

after night...

In Icelandic

(click the link to listen and read this story)

after night...

He Saved Me

(click the link to listen and read this story)

after night...

What's Wrong with Michelle

(click the link to listen and read this story)

after night...

The Way of It

(click the link to listen and read this story)

after night...

A Confession

(click the link to listen and read this story)

after night...

Larry

(click the link to listen and read this story)

after night...

Answering Machine

(click the link to listen and read this story)

after night...

Lasting Love

(click the link to listen and read this story)

after night, Callie tells me her stories. I bring them to life on paper, and they become mine.

Aurora abandons sleep to write. What would you do to develop your passion? What would you sacrifice? What would you endure?

Read Chapter Six

Are you following me?

Sunday, July 31, 2022

Callie Ch 4 by Leanne Dyck (inspired the writing life) "Finding Callie"

Chapter Three: Aurora hears a voice telling her a story. Where do you think the voice is coming from? Why do you think the voice has chosen Aurora?

photo by ldyck

Callie

Chapter Four

The following morning, I slipped the necklace around my neck, hopeful that it would bring me luck on my job hunt. Between interviews, I made time to visit my local library.

A gentle spring breeze escorted me through the electronic doors. Inside fluorescent lights met the flash of computer screens, and book spines painted the walls with colour.

At a wall of bookshelves, a bearded man wearing khaki shorts with wool socks in well-worn hiking boots knelt to claim a copy of Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard.

Turning left, I entered an area dominated by several rows of cubicles. Air vibrated with the click of fingers on keyboards. I found an unoccupied computer, logged onto a search engine, and typed ‘image: two snakes twisted around a pin’.

‘The Asclepius, Calliope’s symbol, is often confused with the symbol for the medical profession... Calliope it the eldest of the Greek Muses. She presides over eloquence and epic poetry.’

At the end of the erudite article, I was tempted to comment, "And Callie loves to entertain her victims with stories, far too late at night."

On the way out of the library, I passed a group of teenagers gathered around a rectangular table. One of them, in a denim button-down under a pink cable cardigan, read aloud to the others from a black binder.

Her First Crush

(click the link to listen and read this story)

When she was done reading, her friends giggled, and she blushed. She adjusted the pendant that hung from her necklace before she closed her binder.

I feigned interest in a box of fifty-cent paperbacks so I could continue to listen.

A muddle of chatter spread over the table. All grew quiet when a girl dressed in black, sitting on the opposite side of the table, pulled a piece of paper out of the back pocket of her jeans. One hand held onto the pendant on her necklace as she read.

Be Gentle

(click the link to listen and read this story)

I headed for the door before they caught me standing there. As I passed the table, I noticed that every one of the girls wore a necklace with the pendant. Did Callie visit all of them?

So the necklace is a vessel in which Calliope, a Greek Muse, communicates with writers. Knowing this, would you wear the necklace? What does Aurora do?

Read Chapter Five

Are you following me?

photo by ldyck

Sharing my author journey...

I believe that we--authors and publishers and librarians and...--are all in this publishing

Callie Ch 3 by Leanne Dyck (inspired by the writing life) "The Voice"

Chapter Two: Why did the bookseller give Aurora that necklace? Why did he insist she take it? What is the strangest gift you've been given? Read chapter three...

Callie

photo by ldyck

Chapter Three

That night, outside my apartment building, traffic roared like ocean waves with a steady swish, swish, swish.

Inside? Inside all was quiet, until...

Loving Lisa

It's hard to breathe, think, move. It feels like one of my vital organs is missing—a liver, a kidney, a lung, my heart.

I didn't have a TV or radio. My computer wasn't on. Still, I heard the voice...

I knew it would help if I could cry, but I'm beyond tears. I'm numb—my brain's valiant effort to protect me from the truth.

But what is the truth?

I roll the gold band around and around on my ring finger. I walk over to the fireplace and take our wedding photo off the mantel.

Who is this young couple? They look so happy, so much in love—joined together by a promise. Has he broken that promise?

I figured that the voice must have been coming from one of the neighbouring apartments. I stepped out into the corridor. Though I listened carefully, I couldn't hear a thing.

I returned to my apartment and...

I replace the photo and find myself in the kitchen. Coffee mug in hand, I sit at the table and peer out the window to where his car should be.

I don't want to think I feel abandoned. I feel the distance between us.

But we've always been of different worlds. Me constantly in my head—analyzing, dissecting, categorizing, creating. I sit at my easel for hours. Paint splashes across the white canvas. He's always in motion—pumping weights, jogging, swimming, kayaking. He's a ray of light bouncing around the earth.

The coffee is hot against my tongue.

How he hates my dark moods.

"You should talk with someone," he often tells me, pushing me to treatment. I know what he thinks—fix yourself; you're broken. I'm not allowed to be negative, ever. He expects me to be perpetually happy. Well, that's not normal. It's fake. He takes my sadness as a personal insult.

He proudly hangs my paintings of sunshine and sweet things, but my darker, moodier creations are relegated to my studio.

"Why did you paint that?" He asks—judging, trying to censor me.

"You have no right," I tell him, and we fight.

Did I drive him away?

It may sound odd, but I'd like to think that I was at least partially responsible. It gives me a sense of control. I'd rather believe that than...

Is someone else involved?

He's a good-looking man. I see how other women leer at him. They lick their lips like he's chocolate. Lately, I've noticed one of his students—a sweet, young thing. What's her name? Oh, yes, Lisa. I see how Lisa swallows him up with her eyes, then quickly looks away.

Where is he right now? Are they twisted together in silk sheets? Is he loving Lisa? What's the truth?

Even in my sleep-deprived state, it didn't take long to figure out that the voice was in my apartment. Was it a ghost? Was my apartment haunted? Or was it...the...necklace?

Chapter Four

Aurora hears a voice telling her a story. Where do you think the voice is coming from? Why do you think the voice has chosen Aurora?

Are you following me?

photo by ldyck

A tribute to a dear friend...

God bless the cheerleaders in our lives. Cheerleaders who go that extra mile to support our dreams.

Callie Ch 2 by Leanne Dyck (inspired by the writing life) "Surviving"

Chapter One: No job... No home... No boyfriend... No life... What would you do? What does Aurora do? Read chapter two...

Callie

photo by ldyck

Chapter Two

I'm a survivor. I found an apartment. Rusty brown water poured out of the kitchen faucet, cracked tile floor led to an orange shag carpet, and mold grew on the sliding glass door in the bathroom. Nothing like Ru's dream apartment, but it was all I could afford.

The lump of bills hidden away in a compartment in one of the suitcases would just keep getting smaller. The race was on. What would happen first? Would I find a job or end up on the street begging for coins?

What should a person with a bleak future and meager finances do? I took my worried self shopping. Smart, eh?

I found my personal paradise—a bookstore. Bells chimed as I pushed open the door. I left the sunny day and became engulfed in gray fog. Giant towers of books surrounded me. Among them I was drawn like a magnet to On Writing by Stephen King, Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, The Elements of Style by Strunk and White, The Art and Craft of Storytelling by Nancy Lamb, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert, The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity, and The Right to Write by Julia Cameron. My arms weighed down with books, I searched for the cash register. Once found, I unloaded the pile with a thud. The guy behind the counter eyed me like some kind of exotic insect. We are alone, and his attention unnerved me—slightly.

"This will help," he said in a thick accent, waving a hand over the books. "But you must have..."

Against my better judgment, I followed him down narrow aisles and past towering stacks of books. I'd never felt claustrophobic, but I felt it then. Curiosity was stronger. I needed to know what hidden treasure he would unearth.

He moved with urgency like a rabbit scampering down underground tunnels to... He stopped in front of a collection of necklaces pinned to a corkboard. He removed it and, after wiping off a thick layer of dust, handed it to me, saying, "You must have this."

The tarnished pendant bore an engraving of two snakes twisted around a pin. I knew that image. It had been on some of the papers I'd sorted through after my mother's death. She'd been a nurse. "I'm not a nurse or a doctor," I told him, handing the necklace back.

He forced my hand into a tight fist around the necklace. He said something like 'for-row.'

Huh...?

One thing was clear—refusing wasn't an option. I paid for the books, but he wouldn't take a cent for the necklace.

Chapter Three

Are you following me?

photo by ldyck

Anxious, me? Well...

Anxiety is a by-product of dyslexia. You have one; you get the other--as a free gift. I manage my anxiety by going for long walks but...

Callie Ch 1 by Leanne Dyck (inspired by the writing life) "The End is The Beginning"

One woman's amazing journey to becoming who she was meant to be.

Callie

photo by ldyck

Chapter One

My boyfriend, Rupert, perched on the edge of the chesterfield—elbows on his knees, leaning toward the TV. His complete focus was swallowed up by the game—soccer, of course. On the opposite side of the chesterfield, I pacified my longing, my desire, with poetry.

Devotion

She'd never been in love before

She feared it would never come

She feared she would spend her life alone—heart withered and deformed

No eye would fill with the sight of her

No heart would beat for her alone

But then, but then he had found her

He—the sight of him makes her yearn

He comes to her and her pulse races

His velvet voice stirs her blood

He draws her close and they are alone in the universe

The love for which she has sought

For which she feared would never come

Is born, breathes, and engulfs them

Why couldn't I write like that? I'd tried over and over, but my words were dead on the page. I spent days filling recycling bins, endless nights chasing sentence fragments—pointlessly. My biggest problem was that I didn't have anything to write about. Writing magazines suggested that inspiration could come from the news, daily life, and family history. I tried that, but all I got was boring who-cares crap. Twitter provided writing prompts, and I tried to force words onto the screen, but nothing came.

Alone in the universe... Why didn't Ru and I have a relationship like that? What was wrong with us? What was wrong with him?

I felt the distance between us. It felt like miles.

Something black caught my eye. Our tabby cat Princess pranced into the living room. She jumped into Ru's lap and began to purr as he rubbed her tummy.

"Ru," I purred. I tried again. Louder this time.

"Aurora, I'm watching," he roared at me without looking away from the screen.

When the game was interrupted by a commercial, I slid over to Ru and ran my fingers through his--

He jerked his head away. "The game's on."

"No, it's not. There's a commercial. You have time for our cat."

"I still love Princess."

"What do you mean? I don't under—."

"I said I don't love you anymore." It was like he was telling me we were out of milk.

Numb, then crushed, and then enraged, I swung my book back and—.

He caught my wrist. "There's someone else. All you do is read; she knows how to live. She's in. You're out. Go pack."

I stormed out of the living room and slammed the bedroom door. I shoved the closet door aside, and it hit the wall with a satisfying thud. Ru's designer shirts, pants, and jackets all hung in a razor-blade line. He just loved expensive things. I tore his clothes from their hangers and tossed them out of the window. The big twirling ball of colour tumbled in the air. Suit jackets landed on trees, ties on telephone lines, and his shirts and pants landed in the garden. It was spring; there was mud. I felt like cackling.

Feeling somewhat vindicated, I filled a suitcase with my books and another one with my clothes. Before I left our bedroom, I hunted through Ru's top dresser drawer and pulled out a lump of cash. He owed me.

A gentleman would have helped me navigate my suitcase out of the apartment. He didn't lift a finger. My body was shaking as I navigated the suitcase down the corridor to the elevator and down to the lobby. A set of full-length mirrors by the door in the lobby revealed that my mascara had made raccoon eyes, but I didn't care—well, not that much.

I left the apartment building, heading to...

Some may have turned to their family for support. I didn't. There had been a misunderstanding, a difference of opinion, mistaken assumptions. I'd learned that I couldn't rely on them. I'm sure I disappointed them as well. I promised myself that I would never put myself or them in that situation again. I'm trying to forgive them; I hope they are trying to forgive me. It happened long ago. And I try not to dwell on those memories.

Friends? All of them were Rupert's. I'd worked as his personal assistant. My entire life had been all tangled up in his. He'd defined me. Without him, who was I?

I wrestled with that question as I stepped into the elevator, went down to the lobby, and out onto the street. Rain started to pour. I raced to the bus shelter and slumped on the bench. With no bus in sight, I waited for the next chapter of my life to begin.

Sunday, July 17

Chapter One: No job... No home... No boyfriend... No life... What would you do? What does Aurora do?

Read chapter two...

Callie

photo by ldyck

Are you following me?