Playing the Cello (short story) by Leanne Dyck

 The cello stands in the corner, waiting to sing her song. Who will help her sing it? My friend Manon's relationship with her cello inspired this short story. 

"Sky" photo by ldyck

Playing the Cello

The cello leaned against the boy and felt him drag the bow across her strings. It hurt her, and she sang out in pain, "Ouch!"

Sometimes the boy's hands were dirty from playing outside and sticky from eating jam on toast, but the cello didn't mind. He played her. Slowly, day by day, the boy became her friend. Slowly, day by day, the boy learned how to hold the bow and pull it across her strings so it didn't hurt. And slowly, day by day, her song became sweeter and ever sweeter. Her music was so beautiful that others listened. Sometimes, many times, the boy's mother listened.

But one day the boy didn't come to play. And that day stretched into a week, a month, a year. The cello stood in the corner of the room waiting.

"What's that thing?" Visitors asked.

"I'm a cello. Play me," the cello sang, but without her bow against her strings, she couldn't sing loud enough to be heard. 

Year after year, the cello waited. Until one day someone did pick up her bow. Someone did drag the bow across her strings.

"Ouch!" It hurt her.

Had the boy come back? Had he remembered his friend?

No.

The boy's mother came—her hands smelled of soap, meals cooked, and gardens tended. Slowly, day by day, the woman learned how to draw the bow so it didn't hurt. Slowly, day by day, the cello sang more and more sweetly.

And now no one asks, "What's that big thing?" For everyone knows that she's a cello and she sings sweetly. She sings for you in lush gardens where bumblebees buzz. And she sings for me in grand concert halls where once long ago cellists in white wings and jackets with tails played. And she sings...

What does a cello sound like?

On the Blog in December

Sunday, December 22

Carry Me Home (children's story)

Mitten happily rests beside his brother in the girl's pocket, but then he falls...  It's cold... It's dark... Who will help Mitten get home?

Sunday, December 24

Christmas Collection (short stories)

A slight change of plans. I've decided to share my collection of Christmas-themed short stories--including the one I wrote this year.  I hope you enjoy reading them. 

Sunday, December 29

Holiday Office Party (short story)

 Holiday parties can be challenging, especially for spouses. What do you say to people you barely know but who may be important to your husband's career?

And my year-end wind-up.

Book Review: My Effin' Life by Geddy Lee (memoir)

Geddy Lee is an inviting, engaging and generous author. In My Effin' Life, he writes openly and honestly about his life and his music. I highly recommend this book to fledgling musicians and Rush fans.

My Effin' Life

Geddy Lee

co-authored by Daniel Richler

Harper

an imprint of Harper Collins Publishers

2023

(memoir)

507 pages

As a teenager, I didn't listen to metal music. I was scared of the sound, the musicians, the fans. They seemed consumed by an uncontrollable rage. I ran away, hid away, afraid to be near them, fearful that rage would be directed at me. 

However...

One day, my boyfriend (now husband) told me to "Listen to this."

The music was strange, unnerving...Metal

"I don't like--."

"Just keep listening."

I did and... And... "I like that song." and that one... and that one.

I sang along. I attended concerts. I became a Rush fan.

One day, my husband came into the living room carrying a book. "Leanne, you need to read this."

I can count my husband's book recommendations on the fingers of one hand. 

He gave me the book. It weighed a ton. "I don't read thick books. 200 to 300 that's about my range--ideally closer to 200. Thick books don't maintain my interest. And lately, I've been on a bit of a reading jag. I've started one book after another but haven't finished any. I'm afraid I won't do this book just--." I looked up. Byron was gone. He'd left the room.

I had a decision to make, I could leave the book on the end table, unread or hunt Byron down and give the book back or...

I opened the book and began to read... Correction, I didn't so much read this book as was led through it by foreshadowing such as...

'as I will show you in time" (p. 16) 

My Effin' Life is full of humour. I laughed out loud so many times. One of those times, my husband overheard me. "What's so funny?" I told him and he laughed too.

Geddy listed his early musical influences and many--who am I kidding--most of the names sailed right past me, but then he mentioned Paul Simon and Jonie Mitchell and, and... 

"there are certain words I sing in Rush in a very Bjork-like manner." (p. 100)

Bjork? That warmed this Icelandic-Canadian's heart.

Geddy lists his literary influences: John Wyndham and Ayn Rand

"The more influences one has that are then filtered through one's own personality, the more one ends up with a style and a sound that one can legitimately call one's own." (p. 212)

My Effin' Life is infused with wisdom...

"I used to advise my kids or pals whenever they were at a crossroads to just keep moving forward with positive energy, either you will find the answer or it will find you." (p. 503)

There's a lot in this book. Why not take it off the shelf and see what you find.

Did you know...

Dyslexic author

Dav Pikey

And this...

Friday, March 29 at 4:36 pm

I'm blown away by your generous support. Thank you!

 April and May on this blog...

Wanderlust (short story) by Leanne Dyck

There are tons of story prompts on the Internet. I read one suggesting that inspiration be gleaned from a few verses from a song. I read this prompt and forgot about it. I was working on a number of writing projects. I didn't need to be prompted. But, apparently, my subconscious was inspired. Early one morning, I wrote this short story--inspired by two verses from Tom Paxton's 1964 classic, "Can't Help But Wonder Where I'm Bound." 

from a collection of vintage postcards  ldyck

Wanderlust

His boyhood home hadn't changed—same blue Pontiac in the driveway, same welcome mat. It felt odd, but he knocked anyway. His little sister—now a woman—opened the door.

"Well, look at you."

"You've been gone a long time," she said with unmistakable maturity.

"I had to read life's stories in the stars, in the sand." He couldn't be blamed for a poet's curiosity.

He told her of what he'd found—the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben—as she made coffee and put icebox cookies on a plate.

"Where are Mom and Dad?"

"They always left the porch light on. They grew old waiting for you to come home." As gently as she could, she told him about standing under the oak tree, watching their coffins being lowered into the ground.

That woke him from his introspection. He felt the sand in the hourglass trickling away. It was time he did what was expected. He got a job, got married, bought a house, had kids. He tried; he really did. But one day, the wind in the trees sang a certain song. He couldn't resist the call of the road.

He found his wife in the kitchen and waited until she took the last batch of cookies out of the oven.

"Honey, I have something I have to tell you." I can't breathe. It's like I'm in a small box being squeezed to death. I'll send money; you won't do without. It's nothing you've done; it's who I am. But he looked at her face—those soft, doe-like eyes. So full of love. So trusting.

The door banged open. The kids thundered into the house. 

She bolted from her chair, pointing at the door. "Outside. Take off those mud-caked shoes outside." Returning to him, she asked, "Sorry, what did you want to tell me?"

But the moment was lost. His courage was gone. All he could say was, "I love you"—which was enough for her. Only he knew she would need more. And day after day, he tried. And day after day, he failed. In the end, he left it all in a note.

He sent her postcards from every place he visited, hoping that in some small way it would make amends. See, I do think of you—he hoped the gesture proved. He always signed the cards with love.

Maybe one day, when you're away from home, you'll meet him. He'll probably tell you what he told me. "Have an adventure or maybe two. But go home—before you forget how to." Buy him a beer or two, and he may even sing fragments of a barely remembered song, "Nail your shoes to the kitchen floor, lace 'em up and bar the door/Thank your stars for the roof that's over you."

This short story is dedicated to George.

Next Post:  Sunday, February 18 
at approximately 5:00 PM PST
Self-publishing? Ah, nope
I explain why I explain why I continue to travel down the path I'm taking

Sharing my author journey...

Celebrating the Active Pass Festival

The Active Pass Festival celebrated the beauty and inspiration of my island home. 

Opening ceremonies...

 Michael Dunn, master of ceremonies and head organizer

 an excited and supportive crowd

Mayne Island community choir

There was truly something for everyone...

-sailing tours

-walking tours

-studio tours

-craft shows

Terrill Welch at work

-art exhibits

-music concerts

-author readings

and more


Many times during this three-day festival I wished that I could split myself in half and in half and in half again. I figured that way I wouldn't have to miss anything.

The highlight for me were the author readings. These readings were offered on Saturday and Sunday. 

Saturday, I was entertained by two powerful female authors who were driven to tell their truth. 

The first, Adrienne Brown (memoirist), fell era to her artist parents' story. Ms. Brown took on this challenge even though she was not an artist herself. She read from The Life and Art of Harry and Jessie Webb. 

The second, Cathy Ford (poet), felt compelled to make the world remember the women who were killed during the Ecole Ploytechnique massacre. Ms. Ford took on this challenge even though, at the time of the shooting, she lived several provinces away. She read from her long poem Flowers We Will Never Know the Names Of.

Sunday, the day began with...

9 AM author reading by Pam Withers. Pam offered writing tips and talked about her author journey and the research she did in order to write her latest book -- Andreo's Race. This research included a trip to Bolivia.

10 AM author Amber Harvey. Amber spoke about the inspiration for her writing -- to entertain and leave a legacy for her grandchildren. She read from her soon-to-be-published book, Magda's Mysterious Stranger. 

11 AM author Leanne Dyck 
I invited singer, songwriter, and actor Georgia Johnson to perform with me.

Georgia performing on the main stage on the Ag Hall grounds

My recipe:  3 short stories
2 songs
musical accompaniment
audience involvement
Blend together and offer to a room full of supportive friends.
Result:  an amazing author high


Noon with Governor-General award-winning children's writer, Kit Pearson. Ms. Pearson read from her newly released books The Whole Truth and And Nothing But the Truth. She told us that the books had started out as one but her publisher suggested that they become two. Ms. Pearson is a prolific, well-established (over 30 years) author. I'm looking forward to talking with her on May 17th...

(Please click on the image to embolden)

By this time, my brain was exploding with information and inspiration. So I took a small break. I returned to the library for...

Governor-General award-winning poet and fiction author, Arleen Pare. Ms. Pare read from her newly released poetry collection Lake of Two Mountains. I enjoyed listening to Ms. Pare's poetry, but I am a huge fan of her fiction. Here is my review of Ms. Pare's last novel -- Leaving Now.

More...

Mayne Island web site 

Mayne Island news blog

Writing contest...

Room's Poetry and Fiction Contest is Now open
Deadline:  July 15, 2015
contest guidelines


Sharing my author journey...

The musical (writing game) by Leanne Dyck

I've been playing this game for many years. When did I start, was I a teenager or younger? Did a Language Arts teacher introduce the game to me or...? I'm not sure.

By playing this game, you'll learn how to develop a plot. You'll learn how to take your characters from the first scene to the end of the play.

Chose a song from your favourite genre and band. A good source of songs is songbooks (go figure)--especially ones with old or traditional songs. Use the entire song or only a few lines. Once you've selected the songs--or parts of songs--string them together to form a story. Don't hesitate to rewrite the song--if necessary.

(selfie by Leanne Dyck)

Inspired by Celtic music, I created a four-scene musical.

Three actors:  an older woman, a younger woman, and a man
Costume:   The women wear worn clothing -- think old Irish dress--long skirts and shawls.  The man wears a suit jacket with a knit vest and high, leather boots. 

Prop:  rocking chair

Scene I

three actors on stage
The two women stand together, stage left. 
The man is at stage right.

A fiddle and tin whistle playing in the background.

The older woman pushes the younger woman to the centre stage. 

The younger woman dances as the older woman sings...

Step It Out Mary

Step it up, Mary, my fine daughter

Step it up, Mary, if you can

Step it up, Mary, my fine daughter

Show your legs to the countryman

Show your legs to the countryman

The man steps forward and sings...

Black Leather Band

Her eyes, they shone like the diamonds

I thought she was queen of the land

And her hair hung over her shoulder

Tied up with a black velvet band

(photo by Leanne Dyck)

Scene II

two actors on stage:  the man and the young woman

The man kneels and takes the young woman's hand

He sings...

The Wild Rover

And it's no, neigh, never (he slaps his knee 3 times)

No, neigh, never, no more

Will I play the wild rover

No never, no more

(photo by Leanne Dyck)

Scene III

the man wears a morning coat

the young woman wears a veil

three actors on stage:  the man and the two women

the man and the younger woman stand centre stage

the older woman stands stage left and sings...

The Gypsy Rover

He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang

And he won the heart of my baby

(photo by Leanne Dyck)

Scene IV

young woman, centre stage, on rocking chair, blanket in arms (as if holding a baby) sings...

An Irish Lullaby

Too-ra-loor-ra-loor-ra, Too-ra-loor-ra-li

Too-ra-loor-ra, hush now, don't you cry

Too-ra-loor-ra-loor-ra, Too-ra-loor-ra-li

Too-ra-loor-ra, that's an Irish lullaby

fade to black

Sharing my author journey...

My secret ingredient to building this successful blog...

'You are the wind beneath my wings'
'I'm walking on sunshine'
And I just want to call and say

(Google image)

It's amazing to look back and realize how far we've come. This year, together, we've scaled many mountains and swam a lot of seas.

For example...
On January 1, 2013 this blog had accumulated 49,000 page views
We now have over 170,000 page views
For example...
I added my first post to Google Plus on January 30, 2012
over 1, 600 of you now have me in your circles
For example...
The most popular post (Knit, Knitting, Knitted tutorial-tails) has received over 5,000 page views
The second most popular post (Please welcome Author Joyce T. Strand) has received over 2,000 page views
My most popular short story that I've shared is (Eve's Other Children)--it received over 80 page views 
(The reason why these are different than the ones listed under most popular posts is that the ones listed at the bottom of the home page are the weekly highs.)
For example...
The first guest to this blog was knitwear designer Stephannie Tallent she visited on November 5, 2010
Followed a few days later on November 8th by my eldest brother Rick--who wrote an article about sheep farming.
My most recent guests were Karen Guzman and Cathy Cruise of the blog Write Despite
I have many guests. I encourage you to visit the Guest Posts page

We've done so much that I'm beginning to think that there's nothing we can't do. We've done so much that I'm beginning to be a little jaded. You've supported me so much that I think I've started taking you for granted. And I've started to think this blog is all about me. It's not about me -- it's about us.
author -- reader
host -- guest
It's about making connections and being inspired. You inspire me to continue to write this blog. You inspire me to practice my craft.
That's why...
I just want to stop and thank you
So, from me to you...

(Google image)

Here's to another fun-filled year of accomplishments.

What's Bluegrass? (short story) by Leanne Dyck

A short story about my adventures with music.

My peers schooled me about music. "Country is for nerds. Rock is cool."

Holding a hairbrush like a microphone, I sang along to The Beatles,  The Rolling Stones, The Guess Who and Crosby, Still, Nash and Young--but mostly Young. I thought Neil Young was so dreamy.

While in University, I attended the Winnipeg Folk Festival . Under a sun-filled endless blue sky and through misty rain, the diverse audience became a community united by music. 

"I'm a folkie," I told my boyfriend, Byron. 

He had an extensive music collection--records, tapes, CDs. Amongst the rock musicians, I saw names I didn't recognize. 

"Who's Peter Rowan?" I asked and he put the CD into his sound system. I was captivated by what I identified as a folk musician. 

“Would you like to cross the border to Tacoma, Washington for Wintergrass and listen to Bluegrass?”

Wintergrass? Bluegrass?

I guess he noticed my puzzled expression. “You know. Musicians like Peter Rowan.”

That was enough for me, I packed my suitcase.

At the festival, scattered throughout the hotel lobby, groups of people sang and played instruments. Fiddles. Guitars. But there were also huge fiddles that stood on the floor and another instrument that looked like a cross between a guitar and a ukulele.

“Where are the drums?” I wondered out loud.

“There are no drums in Bluegrass,” Byron said. 

“Do you know who that is?” I followed his line of sight to a man playing guitar. Just some guy.  “That's Peter Rowan.”

“Pet...er...Ro...wan? Here? Now?” I sputtered like a star-struck teenager. He wasn’t being clawed to death by eager fans. No one hounded him for an autograph. “How can he just be standing there, playing his guitar? Don’t they know who is he?”

“Of course, they do. But that’s the thing about Bluegrass—anyone can play with anyone. The stars don’t act like stars. They're just people."

We found our room and Byron said, “You’re going to love this weekend. The opening act is Bill Munroe, the father of Bluegrass.”

We took the elevator down to the concert hall and I was lost in thought. The father of Bluegrass? This music is ancient; he must be older than dirt. 

We found our seats and the master of ceremonies introduced the first act, "Bill Monroe and the Bluegrass Boys."

On mass, the audience gave the band claiming the stage a standing ovation--just for showing up.

Bill Monroe looked so old, so fragile--like he should have been in a wheelchair. I hoped nothing happened to him on stage.

To his credit, Bill made it safely through the first couple of songs. But then he appeared to keel over--bending forward at the waist. All of us, the entire audience, offered a collective moan.

A younger band member voiced our concern, "Is Bill okay?"

The answer came from his older bandmate. "Bill? Sure, he's just getting down."

Bill's hand flew across the strings. And he proved right then, right there why this was his music.

Bluegrass' high, lonesome sound stole my heart. It's the voice of the common man--the people I grew up around, where I'm from. And if that makes me a hick, I'll wear the title proudly.

For more than half a century, [Bill Munroe] shaped bluegrass with forceful mandolin playing, high, lonesome singing and mastery of his band the Blue Grass Boys. [1]

Bluegrass music is the synthesis of American southern string band music, blues, English, Irish and Scottish traditions, and sacred and country music. It is distinguished by its high energy, fast tempo sound…

The genre was named after Bill Munroe’s band...who began performing in the 1940s. Bluegrass songs were about issues important to everyday people...[—religion,] love, home, and family, sometimes exploring the darker side of these issues. [2]

Until his death [in 1996], Munroe continued to propagate the gospel of bluegrass to worldwide audiences, appearing in all fifty states and Canada as well as on tours of Japan, England, Ireland, Holland, Switzerland, and Israel. [1]

[1] CountryMusic Hall of Fame, “Bill Munroe”

[2] SmithsonianFolk Ways Recordings, “Bluegrass on Folkways: An American roots tradition”

Related articles...

The African musical influence in the world of bluegrass music

Jessica Blankenship

Partying on this island

I'm sorry that I was a little late in posting to this blog but I've been partying for four days.
Thursday:  a free concert at the Agricultural Society Hall

Emcee Lou Keeting

Opening act:  The Jess Willows' Band

Main act:  Savage Rose and the Incredibles

Friday:  a fundraiser at the Agricultural Society Grounds
There was dunking

and there was saving

Funds will go to 'Mayne Islanders and their families who are having a critical health issue and could use some assistance' (quoted from the Mayne Liner--the community news magazine)


Saturday:  Karokee night at the Agricultural Society Hall
Funds went to the Mayne Island kid's soccer camp


Sunday:  Celebrating Canada Day at beautiful Diner Bay Park

the Sarah McLachlan concert