Last week, before the calendar switched to March, I changed our book displays in our classroom. Not because we stop celebrating Black history and excellence but because we wanted to add the component of females in history.
I was asked if I would share my list here, and while I don’t mind sharing it, I will say that it has holes. While I wanted to showcase an inclusive mix of picture books, I am still adding picture books that go beyond the well-known stories. I feel like there are many unknown women whose picture books are not on our shelves at the moment, so I am working on finding these for the future. I also want to continue to work on including more indigenous or First Nation stories, as well as stories of women who defy the narrow definition of their gender.
Originally posted on An Aussie Maple Leaf, adrift on the wind…: Laura Secord was an incredibly gutsy woman.? When she overheard plans by the Americans to attack the British soldiers defending Canada in the War of 1812, she walked almost 20 miles from her home in Queenston to warn them. She was determined to get…
When she overheard plans by the Americans to attack the British soldiers defending Canada in the War of 1812, she walked almost 20 miles from her home in Queenston to warn them. She was determined to get the message to the British soldiers, under the command of Lieutenant FitzGibbon, at Beaver Dams, where the Americans planned to attack.
This was no walk in the park. It was over varied terrain in 19th century ladies’ shoes and clothing which, it may safely be assumed, were not designed for much other than drinking tea in parlours and visiting a shop or two on the odd occasion. She didn’t go by the main road, because she didn’t want to be stopped by more American soldiers. Even though she was afraid when she came upon a camp of Iroquois, she asked for directions and was pleased to…
Sylvermoon Chronicles is an annual short story anthology created by The Confederacy of the Quill, an international writers’ cooperative. I am very proud to have one of my stories, Contaminus, included in the 2019 issue of this highly regarded anthology series.
While the book releases on Valentines Day, it should not be mistaken for a romance collection.
Rather, I like to think of it as a gift for those who, like me, would sooner read genres other than lovey-dovey romance, and a welcome distraction from all the kissy-face sentimentality often associated with February 14th. The Sylvermoon Chronicles series features stories in the genres of Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, and Adventure.
It is an honor to be published in a series which I have very much enjoyed as a reader, alongside a number of authors whose work I have previously read, reviewed and fangirled over. I was both excited and slightly surprised when my story was accepted, especially given the inspiration behind the writing of Contaminus.
New worlds await you in the newest Sylvermoon Chronicles collection, which hit the shelves today. The ebook is widely available now, and the paperback will be available soon.
I remember as a child going to visit friends of my parents’ for dinner, and being served a dessert called Ambrosia. I had never heard of it before, and I remember being amazed by how sweet and delightful it was. The sensation of wanting more when the little dish set before me was empty is still a very clear memory.
When I was a bit older and started reading about history, I discovered that ambrosia was a mythical substance that, having been brought to the Ancient Greek Gods by doves, became their food of choice, along with their favoured drink, nectar. Ambrosia and nectar may have even originally been the same thing, but Homer and Sappho both distinguish between them. Given that they were present in Ancient Greece and I was not. their authority on the matter is something I am willing to accept.
Ambrosia was understood to be fragrant, powerful and reserved for the gods, who adored it because of its healing and cleansing powers, and because it took years off their physical ages. It filled them with passion and made them desirable. Little wonder, then, that they wanted to keep it for themselves!
In time, ‘ambrosia’ was a term that became popular among the Romans as any delightful essence or concoction of food or drink, and then may have given rise to the idea of “the elixir of life” that people have been searching for ever since.
It was the concept of drinking something that resulted in passion that lasted for eternity that caused me to write my poem Ambrosia about the power of a lover’s effect on one’s life and soul. I wanted to capture that heady, addictive feeling between lovers that makes them believe nothing and nobody else matters, and that their love transcends time, place and physical limitations.
Anyone who has experienced those feelings will relate. Anyone who has landed hard on their posterior after doing something stupid for love will probably relate, but may also mutter uncharitable things about love and romance under their breath. Those who haven’t experienced it may scoff.
Yet the feelings and experiences described in the poem do exist, and they are what the celebration of Valentine’s Day has come to be all about: it’s the kind of love that everyone wants to find and experience, although it’s fair to say that not everyone does.
We must remember, after all, that the legend of Valentines Day was never about flowers, candlelight dinners and fairy-tale, kissy-face wedding proposals: it began with a man being executed for something he believed in.
At any rate, I wrote Ambrosia in honour of the love of my life who, after many years together, still hasn’t driven me to drink. I have, however, been known to do take a risk or two for the love of him from time to time, so it’s an appropriate poem to share on Valentine’s Day.
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Ambrosia is publshed in my book, Smoke and Shadows.
After a crazy-busy Christmas and New Year “silly season” followed by some medical events with my father, we managed to get away for a few days to one of our favourite destinations. It’s a little caravan park (aka ‘trailer park’ in American English) nestled into a bend on the Surry River on the south-western coast of Victoria, just down the hill from a small hamlet named Narrawong.
Many people might drive through Narrawong on their way from Warrnambool to Portland and suspect that there’s not much there. They’d be wrong.
This area is full of surprises. We’ve been spending part of our January here for years, but we are still finding new things to do and see.
This year’s unexpected bonus was a visit to the Bay of Whales Gallery, where wildlife artist Brett Jarrett creates and exhibits his amazing realist art of all sorts of animals and birds.
Visitors are welcome to talk with Brett and watch him work, which makes them feel very connected to his artwork. It’s a very relaxed and comfortable place, and it was lovely to be able to walk around and peruse Brett’s paintings at our own pace.
There is beauty outside the gallery, too. Peacocks and chickens roam the grounds of the building, which sits atop a hill that overlooks natural bush, farmland, beach and bay.
The Bay of Whales Gallery is open Wednesday to Sunday.
My friends and I can personally testify that very good coffee and a range of delicious home-made cakes are available on weekends.
I love a good family story or tradition, especially one that gets etched into the conversation patterns and banter for years to come. A moment of humour or a funny experience becomes part of who we are, both individually and collectively.
One of those stories half belongs to our great friend, Lindsay. He is a super nice person, and we’ve been friends for at least twenty years.
On one particular occasion maybe fifteen years ago, maybe more, he and I were outside doing some work on the farm that my husband and I were living on, and where Lindsay was a regular and most welcome visitor. I can’t remember what were talking about, but I remember this part of the conversation vividly.
We laughed. We told my husband the story. And it stuck. We still “do the routine” at least once a week. It honestly never gets old.
Monday was one of those days. After the lines were said and the laughter was had, I thought for a while, as I have often done before, about how clever a comeback it was.
I also thought about exactly what I am full of. It wasn’t much of a surprise to me when those thoughts began to turn into a poem. That’s what my thoughts do.
I’ve never understood why people feel the need to pressure someone to conform. Why are they so intimidated by someone daring to think for themselves, pursue their own dreams and make choices according to their own preferences?
And what I really don’t get is how they can say they love someone and yet reject particular qualities that makes that person who they are.
These are the thoughts that have contributed to a poem I finished recently.
The imagery is macabre and horrifying. The message is dark. None of that will surprise anyone who knows my writing.
I won’t discuss the details of the situations that led to it being written. Suffice to say that there are people in various “circles” in which I live and move who have, at one time or another, exerted significant pressure on me to be less individual and more compliant with the way they like or want things to be.
I have some bad news for them.
I will not submit to their peer pressure. As adults, they should know better.
I will not moderate my politics, my social conscience, or my rampant individuality for them.
I will not be submissive or silent in response to their bad behaviour, intolerance and hypocrisy.
If they don’t like it, they can go and boil their heads.
Of course, that’s all excellent news for me. In the immortal words of the Monty Python team, “I’m not dead yet!”
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A year ago, my character Friday didn’t exist. He didn’t appear in my imagination until Friday 13th of October, when I wrote a spooky piece of flash fiction featuring a black cat. At that time, I didn’t expect it would be any more than that.
Friday had other ideas. He showed up again the next day, and the next, and the day after that, too. By Halloween, I had written thirteen macabre stories featuring Friday, a magical black cat with a penchant for poetic justice.
“A lovely collection of tales, overseen by a
cat who defends his person with almighty
power. A little gory, and a lot killy. ;-)”
Playing with common superstitions, the old proverb “curiosity killed the cat” and the strange events that happen in the stories, I titled the book of these collected stories ‘Curious Things’.
Of course, it’s not the magical cat who ends up in trouble. It’s the people who allow their curiosity, dishonesty or greed to get them into bad situations who find themselves on the wrong end of Friday’s magic.
Friday was, quite naturally, rather pleased. He purred his way onto bookshelves, rubbed against the ankles of those browsing the YA, paranormal and horror bookshelves, and wrapped his sleek black tail around readers’ hearts.
“This cat is like Karma on four legs.”
He enjoyed the attention and adulation of his fans so much, he began to demand I write some more stories for him. Being a cat, he’s most accustomed to getting what he wants. And so, Friday’s next book, titled ‘Curious Times’ is due to be released in early October, right on time for Halloween reading!
I’m very excited to reveal the cover of ‘Curious Times’ right here, for the first time!
‘Curious Times’ will be available in all major and some minor digital stores, and widely available as a paperback.
Stay tuned on social media and this blog for an announcement of the book’s release!
A couple of friends on Facebook tagged me in this challenge last night:
For those authors out there, list 10 other authors/individuals who’ve made an impression on you or who have helped influence your writing in some manner.
This is the sort of tag challenge I enjoy, because it gives me an opportunity to acknowledge some of the influences who have helped me to become the writer that I am today.
I’m a total bookworm, and I know I’ve read many, many magnificent books in my time. They’ve all contributed to my imagination, my understanding of the world, and the wellspring of ideas that flow through my brain and into my words.
The ten I’ve listed here are authors whose work I have consciously aspired to honour in my own writing, either stylistically or in the themes and ideas I regularly explore.
None of the names on this list will surprise anyone who knows me. Those who have read my work probably won’t be too surprised either – not because I have copied them, but because of the “trace evidence” in various poems or stories I have written.
This list is presented in no particular order, because I couldn’t possibly rank them. I wouldn’t even know where to start.
WordyNerdBird 