Kevin Craig

Left Bank Writers Retreat Because Paris is Always a Good Idea!

PARIS HERE WE COME!

August 31 – September 6, 2024

So says the current announcement below the banner at the top of the Left Bank Writers Retreat website! The 2024 retreat is on! What better time to gift your creativity with a magical escape? Paris in the dying hours of summer when it’s at its richest and most vibrant. You should do it!

Let me begin by saying I am in no way affiliated with the LBWR. I am merely an alumni of this amazing experience. I went on a Left Bank Writers Retreat in June of 2014 and it was life-changing. As my first experience with Paris, the retreat cemented my lifelong desire for the City of Light and brought it to life for me in the most incredible literary way. My first experience with Paris was steeped in the literary traditions of Hemingway and the rest of the brood of Lost Generation denizens. It also sparked my creativity like never before.

This is a shot I took during a morning of writing in Luxembourg Gardens. LBWR founder and host, Darla Worden, instructor Travis Cebula, and LBWR alumnae Nina Welch.

This retreat promises the tracing of Hemingway’s steps throughout Paris, museums, a boat cruise on the Seine, daily writing exercises, readings, lunching where Fitzgerald lunched, and so much more! It’s definitely a not-to-be-missed event. And early September is still full-on summer and a beautiful time to visit Paris.

If you have questions about what to expect during the retreat, there’s a comprehensive list on the LBWR website’s FAQ page. To get an idea of the daily schedule you can expect, you can visit the Schedule page.

The faculty and attendees of the 2014 Left Bank Writers Retreat at our farewell dinner…

If you wish to register for this once-in-a-lifetime event, you can visit the REGISTRATION PAGE.

The faculty of the 2014 Left Bank Writers Retreat: Darla Worden, Sara Suzor, and Travis Cebula. They have since added Tyler Truman Julian to their roster.

Whether you’ve been to Paris a hundred times or only imagined yourself there…this fully immersive retreat will open up the city of light to you like never before. The knowledgeable faculty of the LBWR create an unforgettable itinerary that will give you a solid glimpse into the fabulous 1920s Lost Generation of Hemingway and his literary peers, as it also grants you access to the magic of the Paris of today.

Darla and Travis and Sara are wonderful hosts. They’re so knowledgeable and will offer advice for your downtime between retreat events. I’m certain their new addition will be just as amazing.

In the time since my own attendance in the LBWR, I’ve had several books published. Coincidentally, my last two (THE CAMINO CLUB and BOOK OF DREAMS) are with the same publisher (CHICAGO REVIEW PRESS) as Darla Worden’s Cockeyed Happy: Ernest Hemingway’s Wyoming Summers with Pauline.

Check out Darla Worden’s book on Hemingway…

Click on the image below to visit the LEFT BANK WRITERS RETREAT website:

Visit their website today and give yourself that creative gift you’re always too afraid to give yourself–time to write!

Come August, you could be sitting by the Left Bank, fully immersing yourself in creativity in one of the most beautiful cities on earth. Do it!

Say His Name, Say His Name…Wayson Choy

This past Saturday was the 5th year anniversary of the passing of Canadian Literary icon Wayson Choy. I’m sure everyone who knew him gave a few minutes of contemplation over to Wayson this weekend. Wayson was just that kind of guy. He made you feel special, like you were the only one.

Just one of the many photos in existence filled with those lucky enough to have known and loved Wayson. This is the group of volunteers who made up the behemoth that was the Ontario Writers Conference. The OWC was a labour of love that Wayson took under his wing and nurtured for more than a decade. The decade was our Époque of Wayson and we will always have the cherished memories of that time.

Over the years in which I was fortunate enough to know Wayson, he imparted so much wisdom onto me…and he gave it freely and without expectation.

Every time I saw Wayson, he had something valuable to say. And he was one of those people who stopped the world around you when he spoke to you, just long enough for his words to sink in. His words came through without static…his natural ability to focus became a part of you while you were within his orbit. He slowed you down and then he gave you his gift. It was a bit mesmerizing, really…

I don’t know how to say it. Think of those creatures that have the ability to paralyze their prey with a cocktail of toxins prior to going in for the deadly blow…BUT in a good way. His demeanor would calm you to the point where you’d be sent to this zen-like space—and then he would move in for the final attack…WITH WISDOM!

Don’t get your panties in a knot. I’m certainly not saying that Wayson was like a cone snail, with their hypodermic needle tooth sending paralyzing venom into your veins. Not my intention at all. My intention is to say that Wayson was my Buddha. My calm place. He had an uncanny ability to put people into that place where they should always live…contentment.

Whenever he could, Wayson would give me actual writing advice specific to whatever hurdles I was facing at the time of our meeting. He had a way of peeling away the detritus and getting right to the point. And he would never let me wallow and seesaw about things. It was hard advice lovingly delivered.

Don’t ever be precious enough to carry a notebook too pretty to write in…because Wayson will pop that cherry. This is what he wrote in a notebook I carried to three OWC conferences without once writing a word in.

After a near-death experience, Wayson decided to write a memoir and it is one of the most beautiful memoirs I’ve ever read. NOT YET. He wasn’t ready to leave the beauty of this world behind…he fought to continue and he survived. Do yourself a favour and read this gem…

Anyway, today’s post is just to say his name. When you are in the memory of those you have left behind, you are still alive in them. Maybe today is a good time to think about Wayson and how his gentle nature impacted your life.

In our OWC circle, we used to joke about The Church of Wayson…but it wasn’t really a joke. It was a church I would attend.

There was something of the dickens in Wayson, and we all knew it. Take his book, ALL THAT MATTERS. What a great line to work into a dedication when book signing, right? He’d work that title into every signature…and we would walk away with our copy, hugging it to our chests thinking, “Oh my God, that’s so sweet! Wayson said that I was what matters!” And he’d give a bit of a rascally wink when handing back your copy. Only later, would we all realize we all received the ‘you matter‘ treatment in one form or another above his signature.

The deep truth of all those signings, though, and I’m sure you see it coming—is that we all did actually matter to Wayson. He meant the You Matter, You’re what Matters, You are All that Matters words he jotted down. It was okay that we compared notes, because he was sincere every time he wrote the words. He was present each time, singularly focused on the one person he was book signing for…pure Wayson.

Wayson was no angel, but he was an exemplary example of how humans could live their everyday lives. Make friends and take no hostages. Was it Bill & Ted who said, BE EXCELLENT TO EACH OTHER? Perhaps Wayson was just a fan who took those words to heart and lived them every day.

Keep resting in peace, Wayson. We’ll continue to say your name.

I’m at it AGAIN! My 16th Muskoka Novel Marathon is on the Horizon. I Need Your Help!

Hello readers! I’m here with a plea once again. The 2024 Muskoka Novel Marathon is on the horizon! I can almost see it! We’re in person this year again! Yay! The first time since 2019. That pandemic was something awful, wasn’t it! I’m so grateful to be heading up to Muskoka again for an in-person event. I miss my writing people. This is going to be a year of celebration. We get to get together! I had no idea this would mean so much…just the sheer joy of sitting in a room with my fellow marathoners and hearing all those keyboards pounding out all those words! I cannot wait. (You can click on the copy/paste photo below to be taken directly to my donation page! There’s also a link to the page at the bottom of this blog post.)

Here’s where you come in! I’m just a writer. I’ll be sitting there writing for 72 hours. You’re the one that makes all the difference in the world. As a writer, it’s easy for me to forget what this weekend is about. I’m all about the writing. But we do it as a fundraiser. Sometimes it’s easy for us writers to forget about that side of things. But that’s the reason for the season. We raise funds for the YMCA Simcoe/Muskoka literacy programs. I’ll cut and paste my message from my donation page below. It kind of explains the full thing and shows my level of passion for this event and what it brings about for people who need our help…

Hello and welcome back to another year of the Muskoka Novel Marathon! We’re WRITERS HELPING READERS READ! and so much more! The marathon writers each collect sponsors for our 72 hour novel writing marathon. Donations are 100% funnelled into the literacy programs of YMCA of SIMCOE/MUSKOKA. These funds help not only towards programs helping those with literacy challenges, but also new Canadians gaining a foothold in Canadian society through various programs from English as a second language and beyond. The programs also include computer literacy for the elderly. In short, YMCA of Simcoe/Muskoka is enriching many many lives through their various literacy programs. Here’s where you come in! Us writers have raised well over $200,000.00 throughout the years that the Muskoka Novel Marathon has taken place. We did this through the generous donations of people like you. YOU…You’re the one who makes the difference. It doesn’t matter how much you give, the entire amount goes towards these programs. Please consider sponsoring me this year for the 2024 Muskoka Novel Marathon. I will be forever grateful. I know, I know…I have been doing this for several years now. This is my 16TH YEAR! You’re probably thinking, ‘enough is enough!’ But it is never enough. There are always new people entering these programs and having life-changing experiences through them. I want to be a part of that! And I’m sure you do too! Please consider a donation! The YMCA will be eternally grateful. AND SO WILL I! Thank you so much in advance!

A little background on the event and my experiences with it!

I started writing novels at the Muskoka Novel Marathon back in 2007. Seems like a lifetime ago now! That year, I wrote a novel called SEBASTIAN’S POET. It won Best Adult Novel for that year’s Best Novel Award. I was HOOKED! The next year, I wrote THE REASONS. Guess what! It ALSO won Best Adult Novel Award! You can see that this event, the way we write most or all of the novel in one sitting, works for me. I’m a flighty person with poor concentration skills. The MNM just WORKS for me. It’s the way I successfully get through the writing of a novel. I’ve been struggling these past year’s without the marathon. YES, I’m doing this for the fundraising side…but I won’t lie. This is my creative magic space. I NEED the marathon. I thrive at the marathon.

I have now won the BEST NOVEL AWARD 6 times. Most recently, I won it last year during the online marathon for my mid-grade novel TYLER FREEMONT WRITES A PLAY. It remains unfinished, so unpublished. Here’s hoping, though!

The camaraderie I feel with my fellow writers at the in-person marathon is something I don’t think I’ve ever experienced elsewhere, with the exception of the WCDR and the now defunct Ontario Writers Conference.

The fun barefoot walk we writers do with Sue Kenney every year!

It’s a new venue this year. I can’t wait to discover our new safespace together! I’m sure we will continue to thrive together. This photo is steps from our new venue:

How can we go wrong, with this view to look at!

We’ll be at the Port Sydney Community Hall this year. From Thursday, July 11 to Sunday, July 14!

Now, I really have to get down to figuring out what it is I’m going to write this year. Before I go, I just wanted to ask for your help. Please consider donating to the cause. We writers can’t do this without you! You’re the reason we have already raised those $230,000.00 plus funds. Thank you for your past contributions! Let’s help the new people entering the programs! Thank you so much in advance for your help!

HERE’S MY PERSONAL DONATION PAGE LINK! JUST CLICK ON THESE WORDS TO GET THERE!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Free Novel for a Limited Time! SEBASTIAN’S POET FREE on Amazon!

One of my earlier novels is currently on sale! And when I say it’s on sale, I mean you can pick it up at AMAZON for FREE! Take advantage of this limited time sale and click BUY NOW on SEBASTIAN’S POET for free!

Here’s the back cover blurb:

Sebastian Nelson is a boy in search of a family. Abandoned by his mother, Sebastian is left with a broken father who doesn’t even seem present when he does show up. Forced to be the main caregiver of his younger brother, Renee, and lost in a sea of indifference, Sebastian only wants to experience the love a real, stable family could afford him.

One morning he discovers the famous folksinger, Teal Landen, asleep on the sofa. Teal’s nurturing nature brings an immediate sense of security into Sebastian’s tumultuous life. But a dark secret looms between Teal and Sebastian’s father of a hidden past. Sebastian is driven to discover their secret, but also he’s aware of how tenuous their hold on Teal really is. He doesn’t want to lose the feeling of home Teal’s presence has brought him.

If Sebastian pushes too hard, he could lose Teal forever. He could be destined to raise his younger brother alone, while witnessing the total decline of his emotionally devastated father. If Sebastian is abandoned by the only healthy influence in his otherwise shaky existence, he will also be forever in the dark about the secret that will reveal so much about his fractured family.

Sebastian’s Poet was the winner of the 2007 Muskoka Novel Marathon’s BEST ADULT NOVEL AWARD. I wrote this novel during my first Muskoka Novel Marathon. I did the 48hr writing marathon at the time and the result was this novel. Note that this title is NOT Young Adult. It’s coming of age, with adult themes.

Look for the cameo by Gordon Lightfoot in the final chapter!

Here are purchase links:

PICK UP SEBASTIAN’S POET FOR FREE AT AMAZON USA

PICK UP SEBASTIAN’S POET FOR FREE AT AMAZON CANADA

PICK UP SEBASTIAN’S POET FOR FREE AT AMAZON UK

PICK UP SEBASTIAN’S POET FOR FREE AT AMAZON INDIA

PICK UP SEBASTIAN’S POET FOR FREE AT AMAZON FRANCE

PICK UP SEBASTIAN’S POET FOR FREE AT AMAZON SPAIN

For any countries not listed above, simply search the title in that country’s Amazon.

This book is only on for free for a limited time, so pick it up now!

2024 Goodreads Reading Challenge – FEBRUARY READS

Books read in February, 2024:

Favourite Memoir/Non-Fiction: PARIS A LOVE STORY by KATI MARTON.

I really loved this book. I did not know who Kati Marton is when I picked it up. I did not know the husband whom she mourned. I was, however, familiar with her ex-husband, Peter Jennings. It’s an excellent memoir, filled with some amazing historical stuff. Her husband, Richard Holbrooke, was a very important historical figure in the American political arena… and in the world at large. Marton’s memoir plants herself and her husband square into the stream of history. It’s astonishing how much her husband did in the political arena. At times I felt ashamed for not having known about him prior to picking up the book. He is an unsung hero of many volatile historical situations in the world. What Marton does to weave this narrative of her husband’s public life into the one of their love life is nothing short of spectacular. Highly recommend.

Favourite Classic: A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.

This was a cop-out. I have read this book too many times to count. Twice in September, 2023 alone…once on the way to Paris, and once on the way back from Paris. It’s my comfort food. I have heard everything about the accuracy, or lack thereof, of this memoir. I’m fine with it. Every memory shared is a different memory divided by the amount of people sharing it. And sometimes we band-aid things and spackle them over and lie to ourselves about memories until the lies become the truth. Overall, I think Hemingway painted himself in as bad a light at times as he painted others. It’s the feel of this book that holds me, the way it transports me not only a place, but a place in time. Comfort food. LOVE.

Favourite Fiction: Suicide Notes by Michael Thomas Ford.

I’m late to the party on this one. It might seem weird that the first thing I mention is that it was highly predictable and I knew how the story was going to play out around every turn, but I think that’s because a lot of people in the LGBTQ/LGBTQ2+/LGBTTTQQIAP community share a group experience. We can see through stories in our community when they’re spot on because we know them. This was another story of a community member coming to terms roughly with their sexuality. It was well told and engaging.

Other stand-outs in February were Finding George Orwell in Burma by Emma Larkin (I don’t know why it appeared twice in my Goodreads reading list…that happens sometimes) and Richard Osman‘s The Last Devil to Die was an unexpected delight. I had heard so much about his THURSDAY MURDER CLUB series that I just had to sample it. It’s a little bit Murder She Wrote, a little bit dark comedy…super fast moving with delightful asides. So many asides that you would think are not needed, as they don’t forward the story, but you would miss if not there. Great whimsical characters. More to come, as I read out of order. To Shake the Sleeping Self by Jedidiah Jenkins was also quite good. As an atheist, it was a little too religious-y…but I still really liked it.

On to MARCH!

Here’s my JANUARY 2024 Reading List.

Operation Creative Motivation – Wonder Twin Powers Activate…Form of Writer! Save the Cat! Writes a Young Adult Novel

(Sorry not sorry about the long title to this post)

I have been STRUGGLING creatively since the pandemic hit. It was a series of things, really, that knocked me off the edge. First, I had a book coming out which promised to be my biggest to date. It was the one I was most excited about, anyway. The book of my heart. THE CAMINO CLUB. My publisher was talking about book events, cons, etc…it felt like I would be making the rounds and things were about to open up for me. Super excited. The release date was scheduled for October 6th, 2020. There would be in-person events leading up to the release.

Then covid hit and everything in the book world changed.

That little pin in the balloon was enough to knock me sideways. It was still a great release and my publisher did everything in their power to get me Zoom and other online events. It was awesome, but stilted…because I knew what I was missing. The book did really well, don’t get me wrong. Sales were great, reviews were great, and it’s in well over a thousand libraries across North America. But still…the pandemic scraped away at the excitement and definitely changed things for the book.

Then I struggled to finish two contracted books and only managed to get one of them completed and failed to deliver on the second. Since then, I’ve been bouncing back and forth from one WIP (work in progress) to another and struggling to finish anything. I have a mid-grade on the go and two YAs. And the failed one I did not complete still haunts me, still calls my name. In the end it crashed and burned because I tried to make it something it wasn’t…the contract was contingent on me changing a big plot point of the story…which in the end I wasn’t able to do with any degree of satisfaction. The plot point was literally the reason I was writing the book in the first place. Never sell your soul for the contract.

Writers struggle. It’s not always wine and roses. It’s good to admit this sometimes so that others don’t think they’re the only ones having creative issues.

Anyway…this week I decided to put the WIPs down for a hot minute. I’ve been waiting almost a year for a couple of writing ebooks to land in my LIBBY library app. Hard to believe some books are on hold for that long, but I guess they’re both super popular. I took things into my own hands, finally, and ordered physical copies of the books. It’s time to get serious. I can feel the creative spark in me dying a slow death. I don’t want to lose that spark and I’m hoping these books help to re-ignite it.

As I began to read the first book, my excitement grew with every page. I love to see the scaffolding of story, and SAVE THE CAT! WRITES A YOUNG ADULT NOVEL is affording me that view in spades. It’s really triggering my desire to write. I get it. It’s all making sense and it’s something I feel I intrinsically understand about story, but also something I have lost along the way. spark ignited!

***Save the Cat! Writes a Young Adult Novel***

All this to say…if you’re a writer and you find yourself struggling to get back into the creative mindset, it always helps to go back to books on writing. They remind us of where we come from, why we began to write in the first place. It’s so much better to take a time out and reacquaint ourselves with process than to hammer away writing in circles and becoming more and more frustrated with the lack of progression. Even if it comes to nothing, it gives us a sorely needed breather.

I’m seeing the essence of what a story is as I read this book…and more importantly, how to best tell a story. It’s exciting me. In the end, that’s the most important thing for me. Creating should be exciting. I have always said I found writing through the contemplation of WHAT IF? Asking myself that question repeatedly after I have a kernel of an idea for a story is what ignites the creative spark in me. Reading books on how to cultivate that spark when I feel it receding is so important! They bring me back to the beginning and remind me why I love creativity so much.

Happy Writing! And happy reading about writing!

2024 Goodreads Reading Challenge – JANUARY READS

Books read in January, 2024:

Favourite Memoir/Non-Fiction: CAMINO SUNRISE – WALKING WITH MY SHADOWS by REGINALD SPITTLE.

This was an excellent memoir, filled with such honesty. I found I could relate to much of Spittle’s insecurities, as well as how he had carried them all the way from his school days. It was uncanny how he put those memories into words and how unflinchingly he carried the war-wounds with him. It was wonderful to see how he seemed to blossom and shrug those insecurities away the farther along his Camino path he walked. A great memoir of what happens both internally and externally on the Camino. I highly recommend this one! 5-Stars. (Full disclosure: The Camino book community is both large and small. I’ve crossed paths with Reginald Spittle and he’s had some great things to say about The Camino Club. This, in no way, impacts my review of his book. I simply loved the book. It was filled with vulnerability and personal strength and the overcoming of odds…exactly my kind of read!)

Favourite Classic: STONER by JOHN WILLIAMS.

I had no idea how much I would love this one. It kind of sneaks up on you once you realize you are reading the complete life of the main character. It’s told in an almost antiseptic way…just the details of a life lived. I think that’s the thing that enchanted me as I continued to read to discover what happened next.

Favourite Fiction: INESCAPABLE by DANIKA STONE writing as D.K. STONE

I’m a big fan of Stone’s work…her books are Insta-Buys. This ghost story was SO good! The main character, Aimee, is dealing with the death of her famous artist husband who had a troubled and chaotic existence. Stone weaved such a believable story of how good people can do bad things and have hefty baggage but still be loved. Aimee’s husband, and her relationship with him, was complicated…as the actions of his ghost will attest. Throw in a journalist/writer who is smitten with Aimee while researching the late artist to write his biography, and you have an intriguing love story overlapping the ghosts.

Other stand-out reads in my first month of 2024 were BOY GEORGE’s KARMA, ANDREA LANKFORD’s Trail of the Lost: The Relentless Search to Bring Home the Missing Hikers of the Pacific Crest Trail, and, On Turpentine Lane by ELINOR LIPMAN. Boy George, as always, is completely candid in this book. He holds nothing back, even the less than flattering stuff about himself. It’s a great read. Andrea Lankford wrote a relentlessly readable book that I had to speed through to find out what happens. It was a real eye-opener to the dangers of hiking the wilds of America. I hate complicated questionable words, but I want to call Lankford’s book UNPUTDOWNABLE anyway. Lipman’s novel was exquisite! So unexpected and just a joy to read!

There were a couple of real stinkers in my January reading pile. I won’t call them out, but I star all my reads on Goodreads and you can find me there to see which ones I gave fewer stars to. I don’t like to bash on books…just know that I did NOT like more than a couple of the titles above.

Now, on to February! Can’t wait to see what I read next! I’ve been noticing a swing in my read/write pendulum as of late, and it looks like my desire to write is beginning to overshadow my desire to read again. So, I might have a much smaller list next month. But there is an extra day in February this year, so you never know! (-;

This is Me in Grade Nine – A Short Story

Hello readers!

I’m sharing a short story today that originally appeared in an anthology called LOVE IS LOVE. All proceeds from the anthology went to the Trevor Project. I was so honoured to be asked to contribute to it.

My story, THIS IS ME IN GRADE NINE, is the story of a transitioning teen’s preparation for and first moments of grade nine.

You can read the short story below…

THIS IS ME IN GRADE NINE – by Kevin Craig

The first day is always the worst day. My brother Dillon told me this, but I already had my suspicions. I’m kind of good at coming to conclusions on my own. The first day is the day you’re forced to let go of all the confidence and royalty you gained in being in the highest grade in elementary school. Eighth Grade rules. In grade nine, however, you start all over again at the bottom. Grade nine is the kindergarten of high school. I’m the new kid again, stripped of the glory of my former elementary school standing. Minor-Niner.

I blindly reach for my phone with my eyes closed. After a failed swipe to turn off my alarm, I give up and open my eyes. I need to shut off the noise. I set it twenty minutes ahead. Last night’s me knew I would need a few minutes in bed to contemplate the hugeness of this day. The first day of the rest of my life.

I told my parents when I was ten. I thought they’d be okay with it. They even mostly convinced me they were okay with it. Until Dad came up with the plan for me to fake it until I was older. He thought it would be best if I didn’t rock the boat.

I’m pretty sure he was talking more about his boat than mine.

I don’t really blame him. (Yes I do). He was only trying to protect me. (Protect himself).

Today is the day. I worked up to this all summer. Mom’s on board and Dad pretends to be. I can see him coming apart at the seams, though. I sometimes imagine how difficult it must be for him. The least I can do is cut him some slack. I know he’s trying. I know he loves me.

He did allow me to redo my bedroom almost right away. My ten-year-old self went to town on Barbie pink decor. Something I have slightly regretted ever since. But what ten-year-old doesn’t see pink as the exact opposite of boy? Dad was also okay with me making subtle changes along the way, like growing my hair out. But there has always been the public me and the private family me. He’s been very protective of that barrier, even though it’s been eroding the entire time. I watched it slip away between his fingers. But I won’t feel bad for him. This isn’t about him.

Mom’s my rock. Our shopping trips to the city were the best part of my summer. If it makes me pathetic to enjoy shopping with my mother, oh well. Mom gets me. She even seems to know the kind of girl I want to be. By the end of the summer, I even let her choose the outfits while I stood in the change-room pacing back and forth waiting for the next dress or sweater or tights to come swinging up over the door-frame of the stall. It was a summer of preparation and today is the day we prepared for…it’s here.

My first official day.

I glance over to the hook on the back of my bedroom door and see the outfit I picked out for today. The clothes I’ll wear to meet the student body of Hubert B Larson Secondary School. A butter yellow blouse with exaggerated double-bell sleeves and jeans with slight bedazzled embellishments on the pockets. Not a dress, not yet.

I imagine myself in the swishy blouse with the fun sleeves. I’m utterly in love with those sleeves. Before I drag myself out of bed, though, there’s a soft knock on my door. I pull the duvet over my head, but say, “Come in.”

I hear the door open and sense someone approach. They sit down gently on the side of the bed.

I pull back the covers, expecting it to be Mom. Seems like an excellent time for a Mom Talk. But it’s Dillon. His back is to me. I can tell he’s ready for school. He smells of Axe spray and cleanliness. And his dirty blonde skater hair is perfection, as usual.

Without turning around, he says, “You know I’m here for you, right.”

I don’t answer. He’s not finished. There wasn’t quite enough of a question to his question.

“Whatever you want or need, you come see me. I don’t care if I’m in class, in gym, with friends, in the can, or whatever. You come see me, Kristy. You got me?” His resolve almost comes across as anger, but I know better. It’s fierce sibling loyalty. Fierce loyalty, period.

The way he slipped my name in there—just like that—brings a tear to my eye. I swipe at it and take a deep breath. I remain quiet. Maybe this is my Mom Talk. Maybe Mom sent in Dill to pinch-hit for her.

“Remember that day in Paris. The summer before I started high school? Three years ago. Wow. Time flies, Kristy. I was so scared. I even thought about running away. In Paris, I thought about running away to avoid high school. How crazy is that?”

I sit up. It’s time for me to enter this conversation. I swing my legs over the other side of the bed and come around and stand in front of him in my Wonder Woman pajamas. He offers up that amazing Dill smile he has. I smile back.

“You did run away, loser,” I say as I sit down beside him. A little laugh escapes me and Dillon chuckles in return. “You texted my cell when I was with Mom and Dad in Shakespeare & Company. Mom couldn’t get Dad to leave the upstairs part, where all the dusty old books are. The ones you can look at but not buy. You texted that you loved me and told me, keep being you.”

“Yeah. I’m such a loser. You’re right.”

“Because Dad made us all share our locations on Google in case someone got lost and because you were too stupid to turn your share off before you texted, I knew exactly where you were.”

“And you came across the river to talk me down from the ledge,” Dillon says. He puts an arm around my shoulder and looks me in the eye. “And everything turned out okay. I survived Grade Nine. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I imagined it would be.”

“You do know there’s more to it with me, though, right?” I ask. “I mean, it’s not the same.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dillon says with exaggerated annoyance. “Come on. I just mean, you know…”

“I get it, Dill. Really. Grade nine is scary. But honestly, I’m not even thinking about that right now. I know I’ve been preparing for this for forever, but it doesn’t make it any less scary. Today, I’m becoming myself. It just so happens I’m doing it on the first day of Grade Nine.”

“No,” he says. Now he holds both of my cheeks in a too-tight grip. He gives me his laser Dillon eyes. “You’ve always been who you are. You have to remember that part, Kristy. Dad was wrong to make you wait. You’ve always been you.”

“Yeah, I know, Dill,” I say. “Thank you.”

“I’m here. That’s all I want you to know. I know you didn’t text me or nothing. You weren’t throwing out a life-line hoping I would save you from yourself. That’s because you’re way braver than I ever was. You’d never run away. But I’m here. I need you to know that. If you ever need talking down from the ledge, I’m your man. We got this. Together.”

Though he’s holding my cheeks in a death grip, I break free and hug him. For a big brother, he’s pretty great.

After a moment, I let go.

“Okay,” I say. “That was nice and all, loser, but I have to get ready for school. This magic isn’t going to happen all by itself, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dills says. “See you downstairs, sis.”

The sis comment hits me in the feels in a way I don’t expect, so I usher Dillon out of my room as quick as I can. I will not cry, I will not cry.

That top is waiting for me. I can’t wait to have those sleeves to shake around. First, however? Shower, hair, and make-up.

***

Four. That’s how many kids from my Grade Eight class are going to the same high school as me. All four of them, along with their parents, came over to our house this past long weekend. Mom orchestrated the meeting. I have no idea what she said to get them to come. My preparation was her summer project. This was The Summer of Becoming Kristy Mason. Mom thought of everything. Even one-on-one make-up application classes. I didn’t even know they existed.

Titan Banks, Emily Jackson, Rob Denison, and Sarah Parker. I have never walked in their circles. Sure, we had classes together. We know each other fine. We just never hung out together. I wondered what it would be like to be Emily’s friend. I’ve had a crush on Titan Banks since the first day of kindergarten when he shared a red plastic boat with me at the water station. He was really nice about it. That gesture was enough to cement a life-long attraction that will never go anywhere. We have ricocheted noiselessly in and out of each other’s orbits ever since.

Emily and Titan are going to Larson Secondary because they’re moving across town. The other two are probably going there for the same reason as me…a fresh start. If anyone needs to reinvent themselves, it’s Sarah Parker. Kids can be so mean when they weaponize social media. Sarah explored the Grade Eight boys of Piedmont Elementary a little too freely and she has seriously paid for it over the past year.

Everyone seemed okay with Mom’s announcement, initially. They were polite and smiled at all the right places. They attempted airs of casualness. Everyone but Rob, that is. His mouth hung open from the second he set eyes on me. The mere presence of my clothes, hair and make-up was clearly more than he could bear. But the façade the others had managed to momentarily hold onto slowly began to show cracks. It was Emily who finally broke the spell.

“I mean, it’s cool and everything,” she had said. “But you’re crazy if you think for one minute I’m going to call him Kristy. His name’s Chris.”

The hardest part of hearing that statement had nothing to do with her intentional misgendering or the way it made me feel. What broke my heart was the way her words completely and utterly deflated Mom. I watched as her carefully maintained smile drooped at the corners and then faded completely away. It was immediately replaced with a pained expression that made me want to punch Emily in the throat. I think Mom finally realized, in that moment, how difficult this new reality was going to be. Not only for me, but for all of us.

How could she not have known?

After a moment of silence where my entire family buried their well-intentioned hopes that everything would run smoothly, my father brought the conversation back to life.

“Yes, well…” That was all he had. The extent of his contribution.

“Emily, dear,” her mother had said, clearly feigning outrage with her daughter. She then turned to Mom and said, “I’m so sorry. This must be so difficult for you. I’ll talk to Emily. I’ll make sure she calls him—“

“Her! Calls her,” Dillon had said, the sheer volume of his voice made me jump. Dillon got up from where he sat, came within an inch of my face, grabbed my cheeks and said, “You’re my sister. You’re a she. Do you hear me? I don’t want you to hear any of the bullshit. Don’t listen to it. Do you understand?” His eyes bore into mine and I could see he was waiting for me to actually answer his question.

“Yes,” I had said, feeling the tears forming but pleading with them not to fall.

“You’re wrong,” Mom finally said, turning to Mrs. Jackson. “It’s not difficult for me. This,” she continued, waving a hand to encompass me, “This is not difficult for me. My daughter is not difficult. Accepting her and loving her has never been difficult. The only thing that is difficult for me right now is that I counted on the kindness of strangers and hoped for some understanding. It’s difficult to see how much I misjudged this.”

“It was nice of you all to invite us over to discuss this…situation,” Titan’s father said, ignoring the flow of the conversation. “But really. This doesn’t involve us. We have no reason to force our kids to help you in whatever it is you want their help in. They went to the same school as him. They don’t owe him anything. If we’re done here, I think we’ll head out. I’m sure the rest of you have better things to do with our Labour Day Saturday. I know I do. Come on, Titan. We’re leaving.”

“Dad,” Titan had said. “No. Don’t be a douche.” He had turned to Mom and offered her a slight smile. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mason. I’ll look out for Kristy at Larson. I’ll look out for her. I promise.”

I’m sure Titan wasn’t expecting the smothering hug he received from Mom, but he allowed it to happen all the same.

“Thank you so much, Titan,” Mom had said. She even tousled his perfectly messy black mop of hair.

“No problem,” Titan had said. His perfect smile quickly faded to a menacing dirty look as he glanced over at Emily. Once he was certain the look had hit its mark and Emily had recoiled herself away from it with a flinch, Titan had turned to me and my brother. “See you at school, Kristy. You look great.”

Sitting here at the breakfast bar, eating a banana with my dry Cheerios, I can feel my cheeks burn with the memory of that compliment. Dillon had made a huge point of thanking Titan. He had been the only truly supportive person in the entire group. After that, everyone decided en masse that the meeting was over. They made an exodus to the front door. There were promises and apologies and awkward goodbyes and it was over.

I finish my cereal and bring the bowl to the sink. Seeing my arms move in my double-bell sleeves makes me lighter. Seeing Friday’s manicure on my outstretched fingers as I toss my banana peel into the compost gives me power. Another thing Mom and I did together over the weekend. Matching manicures. And I somehow made mine last.

“Sweetie,” Mom says as she comes up behind me. “You look so beautiful. Did you eat enough? You have your cell phone? You sure you don’t want me to drive you? I’m sorry Daddy’s not here. He had to go in early for a meeting. He told me to tell you—”

“Mom, stop. Slow down. Please.”

“I’m sorry, dear. I’m just nervous.”

I place a hand on her shoulder and make her look me in the eye. “It’s the first day of high school, Mom. I’m not going off to war.”

“After this weekend, I’m not so sure that’s true,” she says. “What if everyone is like those people?”

“Mom, please,” I say. “It’ll be fine. You don’t have to drive me. Dillon said he would. He’s going there anyway, right. I’ll be okay. I promise. You know Dill.”

“I honestly don’t know what I would do without him, sweetie.”

“Yeah, well. Me too.”

I’m glad Dill and I had our conversation earlier. I’m guessing he’s gonna be a bit all-over-the-place during the ride to school. If Mom’s any indication.

“Please don’t be angry with your father, Kristy. He’s trying. He’s doing his be—”

“Mom, no,” Dillon says as he comes down the stairs. “Don’t put this on her. Don’t tell her how to feel. And don’t protect him. He’s doing shit.”

“Language. And he is trying. I promise you, he’s trying.”

“Mom,” Dillon says. “There is no trying. Don’t you get it? He shouldn’t have to try. Are you trying? No. You’re just doing. Don’t stick up for him. He has work to do and we all know it.”

“Just…it’s okay, Dill. Could we just go?” I make my way to the front door, grab my school bag and purse. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

I’m not the least bit ready, but I’m more not ready for this conversation than I’m not ready for school. The closer I get to who I am the farther away from Dad I become and it’s really freaking me out.

Mom catches up to me as I reach the door. I find myself smothered in a last minute hug I’m not sure I’ll survive.

“Baby, I hope I did everything right. I did, right? I did everything right?” She mumbles into my neck, choking back sobs as she speaks. “I just want my girl to be happy. I don’t know how to protect you. I can’t protect you if I’m not there.”

Dillon steps in to save me, prying Mom away from me. It’s taking everything in me not to break down and join her. And Dillon can see how close I am.

“We love you, Mom. I’ll text you later. Kristy’s golden. Okay. We got this.”

We escape to the car. I am mere moments away from high school. Surprisingly, we drive in silence for the most part. We’re about three minutes away from school when we simultaneously burst into laughter. I look over and Dillon has his head back and his mouth open and he’s totally lost in it for a split second that seems to last forever. As he looks back at the road, he says, “She’s your mother.” This only makes us laugh harder.

We pull into the parking lot and it gets real. I can’t do this. After Dill parks, he gets out and runs around to my side of the car. When he opens the door for me, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Loser.”

“I know, right,” he says, chuckling. “Who the hell am I?”

“Chivalry is alive and well and living inside the zombie that invaded my big brother’s body.”

“I deserved that,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Dillon heads toward the school, feigning a casualness I can see right through. My protector. He’s having last minute nerves. I catch up and we turn the corner to the front of the school together. I’d have to be blind to miss the looks I get as we proceed, the whispers, the nods, the gasps. I think Dill can hear them too, though I’m not certain.

“Oh,” Dillon says, surprise in his tone. We’re walking up the front steps and I look around to see what caused his shock. Titan Banks leans against the building, just off to the side of the entrance. He doesn’t see us. His head is buried in his phone and there’s a smile on his face. It kind of erases some of the effects of the other crap that’s happening around me.

He finally looks away from his screen and the smile becomes more.

Dillon gets to him first. “Thanks, bro,” Dill says. “You’re kind of awesome. Thank you.”

“Hey, Dillon,” Titan says. They actually bump fists. It’s weird.

Dillon moves towards the entrance after a moment’s hesitation. He turns back and gives me his Dill smile one last time. “Remember Paris,” he says.

“Loser,” I reply. We share a look that is everything I need in this moment. It tells me he’ll be there for me at a second’s notice, that he’s just a text away.

“I’m sorry for my Dad,” Titan says once we’re alone. “He’s a bit of a prick.”

“I’m mostly sorry for mine, too. But we shouldn’t apologize for other people.”

“Come on, Kristy,” he says, leaving our fathers in the dust. “I’ll show you where your locker is.”

“Huh,” I say, ignoring the whispers about us. “How would you even know?”

He puts a hand out. “Come on.” I’m nervous at first, afraid to reach out for the offered hand. “I talked to the office. Arranged it. Made sure our lockers are together. Side by side.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“That’s why we need to be friends. There’s lots you don’t know about me. I get things done.”

The fear’s still there. The uncertainty bubbles just under the surface. But I’ve been waiting my whole life for this. We enter the building. All it takes is one more plea and I accept Titan’s hand, allow him to walk me to my locker. I catch our reflection in a trophy cabinet along the way. This is me. Finally. I look down at these amazing sleeves, the color of sunshine, and I realize I made it. This is me in Grade Nine. Kristy Mason. I’ve waited so long for this.

THE END

Off Topic Non-Fiction Honorable Mention…

As part of my struggle with writing these past couple of years, I decided to throw myself into it more often and do stuff I would normally pass on in my writing slump. To that end, I entered the OFF TOPIC PUBLISHING nonfiction contest for December. I didn’t win, but I received an honorable mention. That’s a start for someone who feels so far removed from writing that I hasten to call myself a writer these days.

A photo I took on safari in Maasai Mara back in December, 2009 when the experience happened.

The piece I wrote for this contest was published on the Off Topic Publishing website today. It’s called How Jamhuri Day Changed my Life and it’s about an experience I had while returning to Nairobi from Keekorok lodge in the Maasai Mara region of Kenya.

This sign and a dirt path runway were the only noticeable signs of life…

Here is where we were grounded that day…

I’m grateful that it received an honorable mention. I need these little nuggets along my path back to writing. It’s been really hard.

You can read the piece by clicking the headline below:

How Jamhuri Day Changed my Life – by Kevin Thomas Craig

The pictures above will make sense in context to the piece.

Off Topic Publishing has a contest every month. It rotates between FICTION – NONFICTION – POETRY.

You can learn more about the contest HERE.

Another Year Over…

A new one soon begins…

2023 is pretty much a wrap! I usually do a year-end post around this time of year. It’s hard to believe 2024 is just around the corner. It seems like only yesterday we were cowering in a corner with our canned goods and candles, worried about Y2K! And now I’m certain some would have to use Google to even look up the meaning of Y2K. Sigh. We’re getting old!

From our September trip to Paris…outside La Closerie des Lilas.

This was one of those years where I didn’t get much writing done. I’m simultaneously working on two manuscripts, but it’s slow going. I hope to make progress in the new year. You know those awkward and soon forgotten RESOLUTION thingies? Yeah, well…that. I’m going to make a concerted effort to write every single day. I’ve given myself a goal of AT LEAST 500 words a day. I know when I really get going, this would be nothing. I sometimes write several thousand words a day. I just didn’t want to reach too high after such a shitty year this year. I feel like my writing habits took a huge kick in the face ever since the pandemic began, but I also don’t feel quite right blaming the pandemic for that kick. Was it already coming prior to the world’s heartrending shift to madness? Probably. I just don’t know. I felt like I was just finding my pace when I wrote The Camino Club…but it feels like it’s been downhill ever since.

Look at me, I can’t even write in proper paragraphs for a year-end blog post. Sorry you didn’t get to breathe properly through that huge brick of words I just threw at you!

In Curacao, one of the port stops on our January, 2023 cruise…

On a light note, it’s been a wonderful travel year! We started with a cruise in January that took us to Aruba, Haiti, and Curacao. And it ended with an amazing two week trip to Paris! The whole two weeks are blogged here on the site, from the first day to the last. We did EVERYTHING and had so much fun! It is definitely my favourite place on earth.

Though I didn’t write a lot, I still feel I had a few good accomplishments. While participating in my 15th Muskoka Novel Marathon, I wrote part of a novel that would go on to win the 2023 Best Novel Award in the Juvenile category! The mid-grade novel, tentatively titled TYLER FREEMONT WRITES A PLAY, is my 6th Best Novel win!

Though I hope most of my 2024 writing is on the novels in progress, I DO keep seeing something on WordPress (painfully) called Bloganuary. My, but that’s an ugly word. I’m thinking of giving this challenge a go. A blog a day for the entire month of January. It’s been a while since I did something like that. I will even aim to have them all writing related.

Also, just today I received notification of an honorary mention in the December Off-Topic Publishing Non-Fiction Writing Contest… for my piece How Jamhuri Day Changed My Life. If this gets published later in January, I’ll be sure to share a link. Here’s a link to the winner of that contest.

I also have my 2016 Muskoka Novel Marathon Best Novel Award winning novel (click here to find out what novel this is) out on submission at the moment. Fingers crossed on that one! I have high hopes for it, but I’m not sure of its marketability. We shall see.

I feel like this was a reading year. I am on book number 203 for 2023 right now. How does that oft repeated Ecclesiastes refrain go? Yada, yada, yada, a time to reap, a time to sow…to paraphrase. Well, 2023 was my year of collecting the words of others. Hopefully, 2024 will be my year for sowing the seeds for others. I know I really needed to read this year.

Daily writing goal? Check!

As for reading, I’ve set my goal for 2024 at 100. I hope NOT to surpass that goal. This will give me more time for writing.

Travel goals? We are already booked. Mexico in May and Thailand in November. Stay tuned! Should be an amazing year of wanderings!

Happy New Year to all! May your coming year be amazing and magical!