Books

My Books for FREE on Kobo!

You have until August’s End to pick up two of my books for FREE at KOBOBOOKS! Both my 2nd and my 3rd novels can be downloaded at no charge for the rest of the month.

SEBASTIAN’S POET

Synopsis:

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.

A LINK TO SEBASTIAN’S POET AT KOBO

Sebastian's Poet

THE REASONS

Synopsis:

With a mostly absent father, one sister deceased and the other on the verge of invisibility, and a certifiably insane mother, Tobias Reason is forced to grow up fast.

When his older sister Deja’s tragic death causes his mother to fall deeper into insanity, Tobias attempts to be a surrogate parent to his younger sister, Annabel. But broken mother Maggie takes up a lot of his time, causing Annabel to fall even further into the background of their chaotic existence.

When Maggie flippantly hands her mother’s house over to Tobias, he sees an opportunity to learn how and why his family has become so shattered. His world begins to collapse from the weight of the secrets he unburies, and he focuses in on a stranger from his parents’ past… a possible Ground Zero to Maggie’s fall into insanity.

If Tobias can somehow eliminate the past, he can make his family whole again.

A LINK TO THE REASONS ON KOBO

The+Reasons

Get both of these MUSKOKA NOVEL MARATHON Best Novel Award winning novels for free at Kobo until the end of August!

All 5 of my novels are available at AMAZON.

Digging in the Dirt – How to Repurpose Your Buried Words

The first rule of Write Club is…follow all the rules of Write Club. The second rule of Write Club is…there are no rules in Write Club. Therein lies the conundrum. We writers are a cocktail of confusion and contradictions. Do this, don’t do that…can’t you read the signs. But there’s one thing we should all get into the habit of doing. We should all be dedicated pack-rats when it comes to our words. We write the words we write for a reason. That reason may not always be clear when the words are being put down on paper or screen, but we should train ourselves to value them for what they are and what they may one day become.

IMG_0899.JPG

Treat your unused words like a garden you can later visit and harvest…

It’s true. Your buried prose and poetry can be repurposed. Have you ever written the first few lines of a poem because they grabbed you with the intensity of fire? Did that fire then fizzle out and force you to discard the work you felt so powerful for having created? Have you spent countless hours, days, weeks, months on a manuscript that you later tossed aside in frustration? Or how about those amazing middle-of-the-night ideas that left you breathless and certain you just came up with the plot for the next Great Canadian Novel? We’ve all been there, on the brink of a brilliance almost touched. I call these moments epiphonies. They’re like epiphanies, but they didn’t quite get you there. They’re phony aha moments, the bane of the writer’s existence. Or, at least mine.

I’m here to tell you to NOT give up. Don’t let these fly-bys into momentarily enlightened consciousness go to waste. If you wrote it, it meant something to you at the time. What’s the cost of saving your words nowadays? Nothing. Your disk-space can handle it.

IMG_3457.JPG

Trust that you saw beauty in your words, and that you will find a place for them…or a lesson from re-exploring them.

But how do you reuse, reinvent, recycle, repurpose, re-imagine? Any old way you can. Seriously. First, create a Spare Parts folder. Second, save everything that doesn’t come to fruition as a poem, short story, article, novel, song, etc into this folder. Name your documents wisely so you can remember what they are at a glance. Third, dig in the dirt of this folder every opportunity you have. Pry, pull, wrench, yank, rip and pluck any and all of your buried words and use them in any way you can.

Examples of how I returned to my Spare Parts folder and harvested words from it? Most recently, I stole a character from a novel that was three quarters written when it died. The heavy work on the character was already completed through the birthing of the fizzled out novel. He appeared to me in full, having already been alive in a previous work. I took some prose with me when I excavated him, but mostly I took him…his essence. You can do this with characters or setting or any little aspect of the original novel that you still love and wish you could use. There’s also the time I had a last minute opportunity to have a short story included in an anthology…but no time to write one. I looked through my folder and found another dead-in-the-water novel and I stole the first chapter. I made a few minor changes and, presto-magico, I had myself a short story! Another reason to save your drawer novels is time, growth, and the redoubling of your writerly wisdom through workshops and classes. One of your old unfinished trunk novels may very well be brilliant, but perhaps you didn’t have the wisdom needed to execute the idea to its full potential four years ago. After taking certain workshops, it might be helpful to revisit a dead novel. With your new eyes, you may see a way to rescue it.

Lines and stanzas from unfinished poems? Months later, when you’re having a dry-spell and wishing you could get your poetical groove on…steal those lines, use them as jumping off points for new poetry. Another thing you could do with poetry, once you have a pile of unfinished poems (and this will happen…it always does) is attempt to piece them together. You could very well have a complete poem living among the rubble of seven discarded ones. You must dig through the dirt to find the gold.

IMG_0307 - Copy.JPG

Dig through the dirt to find the gold.

Save everything. Inspiration moments give you lovely little gems. Respect that. They might not be fully formed diamonds, but guaranteed there is something in there worth excavating at a later date. Trust your words and trust why you wrote them. Even if you never unearth them for future projects, it can be amazingly useful to revisit your older words for no other reason than to see how much you have grown as a writer since you first wrote them. That’s a reward you wouldn’t get if you deleted everything that fizzled.

So, be kind to yourself. Save your words. You never know when you’re going to need them. Spare Parts are like little treasure chests of pretty things. If you dig in the dirt long enough, you’ll find your diamond. And you’ll be happy you didn’t throw it away.

note

 

 

Don’t Read This Blog Post – Muskoka Novel Marathon – Another Year, Another Novel, Another Fundraiser for Literacy

It’s so strange that another year has zipped past since my last Muskoka Novel Marathon. It simply disappeared. In thin air. Kind of like that there/not there thing I always find so fascinating. But that’s another story. I don’t have time to tell it. I have two more sleeps before I dive into my 9th Muskoka Novel Marathon! NUMBER NINE! (Why do I hear the Beatles when I type that?!)     (-:

cropped-10517508_10152184227062021_17293005252762155_n.jpg

Writing by the dock of the bay…

It’s been a crazy year. I recently lost a parent. To make the sting more painful, we were completely estranged from one another for a good many years. I still don’t know how to deal with this. We had a few moments in the end to make peace with one another…but I’ve been a bit lost ever since. I’m also turning 50 in two months. I can’t even fathom that one. 50!? Where did the time go? That question is about as cliche as one can get, but there it is. I still remember clothespinning hockey cards to my bicycle wheel spokes like it was yesterday. I remember button candy and Popeye cigarettes like I’m chewing on them as I type this. All the things that I have done are so close to the surface right now, that it seems implausible that I’ll be hauling my ass over the half a century signpost up ahead in so few days. I am literally giving my head a shake over that one.

SAMSUNG

Muskoka Novel Marathon is a Fundraising Event for Literacy Programs in Simcoe/Muskoka County, Ontario.

I’ve convinced myself lately that I may in fact NOT be a writer. I may have been someone WRITING for these past 13 years…but also, someone who is not a writer. I told myself that the act of writing does not a writer make. I convinced myself that if I kept moving my fingers across my keys, it meant nothing to the validation of the title WRITER. What if I was just some random guy writing? This would mean that if I stopped writing, it would simply be over…I wouldn’t be a writer not writing, I would just be a guy who wrote for a while but stopped. My so-called Crisis of Happiness has outlasted all reason. It’s turning me insane. I think I should officially call it, but there is something in me that wants to own writing…even though I’ve been away from it for so very long. The struggle is real. And I nailed the reasoning for my lack of writing early on in the drought too…a happy me is a non-writing me. I wrote my fucking fingers off for so long because I was lost. Now I’m found…and the crown on the sharp edge of catharsis seems to be the putting away of the keyboard. Maybe. I don’t know. Therein lies the crazy. Even as I type this I am writing but also not writing. Meandering is not writing.

183b611ba18c4a4e75404a48f0579e1f

Stay tuned…I will be imploring you for MONEY.❤

Speaking of turning 50…remember grade school and how simple it was? Creation was just something you did. You didn’t quibble about the why of art. You just made art, you did art, you were art.You took a sheet of construction paper. You glued macaroni to it. You poked holes in it and threaded pipe cleaners into it. You painted a bit in one corner by blowing through a straw to move a blob of paint around on the page. You glued a feather to another corner. You shot the whole thing up with glitter before sticking a cut-out of your latest Wish item from the Sears catalogue into the centre. You didn’t care. You used all materials available to you. And it looked…well, bloody fantastic. It looked amazing. Art at its finest. High school was even more glorious…your body was not only a wonderland, but also a canvas…a place to explore and discover your individuality. Dress it up how you wished, become a new person every day…transform yourself through the fabrics and accoutrements of your whim.

kc2

Me, hard at work at a previous MNM. This is NOT writing.

High school is over. Life is past the middle point. The leaves are falling. And still I find myself screaming that old refrain into the windblown night.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Always and forever. For as much as I often wanted to remove myself from this mortal coil, I have also always blazed like meteors to stay and bear witness to its light. To stay and be taken into the light of living. It’s such an obscure thing…to lose sight of life, though it be there in your grasp the entire time. Still…there it is. While crawling, I was able to string a golden trail of popcorn in my wake… alighting the path behind me like a dance of fireflies in the night sky. You know, in case I ever had the inclination to return.

Though nothing I write today makes any sense at all, I write it. Because this is the calm before the storm of words I will enter into in two days. My synapses are crashing into one another…words once written are mingling with those not yet born and all these thoughts and feelings and withering notions are colliding. It’s kind of a prep-stage that my pre-marathon brain goes through. Think of NASA testing all the what-not before they have a major launch. These words today are my jet-fuel being shaken, not stirred, as I prepare for the sleepless nights of this, my ninth journey into the darkness of the cavernous heart of the unwritten novel. I am. And I am writing…even if I not be a writer. I will be writing.

And now my ear-worm of the day persists. I try to carve out meaning in this post, but my mind is singing…

And I feel like William Tell
Maid Marian on her tiptoed feet
Pulling mussels from a shell
Pulling mussels from a shell

…and because my mind is singing this song, I am thinking of my childhood and how us four boys would go clam digging. No…clams are not mussels, but surely to God they are in the same family, no? I loved watching the suction of the spade as it lifted the water-heavy sand and how the rising bubbles always gave the clams away. I loved the grit of sand you would sometimes get when eating them. I loved the jingle jangle sound the shells would make as you transported dozens of them together…it was the song of my people…the song of the Maritimes. New Brunswick in a bucket. I won’t even go into the noises and the smells and the glow in the kitchen of my paternal grandmother as families converged on her small house and we would have the biggest clam-bake, clam-fry, Clamageddon you could possibly imagine. And look at me now, singing about pulling mussels from a shell…

There needs to be a point to this blog post. Much like there really necessarily needed to be a point to the game played by Pooh and his peeps in which they would throw a stick from the bridge. Poohsticks. It’s a thing, dammit. Even Wiki says so…and if Wiki says so, it’s so…

It is a simple sport which may be played on any bridge over running water; each player drops a stick on the upstream side of a bridge and the one whose stick first appears on the downstream side is the winner.

So the point of Poohsticks is to see which stick passes under the bridge and comes into view first. The point…is to bear witness to the stick and its sacred journey.

20150712_082908.jpg

From a previous Muskoka Novel Marathon -Sue Kenney leads writers on a walk every year…a way to break from our desks and enjoy the company of others. Barefoot, if desired. Open-hearted.

Mayhaps the point of this post is for me to bear witness to a life lived. Mayhaps the point is for me to get my head in the groove so that I can sit the hell down come Friday and stop whining and actually write something cohesive for a change. Mayhaps the point is to bear witness to those who need our help. We should ALL be very uncomfortable…because when there are people living in our midst who cannot read or write perhaps we all need to carry the burden of that travesty. As a society, we have left certain of our members behind us. And society should walk forward together…leaving no one behind. We need to improve upon our idea of who we are. We need to reach out into the darkness behind us and bring forward into the light those who struggle and cannot read the signs. It’s plain. It’s simple. We need literacy…to live in this life, to bear witness to this life, to share this life, to be.

I have two days left to collect sponsorship funds for this year’s MUSKOKA NOVEL MARATHON. All funds raise go directly to the literacy programs in place in the region. While you’re contemplating mussels and clams and feathers and life and bicycle wheels and popcorn…I implore you to give me a boost, so that I may in turn give a boost to someone who needs help navigating the world of words.

We are WRITERS HELPING READERS. But we can only win the battle against illiteracy with your help. Each of us are charged with bringing in sponsorship donations for the Simcoe/Muskoka YMCA literacy programs. You can donate online by clicking on the pic below and going to the link set up for my donation page for the event. ANY amount would be appreciated! We start writing Friday July 8th at 8pm. And we don’t stop until Monday July 11th at 8pm. Our part in this is to write…for 72 hours. You are the important much needed element in the equation. Your donations will help us writers help readers. Thank you in advance for your generosity. It is greatly appreciated!

Click the pic! Give a little…I know you wanna…

mnm

Goodreads Giveaway for Burn Baby Burn Baby!

The Goodreads Giveaway for my 4th novel, the young adult title, BURN BABY BURN BABY, is now live! Enter to win today. Find out why Burn Baby was chosen for the Library Services for Youth in Custody 2016 IN THE MARGINS BOOK AWARDS LIST

burn-baby-burn-1000.jpeg

BURN BABY BURN BABY:

Seventeen-year-old Francis Fripp’s confidence is practically non-existent since his abusive father drenched him in accelerant and threw a match at him eight years ago.

Now badly scarred, Francis relies on his best friend Trig to protect him from the constant bullying doled out at the hands of his nemesis, Brandon Hayley—the unrelenting boy who gave him the dreaded nickname of Burn Baby.

The new girl at school, Rachel Higgins, is the first to see past Francis’s pariah-inducing scars.

If Brandon’s bullying doesn’t destroy him, Francis might experience life as a normal teenager for the first time in his life. He just has to avoid Brandon and convince himself he’s worthy of Rachel’s attentions.

Sounds easy enough, but Francis himself has a hard time seeing past his scars. And Brandon is getting violently frustrated, as his attempts to bully Francis are constantly thwarted.

Francis is in turmoil as he simultaneously rushes toward his first kiss and a possible violent end.

 

If you’re in USA or CANADA, enter at Goodreads today for a chance to win one of two signed copies!

 

CLICK HERE TO GO TO THE CONTEST LINK ON GOODREADS

You can view all my books by visiting my AUTHOR PAGE AT AMAZON.