Kevin Shea’s journey from Canadian radio- by Naguib Kerba

 Kevin Shea’s journey from Canadian radio, the music industry, Hockey Hall of Fame to writing — Naguib Sami Kerba Photography

Jury Duty by J. S. Marlo

 

Wide of the Mark

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I don't know about all of you, but I've seen plenty of movies and television shows with a jury scene, either during a trial or less often during jury selection, though I don't recall seeing someone open an envelope with a letter inside summoning that person for jury duty.

A few of those 'jury duty' letters have found their way in my mailbox over the last thirty years.

Those letters weren't sent by courier or registered mail. They were just normal letters sent through regular mail. On the top left corner, it said it was from the Provincial Justice and Solicitor General - Jury Management.

The letter summons you to report to the court house on a given day at a certain time for jury selection. It also gives you five days to request an exemption.

The first letter was addressed to my oldest child while she was in university in a different province. She was exempted. A few years later, a second letter was delivered, this time it was addressed to my youngest child while he was also in university in a different province. He was also exempted.

Around that same time, I'd gone back to writing murder/mysteries, so it sounded very interesting to be on jury duty, to witness the process behind the scene. I wish I'd been summoned, but I thought the odds of a third letter ever ending in my mailbox were slim to none. 

Fifteen years later, a third letter arrived. This time it was addressed to my husband. I wasn't impressed to see his name on the envelope, and he wasn't impressed to see his name either, but for the opposite reason. He couldn't afford to take time off work to be on jury duty, but that didn't count as a valid excuse. So, he went to the court house, waited and waited as the people summoned were interviewed, secretly hoping that the jury would be selected before his turn came. He was called in, was asked questions by the defence and the prosecution, and eventually rejected.

I would have been disappointed to be rejected. Needless to say, he wasn't.

Well, I thought we'd beaten the odds with three summons within the same household. Was I ever wrong!

Last week, I found a fourth 'jury-duty' letter in my mailbox. Guess who it was addressed to? 😒 Yes, my husband. Again. This time he'll more than likely be exempted, but still...

I think it's the universe telling me that I will never serve on jury duty.

Enjoy the summer. It's still hot in my northern corner of the world.

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

RIP Tom Kelleher by Eileen O'Finlan

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On May 26, 2026, I received devastating news. My dear friend, Tom Kelleher, had just been killed when he was hit by a car while riding his motorcycle to work. Those who read the acknowledgments in my historical fiction books, know that I always thank Tom. As a professional historian, Tom was an enormous help to me in my research. He also read my drafts to check for historical accuracy. I even dedicated The Folklorist to him. He was indispensable to me for the 1830s timeline in that book.

Tom was a research historian and curator at the living history museum Old Sturbridge Village in Sturbridge, Massachusetts where he worked for 40 years. The Village is a living history museum which interprets life in a New England village in the 1830s. A brilliant historian, Tom had a gift for making history real for thousands of visitors. There was nothing he enjoyed more than putting on a 19th century costume (some of which he made himself on his grandmother's foot treadle sewing machine) and getting into character. He even created several characters such as a peddler, a traveling dentist, a revival preacher, and a phrenologist.

It seems that there was very little Tom didn't know about 19th century American history. Yet, it didn't stop there. He also had a vast knowledge of European history and American history of other time periods as well. It wasn't just me who turned to Tom when in a research conundrum. Other professional historians who knew him have told me that if they didn't know something and weren't having any luck finding the answer, they'd contact Tom. He always knew.

I met Tom in the mid 1990s when I worked for three years as the Museum Assistant for the Department of Research, Collections, and Library at Old Sturbridge Village. He was promoted from costumed interpreter to Research Historian during my second year of working there. We quickly became friends and, not much later started dating. We were a couple for eight years, the last year of which we were engaged. For reasons I won't go into here, we decided not to marry and to go our separate ways romantically, but we never ended our friendship. It continued uninterrupted until the accident on May 26th took his life.

Tom and me in the log cabin where he lived - early 2000s

Tom was a huge part of my life. To the day he died, my entire family still considered him part of our family. Everyone loved Tom. Whether they knew him professionally, personally, or both, all held him in high esteem. That was evidenced by the seemingly endless stream of people who attended his wake which was held in the Center Meeting House at Old Sturbridge Village.

At about the half-way point of the line for Tom's Calling Hours

I knew I needed to acknowledge his passing and the massive contribution he has been to my writing and to my life. That's why I did not write a blog post in June or July. I wasn't ready. Even now, in early August, I had to psych myself up to write this. I can still barely believe that he's gone.

Rest in peace dearest friend. I will always love you.

                                        

    Tom in costume at Old Sturbridge Village

Horse Camp!

 

       Echoes                                    Voices                                  Sparkslingers!

Sometimes life requires me to take a break from writing. This last week was a perfect example. Once again, I can log another successful horse camp with one of my nieces here on our little farm. This year, my 13-year-old niece came for her third visit. Her younger sister, who is 10, came for the first two days for a sampling of what's to come. We did so much more than just play with the horses. We scooped poop, fed grain and hay, cleaned stalls, swept the barn, and filled water troughs. Only then did we ride, and not before a gentle grooming and generous dose of fawning. 

We cooked, crafted, baked, and learned to crochet. We walked the donkey and played with the pups. We cared for the chickens and cleaned the coop. We even watered and weeded the flower and vegetable gardens. In the mornings, we read Chancey of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau together on the front porch, and in the evenings, we watched season 19 of Heartland in our jammies. 

This year, she practiced several new riding skills, like a soft jog trot, riding one-handed, and making a tight turn. She designed her own "show," and we practiced and practiced every day to the music she picked out. Mind you, the week she spends with me is pretty much the only time she gets to ride horses. It was really important to her that she show her family all she had learned throughout the week when they came to pick her up.

Her performance began with a demonstration of free lunging our decked-out quarter horse Tuff in the round pen, walk/trot/canter. It's pretty cool to watch a girl and her horse communicate and connect when their only tether is the one between their hearts. I spied some teary eyes in the audience, including my own.

Her one-handed weave poles at the trot were really impressive, as well as her egg-and-spoon trip all the way around the arena, the first half at a walk and the second half at the trot. For her finale, she chose to carry a big, beautiful, flowing American flag twice around at a posting trot. All to Miranda Lambert's Bluebird.

The week flew by. 

I'm exhausted.

I'm also inspired and invigorated to get back to writing. My second Forever Fields book is well underway! If you haven't yet read the first one, check it out soon!

The Anthology Advantage by donalee Moulton

 

 

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          As a freelance journalist, writing to deadline is as natural as breathing. When editors assign a story, they provide three essential pieces of information: topic, word count, and delivery date. Miss your deadline and kiss the possibility of a second assignment goodbye.

          This is not about editors flexing their weight. It’s about the reality of publishing. In the days before online everything, a story that didn’t arrive on time meant publications had a gaping hole in their magazine or newspaper. Gaping holes are filled when editors rush around like mad, cursing the name of the writer who missed their deadline.

          When I started to do more fiction writing than reporting, I found deadlines are often self-imposed. I will finish my first chapter by the end of the week. I will write a thousand words of my short story every day for four days. I will edit the story by Monday. I also found self-imposed deadlines are often more wishful thinking than etched in stone.

I missed the rigor of deadlines I didn’t dream up. Then I discovered anthologies. Genre writing is rife with anthologies – and anthologies have deadlines. They also often have themes, the journalistic equivalent of topic. The path ahead is paved for you. Here’s what we’d like you to write about. Here’s when you have to get it to us.

I wrote my first mystery short story, “Swan Song,” in 2021 in response to a call from the Crime Writers of Canada. To celebrate its fortieth anniversary, the national association planned to publish an anthology, Cold Canadian Crime. There was a theme (“cold” in the broadest sense of the word). There was a deadline. Count me in.

Since then, I have written about twenty more short stories. Most of them have been published, mostly in anthologies. A few have been reprinted in anthologies. At least one has been reprinted in several anthologies.

One of those short stories is called “Maladaptive Anonymous.” In the story, the main character calls this group, somewhat disparagingly, Daydreamers Anonymous in keeping with the anthology’s theme: Midnight Schemers & Daydream Believers. Just as editors expect you to meet your deadline (or miss out on the opportunity), they also expect you to stick to the topic. You have lots of room to play, but the boundaries are there.

While every anthology editor has their own process, the process is usually rigorous. And appreciated. This anthology had three rounds of readers and after the first and third round we were provided with feedback – and helpful suggestions for improvements. There were also at least three rounds of proofreading. At some point, you think this is overkill until in the final proof you discover your main character has titled their head. In the published version, their head is now tilted.

I have also, for the first time, taken a character from a short story and given them a feature-length role. E.M. Montgomery (can you guess what E.M. stands for?) is a private investigator and the main character in my new book Cardinal. Well, at least the main character who’s still alive.

 As a short story writer, anthologies bring me back to familiar ground. I am given three essential pieces of information: topic, word count, and delivery date. This helps me to focus on a theme – and to go to wonderful and wacky places with plots I might otherwise not uncover and characters I might otherwise not create. And I go there by deadline.