Most
publishers have one thing in common. They like unusual settings or characters. To
be honest, it never occurred to me an election office could be considered an “unusual”
setting. I worked Canadian elections for more than twenty years—inside polling
stations and election offices—and they hold no secrets for me, but then it
struck me how often strangers had asked “What do you do in there for two months?”
Well, we
perform many different tasks, and in northern and remote districts, these tasks
are wrapped in a few extra layers of complications. We have to find polling stations
in the middle of nowhere and secure leases. We often have to order our ballots through
out-of-town printers, wait to receive them, and then rush to deliver them to
these polling stations by car, by plane, by helicopter, by boat...or by
snowmobile. It takes days to reach all the stations—and longer if the weather
isn’t cooperating. We fear winter elections and snowstorms. If our fax machine
dies, it takes a week to get a new one, and we can’t function without a fax for
a week—we tried, but we ended up borrowing one from a school. We hire 400 to 600
workers, train them in a few weeks, and pray to every God that they will show up to work on
Election Day. We register electors, update their information, and let any eligible
electors vote in the office ahead of time even if they don’t live in our
district. Did I forget to mention every task is governed by a series of rules?
There are even rules about rules. And don’t get me going about the paperwork we
have to fill and the authorizations we have to obtain.
Many years ago, on the last
evening of special voting, an elector came in our election office. He didn’t live
in our district—he lived seven provinces and four time zones away—and his
driver’s license listed a post office box, not a real physical address. We need
a real address to place the elector in the right district. I suggested a utility
bill—gas or electrical bills always mention the address of the dwelling for
which the service is provided—but he didn’t carry any with him. As you can
imagine, there are rules about acceptable documents an elector can show to vote.
We went through the list of documents twice, but he didn’t have any of them
with him. The man really wanted to vote, and above all, we have to ensure that
every eligible elector is given the opportunity to vote.
In the spirit
of “giving him the opportunity to vote”, I asked him to Skype his wife back
home in front of me. It was midnight over there and he woke her up. She rummaged through the kitchen drawers in her
nightgown looking for a bill. She was a good sport, and once she found a utility
bill, she showed it to me. The name of her husband was on it along with the physical
address of their home. The elector received a ballot—and he owed his wife a
dozen roses.
During the
course of an election, many challenging situations arise and decisions must be
made. Returning officers are dedicated men and women who sometimes are caught
between a rock and a hard place and forced to bend certain rules in
order to fulfill their obligations. Problems are rarely black and white, but we
all do our very best to solve them the right way.
In my latest novel “Voted
Out”, Thomas is a devious, sleazy, and despicable returning officer, the type of
character you wouldn't encounter in an election office. I had a
blast creating him. He doesn’t bend a few rules to get the job done, he breaks as
many as he can for his enjoyment and personal gain. He crosses all the lines
for all the wrong reasons. And he doesn't get caught...or does he?
“Voted out”
is a romantic suspense that takes place inside an election office. It’s a tale
of betrayal, deceit, extortion, blackmail, sex, murder, justice, integrity, dedication, passion,
and love. It will make you laugh, growl, blush, shake your head, pull your hair, and
leave you guessing until the last chapter.
Warning: this author
assumes no responsibility if you stay up all night reading.
